Page 66 of She's the Star

I love him.

I barely catch myself from gasping. It’s too soon. And it’s terrible timing.

Or maybe it’s perfect timing.

The rumors have already started. The interview is already scheduled. Nolan Byrne is about to step into the spotlight whether he wants to or not. The best way to protect him is to fight for him. Am I famous enough to convince the world that he’s perfect for me?

Operation love: must succeed.

I brush away the tears. I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and hold him tight. I should take a shower. I’m sweaty, and sparkly, and my hair needs its own zip code, but instead of taking off my makeup and rinsing off like I should, I peel off my dress, pull a t-shirt out of one of my bags and crawl into bed. I curve my body into Nolan’s back and soak up the comfort of having him close.

My eyes slip closed and sleep descends almost immediately.

TWENTY-FIVE

NOLAN

Iwake to the sound of Maddy fussing and the feel of Amber pressed against me. Her arm is wrapped possessively around my waist, and her breath tickles the hair on my neck. The temptation to remain in this position is obliterated by Maddy’s increasingly loud whimpers.

I take a moment to enjoy the cozy feeling, then gently slide out of bed, pick up Maddy, and quietly leave the room, wanting Amber to sleep as long as possible. Maddy doesn’t feel warm this morning, but as her bottle heats up, I take her temperature anyway. When the thermometer flashes green, I let out a relieved breath, grab the bottle, and sprawl on the couch with Maddy in my lap.

While she inhales the bottle, I check my phone.

The first thing I see is a calendar invite from Brian.

It says: Annabelle Singer Interview – 12 p.m. – Saturday.

Tomorrow. Fuck.

Amber needs me to do this interview, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it.

Not only is the prospect of strangers weighing in on my relationship status abhorrent, but I’m also concerned with what they’ll say about my career choices. I live in the real world. And the real world doesn’t always accept men as caregivers. From my first babysitting job and my master program to my practicum hours and my position as lead teacher of a class of three-year-olds, I’ve been the recipient of surprise and/or confusion more times than I can count.

People aren’t typically rude, but they are apprehensive as if they can’t quite figure out why a man in the prime of his life is choosing to spend his day with children. I can generally win them over with my dedication and obvious competence, but no matter how well I convince them that I’m suited to the job, I can’t help but think that they’d like me better if I didn’t hold a position that’s stereotypically held by women.

Maddy finishes her bottle, and we move to the floor. She’s gotten pretty good at sitting up on her own, so I plop her down and sit behind her. She reaches for her favorite toy—a handheld music player that lights up and has a hard outer ring she can chew on—and lands on her stomach. The toy immediately starts playing a jaunty tune that sounds somewhat like the wheels on the bus.

I attempt to switch her to a quieter toy, but prying her fists off her favorite toy isn’t easy. Clinging to it with a death grip, she rolls onto her back and blinks up at me. She looks so blissful that I abandon my attempt to switch toys and she starts chewing on it, seemingly utterly content.

I can’t blame her. I like these peaceful—but not particularly quiet—moments, too.

About twenty minutes and a dozen toys later, there is a gentle knock at the door. It clicks open and one of Amber’s morning security guys pushes a cart of food into the room. He utters a softly spoken good morning and retreats into the hall.

I leave Maddy on the floor and rise to my feet so I can wake Amber. The bedroom door opens before I take a step, and she appears. Her makeup is smeared around her eyes, her hair is tangled, and she has a pillow crease across her cheek.

It’s an obvious indication of how gone I am for her because my first thought is that she looks positively gorgeous. She walks across the room and straight into me. Her arms slip around my waist, and she relaxes. It feels amazing—she’s soft and warm. She smells less amazing—a mixture of hair product, sweat, and arena grime. I cling to her anyway, pressing my lips against her stiff hair.

“How’s Maddy?” she asks into my neck.

“She’s better. No fever when she woke up.”

“Good.” She gives me one more squeeze and drops onto the floor.

“Hey, sweet baby.” She nuzzles Maddy’s stomach, making her kick her legs and squeal in delight. “Mommy missed you,” she whispers just loud enough that I can hear.

“She missed you, too.”

“Ha.” She rocks back on her heels. “I bet she was perfectly happy with you.”

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