Page 24 of Child of Mine

“Right. They could also wonder about things along the way, like, I don’t know… What kind of horse did Paul Revere ride?” She points at me. “Which could set up taking things out of the studio.”

At the possibility that I’ve finally won her over, my grin is wider than it’s been since I got to this stuffy town. “So, how many letters have kids sent in so far?”

“I’m not sure. Speaking of which”—she tips her head to the side—“I do need to get in there.” I fall into step with her as she heads back toward the building. “I heard it’s only a trickle, though. Back in the day, the show got thousands a week. I think they did a push through local schools this spring, but so far there hasn’t been a huge response.”

“What if we shot a promo commercial? Show the new cast getting ready to be on the show, but they can’t do anything without the ideas of the kids at home.”

“We could show them taking on the challenges at boot camp…”

When she trails off, I finish her sentence. “And then just sitting in an empty studio with nothing to do. Plus, we can cut it in a way that’ll show Carol and James the potential of more dynamic editing.”

She opens her giant shoulder bag and paws through it. “Let me see if I have something to write this down. Snacks, Band-Aids… this mom purse is full of everything except a notebook,” she mutters. “Aha! I have a magic marker and napkins. That’ll have to do.”

“You have your mom’s purse?”

She gives me a look like I’m the one speaking nonsense. “Uh, no.I’ma mom.”

I just nod. I should say something, but the only words filling my brain areWho’s the guy?Even less appropriate:Can I take him?

Her tone is sharp when she cuts through the testosterone fog. “It won’t interfere with my work, don’t worry. I’ve already worked out the schedule with Carol.”

Hands up again, I manage, “No, hey. No judgement here. You’re lucky.”

“I am,” she says, before practically running toward the building. “I should get to work.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

* * *

After that rollercoaster of a conversation, I force my brain to power through the many tasks waiting for me at my desk. Then I make some calls to production rental companies in town. After pricing out a package of lights and cameras we could take to New Hampshire, I write up a proposal and budget for documenting the week at camp.

I’m focused enough to get the work done, but a heavy feeling’s dogging me, and I think it might be disappointment.

That Bella’s not available.

I mean, she’s even more attractive now than she was in her early twenties. Like her beauty has mellowed. Fewer sharp angles. The high cheekbones and wide-set eyes that’d make her a delight to light are still there, but everything is softer now. There’s a guardedness, but I think that’s all about the night we shared. Which is understandable.

I’m glad she’s on the team. I could brainstorm with her from dawn to dusk. It’s probably a good thing that she’s married and has a kid. Less temptation to get involved. Lower probability that I’d fuck things up between us, mucking up things here at work.

Unfortunately, the temptation is all too real. Memories of the few hours we spent together have been flashing through my mind for the past two days. Good memories that I thought I’d packed away with the bad ones from that day. If she weren’t married, I could’ve convinced myself that it was worth the risk to relight the spark that bounced between us the moment she caught me dancing on that rooftop balcony.

But it’s better this way. We’ll have a fruitful professional relationship, and I’ll bury those other ideas where they belong.

Not that I’d want to take on a woman with a kid even if Bella were available because, as was proven by my experience working on clown and cowboy shows, I’d be a terrible dad. I may have been accused of barking at the kids on the show in Raleigh. More than once. But come on. Those kids were brats, they outnumbered the adults, and somebody had to be the bad cop. And the baby-talk thing my brother does with his kids? Just the thought of it makes my gonads shrink.

Nope. With my Oscar the Grouch persona and my workaholic tendences, I am definitely not dad material.

That doesn’t stop me from obsessing like a junior high school girl over the conversation with Bella for the rest of the day. So when I pick up my phone just before closing, it’s ironic that the first words out of my best friend’s mouth are “They figure out that you hate kids yet?”

“So nice to hear from you, Ralph. Thanks, I’m doing well. How about you?”

“Cut the bullshit, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just trying to be an adult here.” Leaning back in my chair, I relax for what feels like the first time in a week. “How’s the weather in Raleigh? Sticky and hot yet?”

“Well, let’s see here.” He shuffles some papers and puts on his weatherman voice. “The relative humidity is a mere fifty-one percent, despite the above-average high temperatures in the low eighties. Light winds out of the northwest and an incoming low-pressure system will—”

“My eyes glazed over at ‘relative humidity.’”

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