Page 26 of One Pucking Life

On the way to my bedroom, I stop by the nursery and peek inside. The room is dark, thanks to the blackout curtains Delaney must’ve put up earlier. I open the door a little wider, letting the light from the hallway spill in just enough to see.

There’s a low hum of white noise coming from a small machine on the dresser—soft static filling the quiet space.

Blackout curtains and white noise. It’s simple but smart. Probably common knowledge for seasoned parents, but to me, it feels like a revelation. Just another reminder that I really lucked out finding Delaney.

Caroline is on her back, hands curled by her face, her chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm. She looks like something out of a painting—tiny, perfect, and completely at ease. I smile to myself, my heart squeezing a little.

Carefully, I ease the door closed.

As I step back into the hallway, my eyes drift toward Delaney’s closed door. A soft glow escapes from the bottom—maybe a lamp or the light from her phone.

I pause. The thought of knocking crosses my mind, uninvited but insistent. Just to say good night again. To thank her for… all of it.

But I don’t.

Instead, I shake my head, quiet the thought, and head down the hall to my own room.

Where I belong.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

DELANEY

I’ve been working for Maxwell Park for an entire week now, and I have to admit, it hasn’t been as bad as I originally thought it would be. In fact, I haven’t found much—or really anything—about him that I detest.

Well, therewasthat time the cap wasn’t screwed back onto the milk jug, and when I pulled it out of the fridge, it fell to the floor. So, to be clear, he’s not perfect. Then again, that might’ve been a simple mistake, or if I’m being totally honest, it could’ve even been my fault. Apparently, I’m working pretty hard to find flaws.

I’m not saying my overall leeriness of all men has disappeared, but maybe I was wrong about this particular one.

While I miss my Newmeister boys terribly, this gig is undeniably better. It pays more, and Max lets me do whatever I want. Order new crib sheets because I read they’re better for a baby’s skin? Sure. Switch pediatricians because I got a weird vibe from the first one? Go for it. Add some loud, colorful Care Bears to Caroline’s magazine-worthy, perfectly posh nursery justbecause not only is “Care Bear” her nickname, but the vibrant colors are good for her development? Absolutely.

Max gives me full rein to do what I think is best. He trusts me completely.

At first, I was pushing boundaries on purpose, convinced I’d eventually see his jerky side come out. Hopping on his computer and ordering a car seat with his credit card on day one—without even mentioning it—was bold. Definitely something I never would’ve pulled with the Newmeisters. I can picture Mrs. Newmeister’s face if I’d tried something like that. I would’ve been booted from that house before the package even shipped.

But Max? He’s not like the Newmeisters. Or anyone else I’ve worked for, really. He’s sweet. Charming. Loving. Kind.

And drop-dead gorgeous.

Wait.

I shake my head, close the dishwasher and hit the start button.

That last little fact? Completely irrelevant.

I open the new junk drawer—or, more accurately, the pretty felt-tip pens and sticky-note drawer—another little upgrade I’ve made to the house. It used to be full of plastic lids, but I never figured out what they belonged to, so I tossed them and declared it the new stationery drawer.

Grabbing a purple felt-tip marker and a pink heart-shaped Post-it, I open TikTok on my phone to the video I favorited and jot downchickpeas, pickles, and dill—the three things we’re missing from the recipe. Once I’m done, I stick the note on the fridge.

“Chickpeas?” Max’s voice startles me.

I spin around with a gasp, finding him leaning against the doorway, grinning.

Hand to my chest, I say, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He steps closer, closing the space between us until he’s standing right in front of me. I can feel the warmth radiating off him and smell the clean mix of soap, laundry detergent, and something else that could only be described as… masculine sexiness. He’s obviously freshly showered after his game.

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