Page 18 of Sweet Thing

Above our heads, the faint cry of the baby could be heard. Lars winced at the reminder that his life had changed irrevocably.

“I’d better see what the little madam wants.” He took a step back with the bassinet and one of the larger totes. “Thanks for your help. I won’t forget it.”

ChapterFour

Lars Nyquist Baby Mama Drama!

In a scene straight out of a telenovela, Lars Nyquist found out he was a father when last night, an unnamed woman dropped off his child at the Empty Net, a known Chicago Rebels player hangout. Inside sources tell us that Lars was blindsided by the news that he has a daughter and was seen arguing with his baby mama outside the bar before she made a quick getaway in a taxi. Lars, son of hellraising hockey player Sven Nyquist, was clearly upset with the situation as it was unveiled in front of teammates and fans. Uh oh!

Regular readers of this column will remember that Nyquist Senior died several months ago in a single car collision after years in forced retirement from the NHL owing to his part in an illegal gambling ring. Toxicology results indicated that he was under the influence of alcohol and cocaine at the time of his death. While Nyquist Junior has never shown signs of following in his father’s footsteps, it’s clear he has more in common with the old man than everyone thought!

- Hot Goss

Adeline

“Not in a million years!”

The morning after The Baby Bombshell, I was seated at the kitchen table, which was still covered with baby stuff. The baby in question was in one of the borrowed bassinets, sleeping like an angel, while the sperm donor was in the other room on the phone with his agent looking for an exit strategy.

Evidently, I was part of it.

Seated in my lap, my heavier-by-the-second baby sister munched on a piece of naan—the kid was obsessed with all things bread. Dad was standing at the kitchen island making one of his kale-o-riffic smoothies. (His words, not mine.)

He held up the sludge-filled jug and started pouring. “Twinkle, it would be for a few weeks, maximum. Just while he gets things sorted with the baby’s mom.”

“But I’m not qualified to look after a baby.”

My father scoffed. “You were practically Tilly’s mom her first year of life. She hardly knew her incubator.”

“Hey.” Mom grinned and shook her head. “It takes a village and that’s what we are around here.” She leaned over and rubbed Mabel’s chest, earning a sleepy snuffle in return. “But he’s not completely wrong. Tilly did say ‘Addy’ before she said ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’.”

“Addy, this is for you!” Tilly held out a piece of naan, then put it in her mouth with a giggle as soon as I showed any interest. Out came the massive, toothy grin that made my heart melt. I’d missed her so much. I’d missed them all.

But if I’d known I’d be on the hook as nanny for Lars Nyquist’s surprise love child, I would have stayed far, far away.

“Why am I being asked? Is it because I’m at a loose end or is it because I’ve got tits?”

“Addy!” My dad frowned, like plain-speaking wasn’t this family’s lingua franca. “The first one.”

I might have needed something to occupy my time, but a baby was a full-time job. Not exactly the kind of gig I had in mind while I pondered the great questions of who I was and what I should be doing.

“Tits!” Tilly giggled and sucked juice from her Captain America sippy cup.

“My good influence continues.”

Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “It was just an idea. You do not have to do this at all. Besides, the Rebels org is on the case, working with an au pair agency.”

Au pair.Defined as “sexy nanny,” usually British or Spanish or worst of all, Swedish. Likely to fall in love with the hunky single dad at the drop of her French knickers. I didn’t enjoy how my lungs hitched at the idea of Lars getting his (childcare) needs attended to by this hot little number of my imagination.

My father was having none of it. “We can’t have some strange woman looking after baby Mabel!”

“There you go again, assuming that the nanny will be female.” I pointed at him. “Sexist.”

“Completely,” a deep voice cut in. Lars entered the kitchen, pocketing his phone in his jeans. “And stop hounding Adeline to take a job she doesn’t need or want. She’s barely been home for five minutes.” He turned to me and mouthed, “Sorry” and just that intimate communication sent my pulse rocketing.

If that wasn’t the assurance I needed that staying out of Lars’s orbit was a top-shelf idea, then I didn’t know what was.

Dad was still on his soap box. “So you’re fine with some stranger feeding your kid?”

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