Page 43 of The Parent Playbook
“Scotty is more than just cool,” he says as he continues shoveling. “He’s pretty much the human equivalent of a Swiss Army knife.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“And he’s funny.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny weird?” I ask.
“Both. In a good way.”
Scotty. Master of dad jokes with an unruly mop, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with matching socks.
But let’s not ignore the man’s physique.
Rugged. Muscled. Sure of himself.
My head feels light remembering that almost-kiss, how close we’d come. The heat of his breath, the anticipation tingling through my veins. It’s been ages since I felt that kind of pull, that stomach-dropping, time-stopping urge to lean in and live it.
And as I stand there, rake in hand, surrounded by the earthy smell of the petting zoo, I realize that despite the mess, the arguments, and the chaos of life, Scotty might be what I need.
And he’s definitely what Iwant.
I look over at Andy, who’s watching me with a curious tilt of his head. “Everything okay, Mom?”
“Yeah, bud, everything’s fine,” I assure him, but I can’t forget that Scotty and I did not end our last conversation in a good place. “Let’s get this cleaned up, huh?”
Hours later, after the ranch has settled into a quiet hum and I’ve posted a position for an accountant, I decide to check on Andy before calling it a night myself. I’m still down the hall when I hear an odd clicking sound emanating from his bed tent—amakeshift fortress of blankets and pillows he’s constructed in the corner of his room.
I poke my head through the tent’s flimsy entrance. “Hey, bud, what’s with the clicking? You signaling aliens or something?”
Andy looks up from a small device in his hands, his face illuminated by a tiny flashlight. “Just practicing Morse code,” he says nonchalantly, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for a twelve-year-old to do at bedtime.
“Morse code, huh?” I raise an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “And here I was thinking you were starting a late-night cricket symphony. Gonna tap out your entire life story one dot and dash at a time?”
He sets the device aside with a laugh that’s a little too forced. “Why not? Could be a bestseller. You think Morse code messages can get a copyright?”
“Only if you can prove a cricket didn’t ghostwrite it for you. But seriously, it’s late. Time to get some sleep, code master.”
He nods, crawling deeper into his fortress of solitude. “Okay, Mom. Night.”
“Goodnight, Andy.” I hang around at the entrance, watching him settle down. There’s a part of me that’s still on alert, wondering if there’s more to the Morse code than a new hobby. But then, knowing Andy, it’s just another phase in his never-ending quest to understand everything. My curious, brilliant little dude.
“I love you, Andy.”
“Love you, Mom.”
With a sigh, I pull back, letting the fabric flap fall into place. The floorboards creak under my footsteps as I head to my room, and our earlier conversation about Scotty mingles with thoughts of Andy’s Morse code adventures. It’s a strange mix, but then again, life at Happy Horizons is anything but ordinary.
CHAPTER 18
SCOTTY
Some days are harder than others.
The cold bite of the rink’s air feels sharper today. From the sidelines, I watch our guys whip across the ice, pros with talent that makes everything look too easy. The scrape of their blades, the slap of the puck; it’s usually the soundtrack to my best days. But today, it’s noise against the loop of Colorado memories playing in my head.
“Keep that formation tight, come on!” My voice breaks through the drill, pulling me back from thoughts of quieter days up in the Rockies. Back then, it was just me, Lily, and too many silent meals where we both pretended everything was fine.
Now, watching one of our hotshots miss an easy assist, I realize how much I’ve brought from there to here—more than a few boxes could hold. Yes, some days, the memories are heavy.
