Page 69 of Make Mine Sweet
She makes a face. “Probably exactly like that. But all the teachers got sick, so there’s nobody to watch the kids.”
“We can watch movies.”
The kid’s a problem solver, I’ll give him that.
“It wouldn’t be safe to leave all of you alone to watch movies.”
“We know where the snacks are.”
She grins at him. “I’m not going to take you to daycare without an adult. But what do you think about having Ian watch you for a few days? Just until all your teachers feel better?”
He looks up at me, his mouth open. “I could stay with you and Dutch all day?”
“Only if you want to,” I tell him.
He leaps off the patio and runs through the yard screaming his head off. Dutch gets in on the action, barking until I call his name and put a stop to it.
“I think that’s a yes,” Tess says, standing up. “Congratulations. You’re a babysitter.”
“I prefer the term ‘manny.’”
TWENTY-FOUR
TESS
One thingthey don’t talk about enough in parenting books is the importance of a strong poker face. Teaching emotional awareness is essential, but sometimes I just can’t let August see my real reactions. Like how I’m supposed to treat every alert on his continuous glucose monitor as benign, without freaking out or seeming upset, no matter how urgent. Or how I shouldn’t laugh when he wishes people luck, but he says it “Good yuck.”
Or right now, when I’m about to hand my child off to someone new for the first time.
Someone I’m deeply attracted to and caring more about by the day. Who maybe, possibly, cares about me, too.
When I called Amy to get her vote of confidence yesterday, she offered it easily. Like she’d told me before we moved in, Ian’s a good guy. Trustworthy and capable, if fairly inexperienced with kids. But she tacked on an extra part this time that I can’t stop thinking about.
“Ian hasn’t wanted to do much of anything in a long time,” she’d said. “If he’s offering to help you out by watching August for a few days, that means something.”
“What?” I’d asked, even though I was halfway to the answer already.
She laughed softly as though she could read my mind. “It means you’re important to him. You both are.”
So I’m definitely trying extra hard to seem perfectly normal and not at all smitten when Ian knocks on my door just after five-thirty a.m.
But then I open the door. Something about him looking sleep-rumpled and bleary-eyed, standing on my doorstep holding two steaming mugs of coffee, makes me want to cuddle up with him. As though taking time for a morning snuggle is a thing we could actually indulge in.
My poker face had better be doing the absolute most right now.
His mouth tilts into the smallest smile. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want a coffee. It’s black.”
“I would love one, thank you.” I take the mug he offers me, cataloguing the way our fingers brush during the hand-off and the current of electricity that seems to arc between us. That’s a better rush than the caffeine. “Come on in.”
“Hi, Ian!” August waves from the dining table where he’s finishing his egg and cheese breakfast quesadilla. Looking past us, his expression falls. “Where’s Dutch?”
Ian chuckles softly. “He’s sleeping in. We can take him outside later.”
“Okay.” August kicks his feet, content with this plan. We talked last night about how he needs to be on his best behavior for Ian. Fingers crossed he doesn’t start repeating that bad word his aunt Wren accidentally said in front of him last week and give Ian the impression I’m raising a foul-mouthed little sailor.
Actually…I should probably cross my fingers he doesn’t learn new words from Ian, either.
I open a cupboard in the kitchen to pull out a ceramic honey pot and add a generous drizzle to the coffee Ian brought for me.
