Page 45 of Good as Gold
But now it doesn’t matter. He literally has nothing else to lose.
CHAPTER16
LEILA
There’s a reason I don’t usually drink. And that reason is four years old and refusing to share the gardening tools with the other children.
“Matthew,” I say calmly. “All the children need tools. We are all friends here.”
He stands there in his size-four jeans, hands gripping the tool caddy, and glares at me.
Across the yard, I can see my assistant squinting at us, trying to decide if she should intervene in this little standoff.
I give her a weak smile to show that everything is fine. But inside I’m saying a little prayer.Dear God in heaven, I’ll never drink again if you could just persuade him to share.
Finally, just when I’m almost ready to kneel on the ground and beg, he drops the caddy into the dirt. “Okay. But the purple shovel ismine.”
I practically wilt with relief. My head is pounding, and my stomach is gurgling. If it weren’t for the muffin and the coffee Matteo had given me, I might not have made it through the last four hours.
Until you’ve taught preschool hungover, you haven’t lived.
Other children swarm, taking tools and spreading out around the garden. This preschool is special. We spend at least half our time outside, and the focus is collaborative, not academic. It’s like an antidote to the modern world.
Yet the cost to send your child here from eight until noon each day is over ten thousand dollars for the school year. Which is not at all an antidote to the modern world.
The sun beats down on my back, and my head pounds guiltily. Waking up beside Matteo in bed again was an unwelcome surprise. That’s twice in one week.
Yet no sex happened. Or will ever happen, especially after last night’s embarrassments.
Honestly, it would belessembarrassing if I’d tried to kiss him. That probably happens to Matteo all the time. Instead, I’d asked him tofather my child.
I let out a quiet groan just thinking about it.
“Miss Leila? Are you okay?” asks Gillian, a four-year-old with a shining dark bob.
“I’m doing quite well,” I lie. “Are you?”
“My mama is here,” she says with a smile.
I set down my tools and stand up to help Gillian find her backpack and greet her mother. It’s pick-up time. The parents are streaming into the parking area now.
I’ve made it. Praise Jesus.
Oh wait—I’ve summoned him. It’s not Jesus, exactly, but a hot guy with long hair and a body that probably makes women yell,OH GOD.
He is, unfortunately, the last man I want to see right now. Clearly, I owe Matteo an apology, but I’m not ready. I haven’t rehearsed it eleventy-billion times in my head. I haven’t found the right words to say—I’m sorry I got drunk and flippantly asked you to father my child, even if that is my guiltiest desire.
Nicole comes running out of the playhouse. “Uncle Matty! You came to get me?”
“Who else?” he asks. And when she grabs his hand, he hoists her up into the air and gives her a toss that makes her giggle.
My heart soars, and then plummets. This man has me tied in knots.
I march over to the picnic table, grab Nicole’s things, and bring them to Matteo. “If you guys aren’t in a rush, I have something I’d like to say to you.” I can’t even look him in the eye, but it would be better to apologize now than to let my embarrassment fester.
“If Nicole is game, we’ll wait.” He crouches down to his niece’s level. “Want to play a little longer?”
“’Course,” she says, and runs off toward the playhouse.
