Page 93 of Sweet Caroline
“Well, it’s notstrictlymy role.” She does a cute little nose scrunch. “I drew up this proposal for some new events a couple weeks back, which went over well, but I’d love to take on more—plan something bigger.”
People stream out of the small carriage and Caroline smiles softly at a tiny princess who darts off in the wrong direction before her dad snags her hand.
“Sunny loves having my help and wants Julian to include me in some of the curation decisions, but he isn’t very… receptive to input, shall we say?”
“You mean he’s a dick?”
Her jaw drops, though amusement glitters in her eyes. “I didnotsay that!”
“Didn’t have to.” I shrug.
I love this. Bantering with her. Flirting with her. Joking around and flustering her with my bluntness. It’ll only be a few more days, I remind myself. The election is in less than a week, and I’ve been trying not to think about how it’ll feel to have to drop out of Caroline’s life.
“Anyway, Sunny’s working on him for me. For now, I’m trying to stay in my lane and be patient.”
I lift a brow. “Ah, ‘patience, young Grasshopper.’”
“Hey, put that sex sensei voice away,” she teases quietly. “There are children here.”
As we squeeze into our bench seat on the train, I accidentally sit on the dog toy I’d forgotten was attached to my belt. I can’t tell which is worse: the sudden, shrill squeak when all my weight deflates it, or the slow, drawn-out honk as it reinflates. Caroline and I share an embarrassed laugh.
The little kid in the seat ahead of us turns around at the weird sound. He must be about four, and he’s cute as hell, dressed in a bright yellow firefighter costume. As he climbs up to kneel on the seat, his mom throws a polite, somewhat apologetic glance over her shoulder. I wish Gus was here so I could introduce the kid to a real firefighter—blow his tiny mind.
I catch the kid’s eye, wiggling the axe from my belt to show him. “It’s a dog toy,” I explain, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It looks like an axe, but it doesn’t actually work. See, I’ll show ya.” I bang it on the back of his seat a couple times, then spin it around. “You try. C’mon, hit it as hard as you can.” When I notice his mom’s hesitation, I quickly add, “Don’t worry, I washed it.”
She looks relieved.
His grabby hands quickly claim it and he gives it a little squeeze, then proceeds to whack the thing with comical vigor against the wooden bench, yielding only a few strange, honking squeaks that make us all laugh.
“See? Not even adent,” I say when he stops, smoothing my fingers over where he’d attacked the seatback. “I think it’s broken, dude!”
A tinny safety announcement crackles over a small speaker above us and the boy’s mom tells him it’s time to turn around and sit down. She passes the axe back to me and, when her son starts to protest, she’s saved by the train slowly chugging into motion, distracting him.
“You’re good with kids,” Caroline says, keeping her voice low—even though a private conversation on this cramped little train car is impossible. “Do you want kids someday?”
“Nah,” I say honestly, scrunching my nose. “Don’t think I’ve got it in me. I mean, taking care ofmeseems to be a full-time gig here.” I flick my eyes to Caroline, the corner of my mouth curling up. “Still trying to be my own grown-up, y’know? Wouldn’t be fair to throw a baby into that.”
I’d say more, but this isn’t really the place for a deep dive about my mental health and all the reasons parenthood would be a bad idea for me.
“Well, pretty sure throwing babies is frowned upon, anyway,” she teases, nudging my knee.
“See? What the f…” By some miracle, I stop myself from dropping an f-bomb in earshot of our tiny firefighter buddy. “What the heck do I know?”
Caroline’s red lips twist in amusement and I resist the urge to kiss her.
“I think Jude and Olena’ll probably have kids someday, though. He’s already basically a dad, personality-wise.”
“I can see that.” She tilts her head, I’m sure remembering the protective shit he pulled at the arcade.
“So, I figure I’ll be fun Uncle Miles, y’know? Spoil ’em, get ’em all wound up on candy and then just…”—I make a pushing away motion—“give ’em back.”
“I’m sure your brother willlovethat,” she teases. “Be sure to buy them lots of super noisy toys too.”
“That’s the plan.” I laugh. “What about you? You want kids?”
“No.”
I have no business feeling relieved to hear her say that. But tell that to my fuckingrelief. I can’t deny how my heart twisted in the milliseconds after asking the question, and how her simplenohad let me breathe again. I clench my jaw.
