Page 17 of Pucked Up Plans
That one’s inspired by how gorgeous his ex is. And I really shouldn’t care. I’m not trying to win any contest, let alone his consideration as anything more than his daughter’s friend’s mother. However, try telling my ego.
By the time I’ve done anything, there’s a knock on the door. As my father always taught me, I peer through the peephole, Walsh’s handsome smile greeting my eye.
Damn. How did he get here so fast?
My pulse revs up to a Daytona racing speed, stealing my breath and any sort of semblance of composure. When the door isn’t answered fast enough, he knocks again.
Frantically, my eyes scan the small living room. Toys litter the carpet in two corners, and a basket of clean clothes sits off to another side. It’s too late to do anything about any of it now.
Deep breath in. Slowly release.
With slightly twitchy fingers, I pull the door open, my smile instant when Walsh flashes his. A full, thousand-watt grin sure to dampen my panties.
“Hey.” If the smile didn’t do it, the one-word greeting surely does.
“Hi.”
He holds some kind of container in one hand, opening the storm door with the other, making no move to enter until I invite him in.
Point one to him for being a true gentleman.
“You got here quick.”
“We don’t live far from here.” His eyes peruse the living room, his gaze back on mine quickly. Not like there’s much to see. “Cute place.”
“Ah, it’s home for now.”
“Oh, right. You’re new to town. Where did you move from?”
“Cedarvale, Kansas. Still learning the nuances of Vermont. So different from where we lived.”
“Happy to show you around town. Just say the word.”
I want to agree to his offer. More like, “Hell yes. Let’s go right now,” but I keep my inner unruliness contained.
“That would be greatly appreciated.”
An awkward silence enters the room. My thoughts run haywire for what to say, how to get him talking. He doesn’t seem upset about having to pick Lennon up, nor that she’s here.
Walsh breaks the quiet. “Here. This is for you. As a thank you for taking Lennon.” He shoves the container at me.
“Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do anything special. It’s nothing. Plus, Aubrey loves having another kid to talk to.”
Or she would, had they had time to do anything but eat a snack.
“It’s from my mother.” He scratches his head, appearing to be thinking hard. “There was something about simmering.”
“What is it?” The question barrels out of my mouth without thought.
“Her famous chili. And if Aubrey eats it, please don’t rub it in. Lennon hates the stuff, yet Mom consistently makes it, as if she’s going to miraculously change her mind one day and like it.”
I chew over how to respond. Do I tell him the truth, which would mean telling him about the marshmallows? Or do I just let it go and simply thank him for his mother’s kind gesture?
Two excited five-year-olds bound into the room, interrupting us before I can say anything.
Lennon skips to Walsh. “Keeley, you’re here. Momma dropped me off to play with Aubrey. But we didn’t get to play. Can we stay a little longer? Please?”
He bends down to her level. “It’s not up to us whether we stay. Remember, we talked about the hosts having to invite us to stay longer?”
