Page 10 of Pucked Up Plans
“Yeah, please can she come?” Lennon pleads. She clasps her fists together under her chin, her eagerness not something I can ignore.
With Aubrey looking so keenly at me, I have no choice but to say, “Of course. Sounds like fun.”
“Yes.” Lennon pumps her fist in the air, her enthusiasm contagious. So much joy wrapped up in a petite package. “It’s going to be so fun. Keeley pushes the swing super high.”
Aubrey peers up at me, perplexed. “Mommy, who is Keeley?”
“Me,” Walsh answers. “Walsh Keeley, to be exact.” He extends his hand for a shake as the name swirls through my brain.
Walsh Keeley.
So much about this man intrigues me, but more so, the dynamic of his relationship with his daughter.
“But she calls you Keeley…” I trail off, the comment sounding so much worse out loud than in my head.
“It’s a long story. If you’re joining us at the park, I’ll be glad to share it with you.”
He flashes me that gorgeous smile, and I seriously feel my knees go weak. An exaggeration for sure, but damn this man has some weird sorcery over me. Emotions I can’t unpack now.
“S-sure.” I clear my throat, trying again to not be so tongue-tied. “Great. Which park?” I fit my hand into his, realizing he’s still holding his out.
“Edison.” My face must show my confusion, so he adds, “It’s over on Main Street, behind all the shops.” The further details still do nothing for me. He shakes his head. “Follow us. It’ll be easier.”
“Okay.”
He starts for his truck, turning about halfway there. “Which car is yours? So I can assure you’re behind me.”
Embarrassed, I point to my Honda Civic. His truck isn’t new, but it’s in better shape than my hand-me-down car in much need of an upgrade. Which won’t come soon. Hondas are notorious for lasting hundreds of thousands of miles, and I’ve been banking on that being true since I bought the car years ago.
Walsh motions over his shoulder. “Mine’s the white Chevy truck. You can keep up, right?”
I undoubtedly know he means by following him to the park, but my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Because yeah. There’s no way I can “keep up” with Walsh in any other sense of the phrase.
My nonverbal head bob given, Aubrey and I walk to the edge of the lot.
“You hot, Mommy? You’re super fweaty.”
Leave it to my mostly oblivious five-year-old to notice how affected I am by the one guy who’s talked to me in the last five years. To be honest, he’s only talking to me because his kid friended mine. It’s not like he’s talking tome.
“I’m good, Bree.”
Maybegoodis a bit of a stretch, but I’m certainly not going to explain to her what I’m feeling.
I can’t even describe it myself.
The drive is less than seven minutes. As we creep closer to the park, something funny builds inside me. I meant what I said about him not being here for me, but try telling that to certain parts of my body currently experiencing a drought. Alongfamine, starved for more than the touch of another human being. Someone other than myself.
And now I’m even “fweatier” than before. Sweat pools on my forehead, something I’ll have to wipe away before facing Walsh again. Discreetly, of course.
“Mommy, they have a zip line.” Aubrey’s animated voice brings my thoughts back to where they should be.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror reveals her gawking out the window, taking in the sight of this new playground.
Ever since she was little, I made it a point to visit a variety of parks, introducing her to various playground equipment. Not that she partakes in any of it. She’s content to watch from the sidelines, maybe go in a swing for a brief time, and every once in a while, she’ll choose a small slide to go down. I had hoped by going to different ones, her curiosity about the play structures would help get her over her fear. Still waiting for that day.
“That looks super fun. You should try it,” I encourage.
“Too little.”
