“I got this, Co!” Archer shouts from behind the bar while two men argue over a game call in front of him. The way his eyes cut to Georgia in irritation confirms he overheard our conversation. “She’s not working with me.”
Georgia flips him off. “You’re a dick.”
Archer shrugs, pours a beer, and then slides it down the bar to a regular.
“Let me call Sylvia,” I say, fishing my phone from my pocket and heading toward my office.
Five minutes later, I’m walking out of the office, my shoulders slumped.
“Is Sylvia staying?” Georgia asks.
I shake my head and scrub a hand over my face.
She pauses for a moment before saying, “What about Jamie?”
I move my hand to stare at her. “What?”
“Ask if she can watch him.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Oh, come on,” she groans, tilting her head back. “She’s been hanging out with him for weeks now.”
“Not alone.”
“It won’t be that long, she’s a doctor, and everything will be okay. Heather is still in Vegas.”
I flinch. Not once since Jamie came into our lives have I asked about Heather. Just her name puts a bad taste in my mouth.
It’s not that I doubt Archer can handle the crowd alone, but customers will bitch if it takes too long for their drinks. Bars aren’t known for patient customers, and we can’t afford to lose the business, especially on game nights. They bring in a shit-ton of money.
Archer shakes his head when I join him behind the bar. “Go home. I’ll call Silas.”
“Silas is at some convention,” I reply, referring to our friend. Silas bartends, does all of Twisted Fox’s marketing, and fills us in on the latest alcohol trends.
“Or I can do it since I’m already here,” Georgia comments before cracking an arrogant smile Archer’s way. “I promise to stay on my side of the bar, and I won’t trip you this time—even though you deserved it last week … and will probably deserve another tripping … or a swift kick in the nuts.”
There’s no way the two of them can work together.
“Give me a minute.”
I scroll through the Contacts in my phone and hit Jamie’s name.
Here goes.
7
Jamie
It’s six in the evening.
I’m living a very exciting social life by chilling in bed and watching Netflix.
Alone.
No Thin Mints this time.
They’re all gone, and I’m all out of Girl Scout sources to get more.
Might have to search the black market later.
I’m licking Cheetos cheese off my fingers when my phone rings, and I nearly drop it when Cohen’s name flashes across the screen.
He never calls.
We’ve texted a few times, but since I’ve started hanging out with Georgia and Noah, I communicate through her.
I’m unsure why I drag in a calming breath before answering, “Hello?”
“Jamie.” My name sounds stressed, leaving his mouth. “Are you busy?”
“Nope.” Cleaning cheddar fingers doesn’t count as busy, right? “What’s up?”
“An employee just walked out, leaving me stuck at the bar, and Noah’s babysitter can’t stay any later. Is there any way you can hang out at my house until I can get there? If not, I completely understand. Georgia suggested you might be—”
“That’s no problem,” I interrupt before he talks himself out of the idea.
“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m in a bind.”
“I can be there in about ten minutes.” I jump out of bed and scramble for clothes that don’t make me look homeless.
“Thank you. I’ll let the babysitter know you’re coming. If you need anything, call me. If I don’t answer, call Georgia.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be there.”
A gorgeous, college-aged blonde answers Cohen’s door.
No wonder Noah says he wants his babysitter to be his girlfriend.
She stands up straight, and her words are chirpy. “Hi! I’m Sylvia. You must be Jamie.”
I nod, and when I say hello, it’s not nearly as chirpy as hers.
She retreats a step, allowing me space to come in. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re all Noah talks about.” She peeks back at me with a frown. “I feel bad I can’t stay later, but I’m going out of town.”
“Totally understandable. I’m happy to help.”
“Jamie!” Noah shouts when I come into view. He punches his hand through the air before dashing across the living room to give me a hug.
Bending down, I hug him back, squeezing him tight and savoring the moment. The more we hang out, the closer we get. This little boy has sent a wave of happiness through my life, and moments like this, even though they’re joyous, still send a flash of fear through me.
That motherly instinct has hit me.
The love for him in my heart is there.
Whether that’s good or bad, I’m not sure.
I’m playing by Cohen’s rules, going at it minute by minute.
Cohen could have a bad day and decide no more Noah visits for me.
I could say the wrong thing, and he could pull away the happiness we’ve created.
The thought is terrifying.
Never did I think I’d get so attached in such a short amount of time, but Noah has won me over with his radiant and childish heart. He’s funny, a ball of energy, and the sweetest little guy. Cohen raised him right, and a sense of guilt twists my heart that we’d ever doubted him.
Noah gives Sylvia a hug good-bye along with a kiss on the cheek, and we make ourselves comfortable in the living room when she leaves. Cartoons are playing on the crazy-large TV, and Noah has his action figures displayed on the floor, perched up as if they were watching the show with him.
Cohen’s house is warm and comfortable, very homey. The walls are painted a light gray throughout the entire house with the exception of Noah’s blue bedroom. The couch is cushy, which I love. Nothing’s worse than a stiff couch. Two brown suede recliners sit on each side of the couch. Blankets are everywhere—thrown over those recliners, a Spider-Man one spilling over the arm of the couch—and brown suede pillows that match the recliners are scattered around. Just like in the hallway, pictures of Noah are everywhere. School pictures, pictures of him and his family, and ones of him with others.
Twenty minutes later, Noah looks back at me. “I’m hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten dinner?”
“Sylvia made me chicken nuggets and gross broccoli, but I’m hungry again.” He pats his stomach.
“What would you like to eat?”
He provides a sly grin. “Pizza.”
I snatch my phone from my bag. “Let me check with your dad.”
“Dad won’t care. I’ll save him a slice and a half.”
Yeah, not pushing my buttons with this one.
I could see Cohen banning me for giving Noah a pepperoni instead of a broccoli sprout.
Me: Is it cool if we order pizza?
He texts me back a few minutes later.