I still. Taking in the sound as it washes over me and memorizing the smile on her face. She’s beautiful, but when she smiles like that, she gives all new meaning to the word breathtaking.
“I don’t know,” Crosby says, pretending to ponder the idea. “Do I want to be his favorite?” she asks Blakely.
“Sure, but I want them all to be my favorite. Do you know my other uncles?”
“No, just your daddy,” I smile at her. “He fixed my car, and I met him at orientation, remember?”
She nods. “He’s real good at that kind of stuff. I like going to work with him, but that usually means I have to wear my wiener pants, and I don’t much like that.”
Crosby’s mouth falls open, and her wide eyes find mine. I was in the middle of taking a drink, and I have to beat on my chest as I sputter and cough as it goes down the wrong pipe. “They’re jeans,” I correct my niece.
“Yeah, those. They make me look like I have a wiener. Girls don’t have wieners, do they, Miss Greene?”
“Um, no. No, they don’t,” Crosby says, a slight blush coating her cheeks.
“Eat your breadstick,” I tell my niece, holding back my laughter. Declan and Kennedy have their hands full with this one.
Blakely shoves a bite of breadstick covered in pizza sauce into her mouth, mumbling something about wieners. My eyes find Crosby’s, and she, too, is holding back her laughter.
Thankfully, both of the pizzas arrive, and we all dive in. Blakely tells us more about kindergarten, things I’m sure Crosby is already privy to, but she gives my niece her full attention, riddled with smiles and words of encouragement. In just one dinner, I can already tell she is an amazing teacher. She has patience, and there’s a kindness inside her, a light that shines bright. It lights up her eyes when she talks and listens to Blakely.
“Wipe your mouth, squirt.” I reach over and hand Blakely a napkin, but Crosby is already all over it. She helps her wipe her mouth.
“Thanks, Miss Greene. Wait, do you have a real name?” Blakely asks her.
“Miss Greene is her real name,” I tell her.
“No. I mean, like, I’m Blakely and you’re Uncle Rushton. What’s your real name?” Blakely tilts her head to the side as she looks at Crosby with a question in her eyes.
“Greene is my last name,” Crosby explains. “My first name is Crosby, but you can’t call me that while we’re in school.”
“Why not?” Blakely asks.
“It’s respect, kiddo.” I’m not sure how I’m going to explain what that means to a five-year-old. Maybe I should just tell her to ask her parents. I’ll toss this one back on Declan and Kennedy.
“Oh, my mommy said respect is when you’re nice to people.”
Crosby smiles at my niece and, to my surprise, places her arm around her shoulders and hugs her to her side. “Your mommy is right. Using last names is also professional, and being your teacher is my job, so we have to stay professional while at school.”
“Okay, but when I see you not at school, do I call you Miss Crosby?” she asks.
A light chuckle falls from Crosby’s lips. “No, sweetie. If we’re not at the school or at a function for the school, you can just call me Crosby.”
“Okay, Crosby,” Blakely says, shoving another bite of pizza into her mouth.
Talking dies down after that while we all dive into our dinner. By the time we’re all claiming to be full, we have half of the meat lovers and over half of the pepperoni left to take home.
“Here are some refills. Can I get you anything else?” our waitress asks.
“Two boxes, please.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.” She places the check on the table, and I’m quick to grab it up before Crosby can get any ideas about paying.
“Let me help.” She reaches for her purse, but I cut her off.
“No. This was on me. We didn’t order anything extra with you being here.” I give her a pointed look, willing her to argue.
“Fine, thank you for dinner. I’ll get the tip.”
“Nope.”
“You should just let him get his way,” Blakely tells Crosby. “I heard my mommy tell my aunt Palmer that you have to pick your battles and that the Kincaid men are stubborn. I don’t know what that means, but my mommy is really smart, so I’d let him win.” She shrugs as if she didn’t just dole out adult-level advice to an adult, her teacher no less, and finishes off her milk.
“Did I just get schooled?” Crosby asks. Her lips are tilted in a grin.
“Yep.”
She shakes her head. “She’s something else.”
“My mommy says that too. You know what? Lots of people say that about me.” Blakely smiles like it’s a compliment, and it is. She’s a handful, but I wouldn’t have her any other way. Being the only grandchild for so long, she’s spoiled but doesn’t act like it, but she does talk and act well beyond her age.
“Thank you for dinner,” Crosby says, then turns to Blakely and gives her a hug. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.”
“Okay, Miss Crosby. I mean Crosby.” Blakely places the palm of her hand against her forehead. “I’m never gonna ’member that,” she mumbles.
Crosby and I laugh. “You’ll get it,” Crosby assures her. When she looks across the table at me, I want to beg her to stay. To let me drop Blakely off, and then we can go grab a drink, or just… I don’t know, hang out? I don’t really hang out, so that thought is staggering. “Thank you, Rushton.”
“Rush,” I remind her.
“Rush.” She smiles softly. “I’ll see you around.”
“You have that number I gave you,” I tell her as she slides out of the booth.
“Emergencies only.”
“It’s an emergency.”
She tilts her head to the side to study me. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
I grin up at her. “Use it.”
“We’ll see. Bye. Thank you again,” she says with a wave before walking away.
“She’s the coolest teacher ever,” Blakely tells me.
“Yeah, kiddo. I think she is too.” I stand and offer her my hand, and together we leave the restaurant. Blakely chatters on, but I’m barely listening. All I can think about is Crosby and how, for a non-date, it was the best one I’ve been on in, well… ever.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Crosby
I’m in the middle of folding a load of laundry—how I have so much for one person is beyond me—when my phone alerts me to a new message. I’ve been packing my phone with me like it’s an extra limb since having dinner with Rushton and Blakely last Friday night. He told me to use his number, and I’ve typed out about a hundred different messages only to delete them.
Rushton Kincaid is… a lot.
I mean that in the best way. He’s sexy and brooding, sweet and funny, and he’s not afraid to show any of those emotions, especially when it comes to his niece. He’s unlike any man I’ve ever dated, and there’s a reason for that. He’s too much of everything, and that intimidates me.