After a minute, Maddox got to his feet and hitched up his sweatpants, like, Okay, I’m good.
Garrett held out a closed fist, and to Brooke’s surprise, Maddox bumped his baby fist to it.
“How did you do that?” she demanded.
Garrett shrugged. “I run the soccer program at the rec center and do a lot of the coaching. Maddox loves soccer.”
She was more than a little boggled by this grown-up, easygoing, and—dammit—sexy-as-hell Garrett as he headed to the stairs. “I’ll be working if you need anything else,” he said, and then was gone.
“I can do it,” she said to the room. “I’ve got this.”
Note to self: She didn’t have this. Not even close.
Mindy’s texts had included a whole lot of rules, including the correct way to load her dishwasher (complete with a diagram), how to manage the overwhelming amount of laundry three kids generated, and also what could and couldn’t be in their lunch. “Damn,” Brooke muttered, reading through the texts. “You’re not supposed to have anything white.”
Millie, hands raised like a freshly scrubbed surgeon, pointed at the last of the McMuffin Brooke was eating. “You’re going to be in trouble.”
Brooke started to blow that off, but suddenly remembered how much it had frustrated her when her parents had given her some arbitrary rule and then blithely ignored the rule themselves. So even though she wanted these kids to grow up and be self-sufficient in a way Mindy wasn’t really great at, Brooke wouldn’t take away her sister’s authority. “You’re right,” she said, and set the rest of her sandwich aside.
She’d eat it later, when they were at camp, like a responsible adult.
By some miracle, they eventually got out the door and on their way to camp—which was easier said than done, since all three programs started at the same time, but at completely different spots in Wildstone.
She was starting to appreciate Mindy’s problem.
Millie got dropped off first. “Remember, be kind to everyone,” Brooke told her. “Including Charlotte.”
Millie shrugged. “All I can do is try my best.”
“A-plus for using my words against me,” Brooke said dryly.
Millie smiled cheerfully.
By the time Brooke got everyone where they needed to be, hit up the grocery store to buy more “colors,” put the groceries away, and got all the blankets and towels and bedding washed and dried after last night’s puke-mageddon, it was nearly time to start picking up the kids. Leaning against the dryer in exhaustion as she waited for the last load to finish, she worked her way through a packet of SweeTarts that she’d found in Millie’s bedroom.
Garrett appeared. He’d shed his leather jacket and added a tool belt, slung low on his lean hips. He seemed far more delectable than the SweeTarts, and that was saying something. Then she remembered her list, her reason for being there. She opened her mouth to start what was sure to be a very awkward conversation, when she realized he was looking her over, a small smile on his lips. This prompted her to turn and glance at her reflection in the laundry room window. Her hair looked like she’d come out the wrong end of an explosion. Her face was pale, and she realized she hadn’t managed a shower or change of clothing yet. She looked as insane as Mindy had when she’d shown up at Brooke’s door . . . Had that been just two days ago? It felt like years.
Garrett reached out to take a SweeTart, and she clutched the packet to her chest. She needed those SweeTarts. She deserved those SweeTarts. Before she could tell him so, there came a buzzing sound. She really hoped it was an oncoming brain embolism, but it turned out to be Garrett’s phone. He looked at the screen, then answered with a soft “Hey.” He paused and listened. “Sure. See you then.” He disconnected and slid the phone away again.
She waited for him to explain.
He didn’t.
“Hot date?” she asked with what she hoped sounded like casual interest and not nosiness.
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. Right. None of her business. She was racking her brain on how to start the difficult conversation she needed to have and came up with nothing.
“Don’t you have to get the kids?” he asked into the awkward silence.
Crap! “Yes! Gotta run!” Ignoring his low laugh, she raced out of there.
Forty-five minutes later, they were back, and there was no sign of Garrett. She didn’t know if she was relieved or . . . not relieved. She’d barely set her backpack down when Millie came to her, face worried. “I can’t find my candy.”
Uh-oh. “I’m thinking your mom probably doesn’t even allow candy in this house,” Brooke said.
“But my camp boyfriend gave me a bag of SweeTarts. They were under my pillow.”
Yep, that’s right where Brooke had found them when changing the sheets. Just before she’d eaten them. “You have a camp boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“You’re eight.”
“He’s eight, too.”
“Does your mom know?”
“She told me I couldn’t have a boyfriend.”
“I’m here to second that,” Brooke said firmly.
“And Daddy said I couldn’t have a boyfriend until he was old or dead, whichever came second.”
Brooke nodded. “I second that, too.”
“But he’s not really my boyfriend.”
“Good,” Brooke said. “So why did you call him that?”
“So he’d give me his candy.”
Oh boy. “Honey, that’s not cool.”
“I know. But I told him the truth, that I only liked him cuz of his candy, and he gave it to me anyway. Do you think a bad guy came in and stole it?”
No, not a bad guy. A bad aunt.
“Will you help me look?” Millie asked.
“Sure,” Brooke said, just as she caught sight of Garrett coming through to refill his water bottle, a mocking—and annoying—smirk on his face. He waited until Millie was head deep into the clothes hamper, searching, before he mouthed a single word to Brooke.
Monster.
Then he walked out of the room. She did her best to shrug it off as she and Millie “searched” the house for the “stolen” candy. They were in the hallway, Millie melting down and Brooke close to doing the same—how the hell did Mindy do all this and work the smoothie shop thirty hours a week?—when Garrett reappeared and tossed a packet of candy to Millie.
SweeTarts.
He’d replaced them. His gaze met Brooke’s. He was still smiling, but as whenever he looked at her, the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Monster . . .
He’d been joking, but she’d taken the word to heart because she knew that it was actually true.
Chapter 4
“Sometimes you just need to lie in bed and rest for a couple of years.”
Mindy’s plan had been to sleep in Brooke’s condo for three days straight. She managed two days, not leaving the bed except for the important things, like when the remote fell off the nightstand, or to answer the door for Tommy, who’d marathoned Law & Order: SVU with her, and then dragged her out to eat at the most amazing places. She’d told herself that whatever calories she consumed while on brain vacay didn’t count. And for the first time in her life, she’d been grateful for Linc’s one-text-a-day rule. It meant she hadn’t yet had to admit she’d sent the kids off with the sister she hadn’t seen in a year.