I answered politely that we would swing by soon.
It was my intention to see Hadley when we visited the bakery. Since I’m not waiting until tomorrow, well, I’m here at the park hoping that she’ll show up. I’m still thinking about my earlier conversation with Paige.
What else was there to say? Was she suggesting that we hire her as a nanny? I’d love to offer Hadley the job—after running a background check on her—but we can’t. According to the will’s stipulations, we can ask a friend to help us take care of our kids, but we can’t pay for the services because they fall into housework. Or was it housekeeping?
Whatever. There has to be another way to help her.
Why do I want to help Hadley? I don’t even know. It’s not like she’s a friend or a family member; she’s a woman I met two nights ago on a park bench. Do I find her attractive? Yes. There’s no ulterior motive behind this wish to make things better—other than she’s hot.
This is insane. I should go back home. I place my palms on my thighs getting ready to stand up when I hear her voice.
“I should charge you for using my bench.”
When I turn around, I see her approaching me, her hair pulled up into a ponytail. She wears a pink sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.
“It doesn’t say Hadley’s property. We’re becoming friends,” I pause. “You should let me borrow it.”
“It does,” she answers.
“Is that so?”
She nods a couple of times. “Well, it would if whoever renovated the place hadn’t sanded it and restored it.” She jabs a finger pointing at me. “Plus, you were rude the night we met. I’m still not sure if I like you.”
“I’m sorry for my behavior.” She’s right, I wasn’t pleasant. It was a combination of lack of sleep, my entire family almost dying, and my son running toward a stranger. Since I don’t want to burst her bubble by telling her that we changed all the equipment and this bench is brand new, I ask, “How’s your dad?”
Taking a seat, she pulls out her phone and shows me a picture of a man in his forties with a little girl wearing pigtails. “Not like this. He’s battered up, depressed, and anxious. Mom never told me they fired him. Well, they didn’t renew his contract. He has been out of the job for almost a year. I don’t understand why Mom didn’t tell me. Their insurance is a joke. They are only covering twenty-five percent of the medical bills. He’s been in the hospital for two weeks.”
She breathes a couple of times. The two lines between her brows smooth out. She looks at her hands, then at me. “I have a plan. If I take a few graveyard shifts at The Lodge and work at the factory during the day, I might be able to finish paying by the time I turn fifty.”
“What’s going to happen to your career?”
“I killed it when I posted that stupid picture of my ex-boyfriend.” She sighs long and loud. “It’s not like my career matters. They need me. This is what you do when your family needs you. You pull yourself together and do the best you can to keep them afloat. They’d do the same for me. We’re The Three Musketeers.”
That’s a foreign concept to me. When I was growing up, if I needed my father, he’d ignore me. When my brother Carter got sick, he didn’t even reach out to us, knowing that the Aldridges’ motto is: you’re on your fucking own. We’re no musketeers.
“I’m going back tomorrow to pick him up,” she continues. “I spoke to his doctor who said it’s okay to take him with me. I talked to the contractor earlier today to see if he could help me modify the house. After he gave me the quote, I almost offered to pay him with a kidney because I don't have that kind of money. I could go to Happy Springs and audition at the strip club.”
As hot as it’d be to watch her strip, I’m sure we can find a better solution. “What can I do for you?”
“Sorry, I’m taking up your time. Tonight we’re supposed to talk about you.” She changes the subject. “Tell Hadley what’s keeping you up.”
Just like that, the conversation is closed, and her face is sporting a smile. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem fake. She’s genuinely happy. How can she be? She reminds me of Paige, who always has nice words and a big smile for all her customers. It upsets me that she does so much for the town, and the town isn’t doing shit for her or her family.
“Is it your career? Are you retiring?” she questions.
I’m guessing she wants to forget about her problems for now. “Off the record?” I say, giving in.
She chuckles. “I’m not a reporter. It’s not like I’m going to sell the story. Hockey fans adore learning about you guys, but it’s not like celebrities. The stories don’t sell well. Now, if it was your brother Beacon.”
“He’s not up for discussion,” I say firmly, stopping her before she tries to get any information about him.
“I’m not discussing him. What I was going to say is that anything about him would sell. He’s the guy you would want to protect.” She sighs. “I’m desperate but not an asshole.”
I could tell her that I’m protective of Beac. Instead, I say, “I’m not sure what’s going to happen next year. I love playing, but I can’t take another hit on my knee.”
“Can you bubble wrap it before every game?” she grins, shaking her head. “It’s okay to want to do other things. The average person changes careers every ten to fifteen years.”
My heart skips a fucking beat. My heart never does that. Did she just quote averages? A woman after my own heart. And maybe this is why I came to the park. It’s so easy to talk to her, it feels like we're on the same frequency.
“What do you think I should do if I retire?”
She gives me a once-over with her eyes. “You could become a model.”
“So people can ogle at me?”
“I would buy a few pictures of you, blow them up and cover my walls with them.”
I snort. That’s ludicrous. “Posing for pictures sounds painful. Any other options?”
“You can be an actor,” she continues. “Use those good looks. The only professional hazard would be kissing actresses on command.”
She barks out a laugh.
“Why is that funny?”
“It’s just funny,” she says teasingly, as if she holds onto a special secret. She drags her tongue across her bottom lip, grinning playfully. “Unless you don’t know how to kiss.”
That challenging smirk has a strange effect on me. My lips crave hers. I want a real taste of Hadley, want to kiss her like she’s never been kissed.
“But I do,” I say, threading my fingers through hers and bringing her hand to my lips. “Well, I used to know how to do it. It’s been years. I would have to practice,” I whisper as I softly place kisses along her knuckles.
That throaty noise coming from her pushes me to do something I haven’t done in years.
I reach the back of her neck with my free hand, and I lean closer to her, close enough to feel her breath warming my skin.
“Can I show you?” I dare to ask because I don’t want to just take it.
“Can I kiss you, Had?”