“A hottie potato. That’s what Mrs. Potato Head calls Mr. Potato Head.”
She said it with a straight face and such confidence that it took a moment for me to laugh. My heart somehow stretched a bit. How could I possible love this little girl one ounce more?
And . . . she had a point.
The jeans were my newest pair, the ones I usually saved for weekends when we went to the park or the grocery store. They actually fit properly instead of hanging loose like most of my wardrobe.
“Good choices, baby doll.” I ruffled her hair as I headed to the bathroom to change. “You might have a future in fashion consulting.”
“Like, duh,” she chirped as she hopped off the bed and scrambled out of my room, losing interest in whatever the adult she lived with was doing.
Ten minutes later, I emerged feeling more like myself than I had in the hour I’d spent agonizing over my closet. The henley did make my eyes look brighter, and the jeans actually showed that I had a shape underneath all the loose cardigans I usually wore. And my butt . . . I turned before the mirror and ran a hand over the now-tight fabric.
“Not bad for a hottie potato librarian,” I mumbled, chuckling again at the reference.
As one foot broached the doorway, Debbie appeared, her tone taking on a note that reminded me of a Sour Patch Kid. “Your hair looks funny.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Want me to fix it?”
I looked down at her, then back at my reflection. How much worse could it get?
“Sure. Go for it.”
She dragged her step stool over and climbed up beside me, her small fingers working through my hair with surprising gentleness. She smoothed down the worst of the cowlicks and somehow managed to make the whole mess look intentionally tousled instead of accidentally destroyed.
“There.” She beamed up at me. “Now you look like a daddy who’s going on a date instead of a daddy who stuck his head in the dryer.”
I laughed despite my nerves. “Thanks, Button. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The doorbell rang, and Debbie forgot all about my hair crisis.
“Julia!” She launched herself off the step stool and raced toward the front door, leaving me to give my reflection one final, worried glance.
Julia Martinez was seventeen, all legs and attitude, with perfectly straightened hair and lip gloss that caught the light like a ruby-red disco ball when she smiled. She went to the same high school where I worked, but somehow we’d never crossed paths until she’d answered my desperate Craigslist ad for a babysitter six months ago.
“Hey, Mr. J,” she said, popping her gum as she stepped inside. “You clean up nice. Hot date?”
Heat crept up my neck. “It’s just dinner.”
“Uh-huh. Sure it is.” She grinned, clearly not buying my attempt at casualness. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Won’t we, Debbie?”
Debbie had already attached herself to Julia’s side like a tiny barnacle, bouncing with excitement. “Can we do face masks? Pleeeeeeeeeeeease? And paint our nails? And watch the princess movie with the dragon?”
“Absolutely. We’re gonna have the best girls’ night ever.” Julia ruffled Debbie’s hair, and I felt a stab of something that might have been jealousy at how quickly I’d been forgotten.
“Bedtime is eight-thirty,” I started, but Julia waved me off.
“I know the drill, Mr. J. Eight-thirty bedtime, brush teeth, read one story, leave the night-light on, and if she has a nightmare about dinosaurs, remind her that they’re extinct and can’t hurt her.”
“And if she asks for water—”
“One cup, no more, or she’ll wet the bed.” Julia was already steering Debbie toward the living room. “Go. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Given that Julia was seventeen and had more dating experience than I did, that was a terrifyingly broad mandate.
I grabbed my keys and wallet, kissed the top of Debbie’s head, and headed for the door before I could lose my nerve.
