Luckily, before she could answer, Maeve’s pager went off. Brodie was about to quip,No phones at the table, when she picked it up and said, “Oh, no!”
“That means Mom’s gotta work,” Zoey said matter-of-factly.
ChapterTen
Maeve had never been more relieved to be called in for an emergency. She stood up from the table. “Sorry, Brodie, I’m afraid we’ll have to do this again another time. Zoey, I’ll call Carole, okay?”
“Oh, I hate Carole,” Zoey moaned.
“You donothate Carole.”
“She makes me wash my face with a flannel.”
Brodie sniggered.
Maeve threw him a glare. It was bad enough him dazzling Zoey with his Taylor Swift tickets—she couldn’t imagine the reaction when her daughter found out about Silver Sky—but there he was, all crease-eyed and chilled sharing a joke with Zoey, arm looped casually over the back of his chair. She had tried to convince herself that she could handle this, that she could be mature enough to let him into their lives, but she wanted him gone. Out the house. Out of her space. He was too handsome, too funny, too laid-back. He was on a different stratum of society to her, one with money and power and chiseled good looks. What did he want? What was he planning to do? She wanted him to disappear back to his waterfront Malibu mansion that she’d seen pictures of inArchitectural Digestand that had original Keith Haring prints on the walls and a snazzy, temperature-controlled wine room.
“I can babysit,” he said, eyes smiling as if nothing could be easier or more obvious.
“No.” She replied too quickly.
“Yes!” said Zoey at the same time. Then scrunched up her nose at her mom and said, “Why not?” She turned to Brodie. “We could watch Harry Potter.”
“Only if it’s one of the first four,” he said without missing a beat. “I haven’t finished reading book five yet.”
Zoey giggled.
Maeve realized she was doomed.
Her daughter scrabbled off her chair to go and set up the TV. On her way she stopped and said, “He can do it—babysit—can’t he, Mom? Please.” She held her hands together pleadingly.
Brodie watched, smiling dazzlingly from his chair. Innocently casual, the ball now in Maeve’s court.
She wanted to say no again. Every fiber of her being screamed no. But she had to be rational. He was a Carter. They were good people. He was Zoey’s father—whether she liked it or not. He was, underneath it all—maybe—the same guy from school who everyone loved, who charmed the teachers and the lunch ladies and was the star quarterback but also the lead in the school play, and who sang for the old people at the charity Thanksgiving meal. He was Brodie Carter, not the Big Bad Wolf.
But still. She wanted him to go.
She thought of all the times she had imagined something like this happening and how in every scenario she’d pictured herself cool as a cucumber, confident in her own role as Zoey’s mother and humbly open to this man coming into her child’s life. What she hadn’t counted on, however, were her own involuntary emotions. The insecurity when he came armed with extravagant perfectly-pitched gifts, the terror when she realized how much money—and therefore power—he had at his fingertips. But most of all, the envy, the bone-deep jealousy inside her when he made Zoey laugh so effortlessly. She could look into the future and see the relationship that they’d build, shooting off to Taylor Swift concerts in his open-top car while posting it all on YouTube. He was Fun Dad.
She didn’t want to be jealous.
She needed some space to think. The world she had so tightly controlled was unraveling before her eyes. “Let me go and get changed and think about it.”
Once in her bedroom, she called Bella. “Would you trust Brodie Carter to babysit your kid?”
“Yes, of course,” Bella replied, no hesitation. Then she paused. “Why? Is Brodie looking after Zoey?”
“Kind of,” Maeve replied, screwing up her face, not ready for questions. “Can you not mention this conversation to Logan, please?”
“Okay—are you all right, Maeve?”
“Fine,” she sighed. “I’m fine. Gotta go.”
Maeve went back downstairs, changed and ready for work. “Okay, you can babysit.”
Zoey whooped.
“But there are conditions.”
