Most people wouldn’t answer, but most people don’t have the kind of time on their hands that I do.
“Hello?”
“Summer? It’s Everett.”
His voice is a shock to my system. I sit up straighter and grin, deciding to play with him like I intended to do when I thought this was a solicitor.
“I’m sorry, have we met?”
He lets out an exasperated grunt. “Our kids go to school together.”
I forgot I still haven’t corrected him that Henry isn’t my child.
“There are a lot of parents coming and going from that school.”
“It’s Rhett Dawson,” he growls.
I love that I can smile and he can’t see it. I also love that he called himself by his first name to me. Feels like we’re making some sort of progress even if I still use his stage name. “Oh! Rhett! Hi! Are you running late for something? You sound rather breathless.”
“This was a mistake.”
“No! Wait! I’m kidding. What can I do for you?”
He sighs. “My sister was going to watch Quinn this afternoon, but she got caught up in a meeting.”
“What about Caroline?”
“What about Caroline,” he parrots. “Thanks to you, she thinks you’re my nanny, remember? Are you going to help me out or not?”
“I’ll have Henry with me. Will that be a problem?”
“I figured. Will you have a car seat for Quinn? I don’t have time to bring you one.”
I didn’t think about that either. “Uh… I think Julia has an extra booster seat Henry can ride in. Quinn can use the one with the harness—she’s younger.”
“Julia?”
“My roommate.”
“Do you remember where I live?”
“Something tells me the reporters on Harrison Boulevard will lure me there if I don’t.” I snort.
His silence tells me he doesn’t appreciate my humor.
“There’s a hidden key beneath the third solar lantern on the left side of the backyard. That’ll unlock the French doors in the back.”
“I do love a good treasure hunt!”
There’s another long pause after I speak. I don’t know why it’s such a thrill to know I’m getting under his skin.
“It shouldn’t be any more than an hour.” He sounds even more annoyed than when we started this phone call.
“Take your time, cowboy. I’ve got it covered,” I say.
“Do you? Because it doesn’t sound like you’re in your car. It’s three fifteen.”
Shit. I wasn’t paying attention to the time. I slide off the down comforter, snatching the twin hair ties from my nightstand and twisting my hair up into haphazard space buns.
