I cannot do this.
I’ve felt the unbelievable highs and lows of parenthood a dozen times over the last seventy-two hours, and what I’ve come to terms with is the cold, hard truth—something is going to have to give. And it might just be baseball.
My last shot is this Hail Mary from Hunter, my former teammate. He got called up to the majors last week and came to Sweetwater to pick up his truck and meet Holly. He also gave me a tip on a great nanny. I thought it was strange that the woman he recommended was named Lindsey. I haven’t stopped thinking about the angel from the grocery store since we locked eyes during my diaper meltdown. But what are the odds this Lindsey isthatLindsey?
I shot her a text right away, and we agreed to meet for coffee this morning to see if we can work something out. But she’s tenminutes late, and with every passing second, my doubts grow that she’s going to show at all.
Holly coos in her carrier beside me, so I tuck the thin blue blanket around her body a little tighter, then let her hold on to my finger. She’s gotten into gripping things lately—my hair, the collar of my T-shirt, my face. She’s fascinated by my fingers, always pulling one into her tiny mouth.
The chimes sound at the coffee shop’s door, pulling my attention away from my daughter in time to catch sight of my angel and two very loud, incredibly hyper toddlers rolling their way into the shop. I swallow hard as I scooch out of the booth in time to catch one of the boys as he launches into my side as if I’m a piece of playground equipment.
“I got him! Riggs, get his feet!” The other boy wraps his arms around my legs as he worms around my feet on the floor.
“Deacon, get off of him. Riggs, off the floor. You’re filthy now. Oh, my God, boys!” Lindsey blows up at the loose hairs that have fallen over her face, then shrugs, offering me a crooked grin while peeling one of her children from my right oblique.
“What’s fill-fee?” The boy around my feet crinkles his nose as he cranes his neck to look up at his mom.
“Dirty, Riggs. The floor is dirty. Get up. Just . . . ugh!” Her smile morphs into a strained jawline as she lifts the boy from the brightly colored linoleum, all while wrangling what seems to be his twin into the booth seat. The two of them settle in finally and pull menus from the wooden holder pushed against the window.
“So, in case you were wondering, yes . . . we did meet already. And I completely understand if you decide all ofthisis too much for you to be in business with.”She blows up at her hair again as she motions her hand toward the side of the booth where her boys are kicking their feet with enough gusto to somehow shift the large double-sided booth backward a few inches every time.
I chuckle and hold her gaze for what feels like several seconds but is probably less than a blink. Holly’s bubbling cry kicks in a moment later, and reality crashes right back in.
“I’m sorry. I’m sure it was the zoo I brought in that woke her up,” Lindsey says as I lunge into the booth to scoop her from her carrier and cradle her against my chest.
“No, I was gambling with time. She slept most of the night for once, so this morning nap was bonus time.” I feel her bottom as I bounce on my feet and try to hush her back to sleep, but every time I lift my heels seems to only upset her more.
“Can I . . .” Lindsey reaches toward me, and I transfer my crying daughter into her waiting arms. Within seconds, Holly is staring up at Lindsey with wide eyes, her quivering mouth frozen on the verge of a smile.
“I swear I’m not really magic. Sometimes a change of position, or a different view, is enough to distract them from the fact they’re upset. Doesn’t it?”
Lindsey drops her face close to Holly’s and blows raspberries with her lips as she bends her knees and quickly pops back up into a full stand. I’m not sure if it’s the motion, the funny sounds, or the exaggerated expressions that have Holly rapt—maybe it’s a combination—but whatever the magic, it seems to work instantaneously.
“When can you start?”
I chuckle when Lindsey looks at me with a smirk, but I’m not kidding. I’ll send this superhero a deposit right now if she’s willing to take the gig and buy me an ounce of breathing room.
“You got a car seat in that beast out there?” She tilts her head toward the window. My Suburban is parked outside. It’s a nice ride, and I’m sure it looks like I’m swimming in cash, but that SUV was my home for my last year of college. It was the only damn thing my mother had left when she died, and I’m sure it was bought with drug money. Something good should come myway after my shitty childhood, so when the state of California notified me after probate, I picked up the keys, drove my ass back to Iowa, and never looked back.
“I got a car seat, yeah,” I say, exhaling with my words. I think that’s relief I feel. Or exhaustion. Perhaps both.
“I can start today, then. As long as you don’t mind this sweetheart being around a couple of terrors, I mean toddlers.” She glances to the booth where her boys are now taking turns smacking each other on the top of the head with the menus.
“I play minor league baseball. Your boys seem more grown up than the guys she’s been around in the clubhouse. Believe me.”
“Hmm, probably true,” she says, twisting her lips into a crooked, tight smirk.
She shifts her gaze to me and holds out a hand, and we shake on the deal . . . despite the fact we haven’t discussed a lick of detail. Hunter said he filled her in on my story, aka how I ended up here with a baby, but he doesn’t know all the particulars. Hell, neither do I, honestly. I’m sure Lindsey and I will have those conversations, and hopefully she won’t judge me too hard. Truth be told, I’d pay her the balance of my signing bonus to help me get through this season. But leading with that probably isn’t the best negotiating tactic.
“I can pay you for today, of course. Or for the week? I don’t really know how this whole thing works.”Yeah, I’m bad at bargaining. They should have agents for this stuff.
“Weekly would be great. Let’s say a thousand every Monday, and extra for overnights. And I’ll need a key to your place. And access to the Suburban, of course.”
I arch a brow.
“And why the Suburban?” I can see her minivan parked outside. She has plenty of room to haul the three kids wherever she needs to take them.
“No real reason. I just want to drive it. Test out the sound system. See how it thumps. You know . . .” She holds my gaze for a beat, then cracks into heavy laughter.
