Chapter Eight
“Know that there are days when you won’t be your best self. No one is their best self, one-hundred percent of the time.”
—Lee Ann, New Jersey, United States
April
“Are you for real?” April asked, wetting her lips a little.
Because he hadn’t met Kitty yet. Or read the Amazonian mud soap contract for her bed-and-breakfast guests she’d had tipsy attorney Sadie draft over rum and berry-punch juice boxes.
He also hadn’t really spent time with April’s children yet. Or discovered all the ways they could ruin a good suit. That had been one of the final nails in the coffin of her marriage—when Kent’s favorite suit got grape Kool-Aid spilled all over the sleeve. He’d just looked up at her and said he was done.
Of course, then, she’d also found out about the other woman. So it was probably more than the sugary drink mix spill. The thought made her stomach ache, so she stopped thinking about it.
“I most definitely amfor real,” Jack said, all for-real seriousness.
She squinted at him. He was clearly the king of evaluating her, but she was a queen in her own right and she had his number, too.
And because she had his number…
She didn’t believe it. He was, most definitely,notfor real. Because if he was for real, he would already be out the door to hop on the next plane to LAX with a voided contract in hand. Ready to run a search for a woman who was thetruecalm mom.
But he was here. And he was trying to help her fix her screw-up. Even if she had no intention of following through withPractical Parentingin two weeks, the little tickle in her gut soured. She’d been so damn excited when she’d landed the interview.
She briefly shut her eyes.
Now she was so damn tired.
“Are you with me on this?” he asked, adding a dash of pressure.
“Fine.Fine. If you want to stick around, I won’t stop you.” She opened her eyes and shrugged, like she was laissez-faire about it. “But prerecorded is where I’m at.”
“We’ll get moving on the AprilLiveplan.” He smiled, and she had a hunch he was about to be spending a lot of time with her. “First thing.”
“I think you mean the AprilPrerecordedplan.” She countered.
“I meant what I said.”
“We’ll see.” She briefly calculated how long it would take her to speed scrub her entire life, finally settling on, “Tomorrow. Let’s start tomorrow.”
“Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today,” he said, apparently also ready to jump into the greeting card business with Simone.
“Unless you have a whole lot to do in between,” April said.
“How about, I get settled across the street. Then I’ll check in with you. We’ll come up with a mutually agreeable compromise.” Jack’s lips spread into a grin as he held his hand to her.
“Your compromise fairy dust doesn’t work on me, Jack Gibson.” April did her best impression of Harmony diva. “I’m immune.”
“We’ll see,” he said, tossing that damn imaginary fairy dust all over her.
She had a feeling they’d be starting today. And not tonight, either—todaytoday. Which was why she panicked for a split second, realizing that all of this was too much too soon.
Mayonnaise took that moment to lumber into the living room, tail held high while the tips of her basset hound ears trailed along the edge of the floor. She seemed more than a little put out about the trek into the living room. But, apparently, she was ready to meet Jack.
Mayonnaise gave him a good look. And then, if a basset hound could grin, Mayonnaise did just that.
She waddled to Jack, a little more skip to her step than April had seen in the past year. Perhaps all it took was a guy in a suit ready to play Mr. Fix-It to get Mayonnaise all skippy again.
