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The interview might be a bust, or it might give the podcast a few good sound bites. More than that, Bailey hoped Jennifer would share the missing piece of information, a clue lost to time but found with a fresh set of eyes.

Matt twisted in her arms and pressed against the window. “Wes is here.”

His truck rumbled to the portico and parked. Should she let Matt call Wes by his first name? Mr. Wes? None of Matt’s preschool teachers and friends’ parents were on a first-name basis with her son. Wes acted strangely at Mr. Wilder. But calling him Wes seemed to work for everyone. She shouldn’t overthink it. “Be good for Grandma and Grandpa, okay?”

“Uh-huh, but I’m gonna be with Mrs. Lacey the whole time.”

“I know. But if you see them, be polite. I’ll be back late tomorrow night.”

“I know.”

The doorbell rang, and Kimbra’s house manager and Matt’s semi-regular nanny, Mary Lacey, answered the door as Bailey walked toward the formal entryway.

“Mr. Wilder is here,” Mrs. Lacey announced, then smiled at Matt. “Which means our day of fun officially begins.”

Wes strode into the foyer. Dark jeans covered his long legs. A fitted button-down shirt hugged his broad chest, sleeves rolled up his thick, muscled arms. Even his hair looked like he’d put effort into it. Bailey should have appreciated that he was taking the interview seriously, but she couldn’t steal her eyes away. The man was a walking billboard for tall, dark, and handsome. Even the scruff on his face was close-clipped and mouthwateringly enticing.

He greeted her with a glance that ran over her like hot coals, but a genuine smile brightened his face when he spotted Matt and lifted his fist. “Hey, bud. What are you getting into today?”

Matt hesitated before bumping Wes’s fist. “We’re going to feed goats and chickens.”

“I didn’t know you had goats and chickens here.” Wes made a show of looking toward the giant windows in the formal living room where they’d been waiting.

“No,” Matt giggled. “At the zoo.”

“Petting zoo,” Bailey qualified.

“I’m jealous. I’ve never petted a goat, but I’ve heard them oink. Which is almost as good as petting a goat.”

“Goats don’t oink,” Matt announced.

Wes furrowed his brow in concentration. “Pretty sure they do. Goats definitely oink.”

Matt giggled. “No. That’s pigs.”

“Bailey, back me up on this. Goats oink. Pigs squawk, or something. Chirp, maybe?”

Matt bounced on his toes, still laughing. “No.”

Wes Wilder was being cute. He was using his deadpan dryness to make her kid laugh. It was almost too much for her. Her cheeks hurt from smiling as if she hadn’t used those muscles for a grin that big, and her insides twirled. “I’m not qualified to get into this debate.”

“Mom.” But Matt was unfazed, his attention on Wes. “Do you have a phone?”

Wes cocked his head, unsure where this would go. He obviously hadn’t been around enough kids lately. “Yeah. Why?”

“Get it out,” Matt ordered, far more comfortable with Wes than he had been thirty seconds ago.

Wes dutifully obeyed, unaware that a five-year-old was about to school him with the internet.

“Open YouTube.”

Realization dawned. Wes cracked up, knowing he was busted, but he kept playing along. “All right.” He guided Matt into the living room and plopped onto a couch as if he’d been in the Cosgrove living room a hundred times before.

“Let me see.” Matt craned to look at the cell phone, clambering onto the couch next to Wes.

Bailey and Mrs. Lacey trailed them, both amused.

“Go to the search,” Matt instructed. “Look up goat.”