How to Fall For a Rockstar: a single mom, grumpy sunshine, small town, rockstar romantic comedy (Cas

Chapter 6

Babysitter – someone who should watch your child; not tell you how to be a parent

Fender

Isigh as I set my bass down. I hate to admit it, but it’s boring without Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum around. Plus, I’m worried about what trouble they’re getting into. Those two could find trouble in a convent. In fact, I think they have.

My stomach rumbles and I check my watch. Close enough to dinner time. I guess I’ll make some food. The thought of food immediately perks me up.

I’m rummaging through the refrigerator when the doorbell rings. My brow wrinkles. Who the hell is ringing the doorbell? Everyone I know in town would barge in without warning.

I shut the refrigerator and march to the front door.

“I’m really sorry,” Leia says the second I open the door.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her.

“I need to drive to Denver to pick something up for Brody, but I can’t find anyone to watch Isla. The community center is already closed. I can’t get ahold of Indigo or Virginia. Even the gossip gals – who promised they’d change my children’s diapers – are nowhere to be found.”

I scratch my beard in confusion. “Isla doesn’t wear diapers.”

Her daughter frowns. “I’m not a baby.”

I raise an eyebrow at Leia but she shakes her head. “It’s a long story.”

I wait but I guess she’s not telling me her long story.

She clears her throat. “Can you babysit Isla? It’s only for a few hours. I should be home by ten at the latest.”

I glance down at her daughter who looks up at me with wide eyes. Am I supposed to be able to resist those blue eyes? Can anyone resist them? I certainly can’t.

“Please, don’t make me beg.”

I want to hear Leia begging. Preferably while I’m buried deep inside her and she’s on the verge of release. My pants tighten and I grunt.

“Is your grunt a yes? I don’t know. I don’t speak grunt. Or grump for that matter. I should probably learn. Do they have grump interpretation courses?”

She’s rambling and flustered. It’s adorable. No, not adorable. She’s abandoning her child to a man she barely knows. There’s nothing adorable about this woman.

“I’ll watch her,” I growl.

Her shoulders fall with relief. “Thank you.”

She squeezes Isla’s shoulder. “Be good for Fender. Listen to what he says. No sassing at him.”

Isla grins. “I’m always good.”

Leia tweaks her daughter’s nose. “No, you’re not, but I love you no matter what.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Leia gives Isla a quick hug before waving and rushing off.

Isla bounces on her toes. “What should we do first? Play tag? Or maybe statues?” She glances behind me. “Where are Gibson and Jett?”

I grunt.

“They’re not here? No biggie. You’re my favorite.”

My heart warms at her words. I’d give the world for a daughter like Isla. But it wasn’t meant to be. I scowl at the reminder.

Isla marches into the house and scans the room. “Where are your pictures and extra pillows?”

It is pretty bare in here.

“Rental.”

“Oh yeah. Mom said you’re leaving as soon as your record is finished.”

The record is finished and we haven’t left yet. I don’t know why Gibson and Jett are still here. As for me? I have nowhere to go. Correction. Nowhere I want to go.

My stomach rumbles to remind me I was in the middle of figuring out dinner when Leia arrived with Isla in tow.

“Dinner.”

“You don’t talk much,” Isla says as she follows me to the kitchen. “I don’t mind. I can be quiet too. When I want to. I just don’t want to very much.”

I chuckle. This kid is a hoot.

“Toasted cheese sandwich?”

“I love toasted cheese sandwiches!” She claps. “I can help. I can butter the bread. Mom doesn’t let me use the stove, though.”

I place the bread on the kitchen counter along with a knife and the butter.

Isla grabs the knife and begins to butter the bread. “We came to Winter Falls from San Diego. Are you from San Diego, too?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing to prattle on. “I didn’t like San Diego very much. At least, not after my grandparents died. When they were alive, we lived with them.”

In other words, Leia relied on her parents to raise her child.

“But they died when I was little. Before I started school. They were old.” She shrugs. “It makes sense I guess since they were Mom’s grandparents, my big-grandparents.”

“I think you mean great-grandparents.”

Her nose wrinkles as she thinks about it. “Yeah. I guess. Great-grandparents. I don’t know my grandparents. My mom’s parents.”

“What about your dad’s parents?”

“What about them?”

“They’re your grandparents, too.”

“I guess.”

“Where’s your dad?” I ask when she doesn’t elaborate and because I’m curious. What happened to the man Leia made this child with? Where is he? Why isn’t he here tending to their child while Leia works herself to death?

“I don’t know.”

Her answer brings up even more questions. But I don’t ask any of them. Pumping Isla for information about Leia is wrong. Plus, I don’t want information about the firecracker next door.

I grab the bread from Isla. “I think we have enough butter since you used the entire stick.”

She giggles. “Did not.”

I place two slices of bread in the pan and top them with two slices of cheese each before placing more bread on top.

“Drink?” I ask Isla as I open the refrigerator.

“Water, please. I’m not allowed juice or soda. And milk is gross.” She wrinkles up her nose.

I grab a gallon of milk and wave it at her. “Milk it is.”

She feigns retching. “Yuck.”

“Milk helps you grow.”

“Mom already says I grow faster than a beanpole. She blames my dad. I guess he was tall. I don’t know. I don’t remember him. I saw a picture of him in Mom’s yearbook once, but he was sitting down.”

“Did your dad go to high school with your mom?” I guess I’m not done asking questions about her dad after all.

“I guess. Mom doesn’t talk about him. She gets mad when I ask questions.”

She does? Why? I force those thoughts away. I don’t want to know.

“Go sit at the table.”

Isla doesn’t stop chattering away the entire time we eat our dinner. I’m surprised she manages to eat her sandwich.

When we finish, she picks up her plate without me asking and takes it to the sink with her glass.

“What now?”

I shrug. I don’t exactly have any children’s games in the house.

“We can play cards,” she suggests.

“What game?” I ask as I assume she doesn’t mean poker. The band plays a ton of poker when we’re bored on the road.

“Snap!”

“What’s snap?” I ask although I know the game.

“Don’t worry.” She pats my arm. “It’s easy. I’ll explain.”

I dig around in the kitchen drawers until I find a deck of cards.

“I’m going to win!” Isla squeals. She can win all she wants if her winning makes her this happy. Seeing her happy makes me happy.

“Cheat,” I say fifteen minutes later when she has almost the entire deck on her pile.

“Don’t be a sore loser. Mom says sore losers don’t get dessert. Do you want dessert?”

I grin as I stand. What a little conniver. “I have cookies.”

I find the package of chocolate chip cookies and bring them to the living room. Isla grabs the television remote control.

“Mom says too much television rots the brain, but I’m allowed an hour of TV before I go to bed.” She widens her eyes at me. “Do you want to watch TV?”

As if I can say no now. I grunt.

“You grunt a lot. It’s probably why Mom calls you Mr. Grumpy Pants. I don’t think she means your pants are grumpy. I think she means you’re a grump.”

She switches on the television. “Do you watch this show?”

I don’t know what this show is.

“Do you have a television on your touring bus? Or do you read? I can’t read while I’m in the car. I get car sick. Mom listens to podcasts. They’re boring. I usually fall asleep. How do you sleep in your touring bus?”

She increases the volume on the television. “Commercial’s over.”

To my surprise, she’s actually quiet during the show. I glance over to check on her and realize she’s fallen asleep.

There aren’t any blankets on the couch, so I grab one off of my bed and cover her with it. When I sit down next to her, she cuddles into my side.

I sigh as I gaze down at her. Cuddling with a daughter of my own is everything I ever wanted but it will never happen. Women always betray you.