Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Keats
What’s that bullshit about the best-laid plans?
I had my day planned out to the last second, but that was blown to hell when Berk called as I stepped out of the shower.
He asked if I could watch Stevie because she had a mild fever when she woke up, and he didn’t want to send her to school.
The regular sitter had an appointment booked. I’m next on the list, so I lucked out.
Instead of spending my day chasing after new clients, I played video games with my niece while she teased me about the glitter she saw in my ear.
I cooked a frozen pizza I found in Berk’s freezer for lunch, and I sneezed my way through Sully taking a nap in my lap before I piggybacked Stevie to my townhouse for the afternoon.
Berk would have taken the day off to be with his daughter, but he had a meeting with Nicholas Wolf and his agent.
The novelist is looking for a new publishing house to work with, and Berk made the shortlist. I’m proud to say that my friendship with Nicholas’s brother, Liam, played a part in that.
Signing Nicholas would take Berk’s business to the next level. I want that for him.
I told my brother to make sure he got his ass home before six because I have plans at seven. Once he assured me he’d be home at least two hours before that, I sent Maren a text telling her she had the day off.
I told her to meet me at Nova at quarter to seven.
Securing a table at one of the most popular restaurants in Manhattan at such short notice is easy when you’re friends with the owner. Tyler Monroe launched Nova a few years ago, and it’s found its niche in the crowded culinary market of New York City.
It never hurts to have connections in the hospitality industry when you make a living wining and dining elite athletes.
“I wish someone would convince my dad to get me a phone.” Stevie tosses me some serious side-eye from where she’s curled up in a chair next to the fireplace.
She made a mad dash for the library as soon as she kicked off her sneakers after we bolted inside.
In addition to this library and the massive living room with attached dining room, this townhouse has a chef’s kitchen, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a self-contained one bedroom unit on the upper floor.
I purchased it when Layna was first diagnosed because I thought my brother and his family could live on the lower two floors while I took up residence on the top floor. I wanted them close.
It never dawned on me that Berk would use the money he inherited from our grandfather to buy a townhouse a few blocks away. Layna had a dream to decorate her own home, so Berk made it happen. He moved his family out of the cramped two-bedroom apartment they were renting.
They made memories in the five-bedroom home that Berk and Stevie live in now.
Living on the Upper West Side in a house that’s way too fucking big for me was never on my life’s plan list, but I like it here.
Stevie drops her gaze to the Hemingway book in her hands. I stocked up on short stories about zombies and curious kid detectives, but Stevie always goes for the classics when she visits me.
I have no idea if she’s reading the book or admiring the dust jacket.
“Your dad said no to a phone because he thinks you’re too young,” I remind her. “Give it a few months and then ask him again.”
She turns to face me. “If you asked him for me, he might say yes.”
“In what universe would Berk say yes to me and not you?” I lean back into the soft leather of the couch I’m sitting on.
“He said yes when you wanted to buy me a piano.”
This kid has an answer to everything, and in this instance, she’s right.
“I wanted to teach you how to play,” I point out. “Your dad was pissed that you snuck out and came here to practice, so I had to buy you a piano, Stevie.”
“You swore.” A smile brightens her face. “You owe a hundred to our charity.”
Our charity.
There isn’t an eight-year-old kid on this earth who should be as invested in raising money for an organization as Stevie is. The Layna Morgan Foundation is co-run by Layna’s parents and my brother. It offers financial help to women battling cancer.
I have no doubt that Stevie will be at the helm as soon as she’s legally old enough.
“I’m good for it.” I smile.
She bounces her foot in the air. “Do you think I’ll always remember her?”
My gaze wanders to a framed picture of Berk, Layna, and Stevie on the mantle. It was taken a year before Layna died. “You’ll always remember her.”
“Do you think daddy will fall in love again one day?”
The word no almost leaves my mouth, but miracles happen, so I shrug. “You never know.”
Berk refuses to talk about dating, so I stopped bringing it up. Stevie asked once, and her dad avoided the question. She took the hint that it was a topic he won’t discuss. I’m the one she looks to for answers about her dad’s future.
“I’m getting married when I’m thirty, so I can’t live with him forever. I don’t want him to be lonely when I move out.”
“Who the heck are you marrying?” I question with a perk of both brows.
She tugs on one of the sleeves of the pink sweatshirt she’s wearing. “A doctor. I haven’t met him yet, but I will. We’ll work together. I’ll take care of the pet patients, and he’ll take care of the people patients.”
This kid’s life plan is next level.
“Your dad will get you a phone by then so you can check in on him.” I grin. “There’s hope on the horizon, Stevie. You’ll get that phone eventually.”
She rolls her big blue eyes. “I can’t wait that long.”
My gaze drops to my phone when it buzzes. I read a quick text from my brother asking how Stevie is. I punch out a reply telling him that her fever is gone.
“Will you ever get married?”
I drop the phone on my lap. “Me?”
“You’re the only one here.” Stevie tucks a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you get married, Keats?”
“Why don’t you read that book?” I try to change the subject.
I’m rewarded with another exaggerated eye roll from my niece. “You’re going to be thirty soon. Isn’t part of your plan to be married by then?”
At one point in the not-too-distant past, I thought it was part of my plan, but life has a way of knocking you off course. In my case, reality slapped me across the face and kicked my ass at the same time.
“I only plan short-term, and right now, I’m planning on a piano lesson before your dad comes home from work.”
Stevie bounces to her feet. “I’ll race you to the piano.”
Before I’m standing, she’s on her way down the hallway, headed toward the corner of the living room where the piano awaits.
“The loser is the winner,” I call out.
That spins her around to face me. She leans her back against the wall. “After you, Keats. My dad says I need to respect older people, so you should lead the way.”
“Funny,” I set off at a sprint past her. “Rule change. The winner is the winner.”
She falls in step next to me, gives me an elbow shove, and takes off down the hallway, laughing as she runs.