Chapter 39 Jordan
JORDAN
A week later, I’m lying on the couch in the guesthouse, trying to connect to the spotty, inconsistent Wi-Fi, ignoring the cat snoozing on my pillow, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Hi,” Tate says when I open it.
He’s shaved. His hair’s damp, like he just showered. He’s wearing what he always wears on weekdays at the office—dark jeans with a belt that snags my attention on his trim waist, a collared shirt devoid of any creases, and the hint of a white t-shirt beneath it.
And yet, there’s an air of something extra to his appearance tonight. Like he put in ten percent more effort.
“Nice socks,” he says with a funny smile, like he’s surprised and pleased, and my gaze swings to where he’s looking, at my feet.
“Oh.” They have foxes all over them. “Thanks.”
The cat appears, weaving around his legs, rubbing herself all over him.
“Well, hello you,” he says, dropping to a crouch to pet her.
This shirt is dark green. I haven’t seen it before.
Is it new? It yanks the green out of his eyes, almost aggressively, and a tiny part of me is grateful he doesn’t wear it to the office.
I’d never get anything done. Instead of the dress shoes he normally wears at the office, he’s wearing stylish brown leather boots.
His belt is different. More casual. More worn, like he’s had it for years.
His scent is different than normal—still with the warm, masculine undertones of him, but with something extra.
Not strong enough to be cologne. Maybe aftershave?
His sleeves are rolled up, showing off his forearms. My gaze slides down to his belt and a twinge of attraction runs through me. I picture him taking it off, sliding it out of the belt loops with his eyes on—
I still have a crush on Tate Ward.
A useless, inconvenient crush on the most eligible bachelor in professional hockey. The responsible, patient, unfairly handsome coach that about seventy percent of Vancouver lusts over. The most unattainable person I could have set my sights on.
Not that they are. My sights, I mean. Set on him. They’re not. I’m not actually entertaining this ridiculous idea.
He fired someone for me, though. I think? I’m not sure. Maybe he just didn’t like Gary. He did call him a fuckhead. And he made me a scout.
“Jordan?”
I snap to attention. “What?”
Bad girl, Jordan.
So I have a crush. Whatever. It’s never going to happen. He has a child. I don’t need to add a tiny, impressionable person to the mix who may struggle to understand why her dad’s new friend suddenly isn’t around anymore.
Mentally, I draw a line through Tate Ward’s name. It’ll run its course and go away.
He gives me a funny smile, standing with the cat tucked under his arm. There’s a strangely anxious energy about him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing. “I’m in a jam. Bea’s nanny has the flu and can’t make it tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” No game. No meeting in my calendar. No event or charity dinner.
“I have a—thing. I can’t miss it. Holly and Jeff are out of town.”
A thing. For someone so straightforward and honest, it’s a weirdly vague description.
Oh. Oh. My stomach crumples like a pop can and lands on the ground with an empty clink, somewhere near my feet.
The casual but stylish boots, the aftershave, the rolled-up sleeves.
He’s going on a date.
“Right.” I’m nodding. If I let on that I’m feeling any emotion about this, I’ll evaporate into a million pieces, so I hold my expression neutral. Force a shrug. Look away.
“Are you free?” A furrow forms between his dark brows.
“Free?”
“To watch Bea. I’m really sorry, Jordan, I know it’s your night off and you’re probably going out—”
“I’m not. Busy. Or going out.” Really, Jordan? Are we doing this? “I can watch her.”
“Really?” His eyebrows go up.
“I mean . . .” I can feel my uneasy expression. “Are you sure you want me to watch Bea? Georgia could probably do it if she doesn’t have soccer.”
Bea would love Georgia’s bunnies. And Georgia’s personality. She’s the kind of person everyone likes.
He shakes his head, a funny smile like I’m saying something odd. “If you’re free and able to, I would be eternally grateful. I won’t be home late.”
“It’s fine if you are.” Not that I care.
He tilts his head at the house. “Do you want to . . .”
“Oh. Now?”
“Yeah.” He makes an apologetic face. “Now. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I slip my shoes on and close the door behind me, following him up to the house.
The house that I’m definitely going inside. Right now. Okay. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. I’m babysitting, for god’s sake, but the idea of spending time inside Tate’s home is just, I don’t know. Intimate. Personal. It’s a barrier I’ve been trying to hold.
He leads me inside, the cat at our feet, and like I suspected from the glimpses I’ve caught through the windows, his home is beautiful.
Modern, but comfortable. Spacious, but the furniture and layout are done in a way that make it feel cozy, like a home.
Like real people live here. There are photos everywhere, of Bea, Tate, and a man and woman.
The woman is curvy and looks a little like Bea.
That must be Holly. Of Tate and a guy who looks like him. Maybe a bit younger.
“That’s Holly and Jeff,” Tate says. “And that’s my brother, Noah.”
Beside us, the cat leaps onto a chair.
“Ew.” I shoo at her. “Get off.”
Tate chuckles. “It’s okay. That’s her spot.”
“Her spot?” I look between them. “Seriously, Tate?”
He smiles again. “The second Bea gets home from school, apparently, she curls up there so she can keep an eye on her. Bea,” he calls up the stairs. “Jordan’s here.”
Light footsteps rumble down the stairs and Bea appears with a sly grin. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I hold my breath. What if she’s bored with me?
“Okay.” Tate grabs his keys, his wallet, and his phone. “Money for dinner is here.” He holds up a wad of cash that looks like way, way too much. “We’re too far for delivery so you’ll have to take the Adventure Car into town to pick up food.”
I raise an eyebrow at the mention of the Adventure Car, which I’ve been driving to and from work.
“Also known as the Dork Mobile,” he says with a quick wink, and I snort a laugh while Bea giggles.
“Dad Mobile,” I correct him.
“Right. My apologies.” Tate turns to Bea with a serious expression. “No tattoos.” He looks to me with playful light in his eyes.
Bea skips over to the chair to pet the cat while I arch an eyebrow at her father. “And you’re firm on that?”
He makes a thoughtful face and I try not to smile. “You can get a tattoo, but I’d like to see what Bea picks out before the needle goes in.”
I will not smile. “You’re such a good father.”
“I try. Bea,” he says, striding over and giving her a firm kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll be home after you go to bed. Goodnight, I love you to the stars and back.”
“Love you to the stars and back,” she says back with a grin and I have to look away, the moment is so adorable.
To me, he nods. “Thank you, Jordan. Seriously.”
“Anytime,” I say to the floor.
He gives my shoulder a quick, grateful squeeze that makes my stomach flip before he’s out the door and we can hear the garage opening.
I study Bea, narrowing my eyes, but I’m smiling. “So.”
“So.” Bea leans on the counter, studying me right back.
“No TV, right?”
She shakes her head. I know that flickering light I’ve seen a few times in Tate’s bedroom window is a TV—I know it—but I’m not about to spill those beans to his kid.
“And your internet sucks.”
“Yep.”
“Hmmm.” I narrow my eyes more.
“You can go back to the guesthouse if you want.” She scratches behind the cat’s ears, and the cat closes her eyes in pure bliss. Shameless. “I’m old enough to be by myself until my dad gets home. I’ll put myself to bed and everything.”
My heart does an unwelcome ache.
“If you’re going to be bored here,” she adds, not meeting my eyes.
“Bored?” I give her an exaggerated look. “Why would I be bored? You think I’m one of those people who’s addicted to TV or something?”
She starts to smile. “I don’t know.”
“No way, dude. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. We have major plans tonight.”
“We do?” Something fun and hopeful shines in her eyes. She’s smiling, and it makes my heart happy. God, she’s cute.
“Oh, yeah. We need to get dinner, because I’m getting hungry, and I bet you are, too.”
“I am.” She nods.
I remember the book she was reading the day I woke up with her beside me on the bed. It had a kid who was singing into a microphone on the cover.
“You like music?” I ask.
She nods eagerly.
“Have you ever listened to a record before?”
“What’s that?”
My jaw drops. “What’s that?”
She giggles and I shake my head, smiling.
“Laugh it up, Chuckles, but we have some serious work to do tonight. Come on.” I slip my shoes back on. “Grab your coat, put your shoes on, and let’s get going.”