Chapter 14
Asher
Cam
Dude! That’s my sister!!!
Ezra
Dude! Claire’s like a sister…
Cam
WTF, man? Why would you tell me that?
Cam
Asher. Answer me
Cam
WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY LITTLE SISTER???
Ezra
Easy, Cam. I’m sure it was consensual
Cam
The hell it better be. ASHER, WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING?!
Cam
ASSHOLE
My heart plummets to my stomach when I discover that I texted “Literally had the hottest fucking kiss with Claire just now” to Cam minutes after I’d jerked off to the image of his little sister.
While she may be younger than him, she’s a grown-ass woman.
And yes, of course it was consensual, asshole.
How the fuck did I accidentally text Cam and Ezra instead of my grief group?
Oh. I see it now.
Zion changed the name to The Grief Guys.
If the guys would quit screwing around with the name of the chat every five minutes, this wouldn’t have happened. The Good Guys and The Grief Guys… how was I to tell the difference in my post-orgasm haze?
That’s not even the worst part.
The first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning wasn’t Daisy. Or Bea. It was Claire.
And that scares the shit out of me.
At the sound of my daughter’s squeaky voice, I throw on a pair of joggers and a camp shirt and open my bedroom door.
As I step into the hall, music and laughter wash over me.
Bea is sitting on the counter in the way-too-small footed pajamas she refuses to part with, legs swinging in time to the Kidz Bop tunes playing through the Bluetooth speaker, her wide smile rimmed in chocolate.
Claire hits a high note—or rather, her voice cracks fantastically—and Bea cackles.
Claire cannot sing.
Why is that so endearing?
I clear my throat, making my presence known. “Morning.”
Claire startles and whips around, whisk in hand, splattering pancake batter across my shirt.
I bite back a laugh. I’m beginning to think she spooks easily.
“Oops.” She giggles. She sets the whisk in the mixing bowl, then pulls a towel off the bar and wipes at my shirt.
Every brush sends an electric shock through me as she removes the batter along my abdomen. As she works lower, she freezes, her hand hovering in front of my crotch, only now realizing there is also batter on my pants.
“I, uh—I’ve got it.” I take the towel from her and flip on the faucet. Once I’ve dampened the corner, I dab at the mess. “All better.” I grin when it wipes off quickly.
Bea laughs, but Claire is openly gaping at the wet spot on my pants. “Daddy,” my little girl chirps, “it looks like you peed your pants.”
Well, isn’t this day off to a great start?
Scoffing, I ruffle her messy bedhead, then wipe the chocolate lipstick off her face. “Good morning to you too, Dolly.”
“You’re just in time.” Claire sets a stack of fluffy pancakes on the kitchen island like it’s the most natural thing in the world to cook breakfast for my daughter and me on a Saturday morning.
She studies me, her smile fading, and says, “Crap. I hope this is okay. I’ve seen Bea eat pancakes at the cafeteria, so I thought it would be okay. But maybe I should have asked you first? I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s totally fine,” I assure her. I don’t often let my daughter have chocolate first thing in the morning, but it’s summertime. I’m not going to make a big fuss out of it. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
When I say “all this,” I actually take in the kitchen for the first time, realizing how messy it is. The counters are littered with measuring cups with caked-on batter, melted chocolate chips, flour, and drops of orange juice.
“Don’t worry,” Claire says, “we’ll clean it all up. Right, Dolly?”
“Right.” Without warning, Bea launches herself off the counter and into my arms.
Fortunately, my dad-like reflexes kick in and I catch her. Unfortunately, the sleeves of my shirt are now smudged with chocolate. Looks like I’ll need to change after all.
But not until after breakfast. Bea is a notorious spiller. When she was first learning to feed herself, my mom joked that I should be the one to wear a bib because I’d end up with more food on my clothes than Bea would in her belly.
I prepare two coffees, then mix chocolate syrup into a cup of milk and heat it up to a child-friendly temperature for Bea. She thinks she’s hot stuff drinking “coffee” with the grown-ups.
As breakfast is wrapping up, my phone rings. I hate being attached to the device like this, but the camp is busy and I have obligations. Jack and Natalie have been sharing the load this summer so far, but I’m usually the first line of contact.
“Sorry,” I announce to the girls. “I’ve gotta take this.” Hoping it’ll be brief, I answer it at the table. “Brenner, hi. What’s up?”
“We have a situation, boss.”
My stomach sinks. “Oh?”
Claire studies me over her cup of coffee, a crease in her brow.
“The contractor is here,” he continues. “I told him he was scheduled for next weekend, but he says that’s impossible because he’ll be out of town.
I apologize, sir. I don’t know how this got messed up, but he’s insisting he meet with you today.
Otherwise it’ll be another few weeks before he can meet again. ”
I groan into the phone. “Will you call Jack or Natalie? Get them to handle it.”
“They’re in the city this weekend.”
“That’s right. I forgot.” I huff out a breath. “Do you mind if I drop Bea off with you?” I ask him.
Claire leans forward and whispers, “I can stay with her.”
“But it’s your day off,” I whisper back, holding the phone away from my face. “Hang on,” I tell Brenner.
“I don’t mind,” she says. “I was planning to lay out by the water, maybe see if the art room is free later. If you’re cool with it, I’m happy to spend some time with her.”
That would be much more entertaining for her than watching a movie on the iPad under the desk in the front office. “What do you think, Dolly?”
Jumping out of her chair, she announces, “Yay! I’m going to get my new bathing suit on.”
“Hey, Brenner,” I say into the phone. “Sorry about that. I’ll be there shortly.” I hang up, then turn to Claire. “Are you sure? I can pay you.”
She winces. “I’m not a nanny.”
“Exactly. Which is why you don’t have to—”
“It’ll be fun.” She rests her hand on mine, though she quickly pulls it away. “I swear I don’t mind. We’ll be fine, Ash. Now go.” She waves me off.
I push my chair back to stand. I should get out of here before I change my mind.
Claire is highly capable of watching my child.
That’s not the issue. It’s that I’ve never let a woman who wasn’t family or the staff in the childcare center on site watch her.
This feels like a big step. But she works at the camp, too, right? It shouldn’t be a big deal.
Yeah. This is fine.
“You can leave this.” I motion to the sticky plates and empty mugs on the table. “I’ll clean up when I get back.”
“I’ll have my phone on me, but don’t worry about a thing. If she gets hurt, I’ll just call a doctor.” She winks.
“Very funny,” I deadpan. “Thanks. I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Is this for next door?” she asks as I set my coffee up by the sink. “I thought they were backed up with repairs.”
“No, actually, we’re expanding the camp.” I glance at the time on my watch. “I’ll tell you about it later. Wanna do pizza tonight?”
When all she does is stare at me, I inwardly cringe. Shit. That wasn’t meant to be a suggestion that we go out on a date. So I backpedal. “Bea and I usually pick up a pizza from the cafeteria and play board games on Saturday nights. You’re welcome to join us.”
She probably has exciting single-girl plans on her weekend off, as she should, and the thought causes disappointment to nag at my chest.
“Sounds fun,” she replies.
As a weird sense of joy rises in me, I turn and head down the hall to change out of my chocolate- and syrup-stained shirt.
I’ve barely left the kitchen area when she calls out, “Maybe then we can discuss the text you sent my brother and Ezra.”
My feet freeze in place, my body locking up.
Shit. I didn’t even consider the possibility that they would mention that to her. Shit, shit, shit.
Pivoting to face her, I say, “About that… I accidentally—”
She cuts me off before I have a chance to explain, one brow cocked. “Hottest fucking kiss, huh?”
Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, and I don’t think it’s because of the maple syrup.
“Listen. I swear I didn’t—”
“I’m ready,” Bea declares, skipping out in her pink-and-yellow polka-dot bathing suit, a towel tucked under her arm. Her flip-flops are on the wrong feet, but I don’t have time to fix them. I also don’t have time to fix this little miscommunication.
“Let’s discuss this later, yeah?” I plead with Claire.
“Looking forward to it, Greer.” She shoots a wink and a finger gun at me.
For three hours I’ve been tied up with the contractor.
Since about an hour into this meeting, I’ve been stressing about how long I’ve left Bea with Claire.
She’s the camp doctor, not my child’s nanny.
She didn’t sign on for babysitting duties, and I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of our temporary living situation.
Finally, we wrap things up, and I get Brenner to take over scheduling the next steps. Then I get the hell out of there. Outside, I call Claire to find out where they are so I can relieve her.
There isn’t a scheduled class happening in the art studio, but it’s open, our free-use craft station stocked. Claire and Bea are at a table in the corner by themselves, surrounded by colored pencils, paper, watercolors, brushes, and a cup of water.
My nerves finally settling, I circle the table and sit next to my daughter. “Hi, Dolly.”
“Daddy!” she shouts, wrapping her arms around me. They haven’t gotten into the paint yet, so my shirt is safe, though I doubt it will be for very much longer.
“How’s it going?” I ask, noticing she’s changed out of her bathing suit.
“Did you know Claire is left-handed too?”
“It’s Dr. Connelly,” I correct her. “And I didn’t know that. That’s cool. Just like you and your cousin Joey.”