Chapter 3
Tessa
Aringing startles me as I dump a handful of chocolate chips into the bowl of batter on the counter. I whip my head around, finding the timer on the oven. "Three minutes left," I whisper, confused as the noise pours out again.
It takes me entirely too long to realize it's my phone going off and not the oven, and even longer to find the towel I thought I had draped over my shoulder to wipe my hands off before answering it.
"Hey, where are you?" A familiar voice hits me louder than expected.
"Well, hello to you too, future Mrs. Anderson." Brooke giggles like I've never heard my tough friend do before, and the thought makes me smile. "I'm in my kitchen."
"Wait, why?"
I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder and begin stirring the chocolate into the yellowish goo. "Because I don't have an oven in the bathroom. I'm making banana bread."
"What?" Brooke asks quickly.
I sigh. "I'm unemployed, B, remember? I have to keep moving. I already made Trevor's favorite macadamia nut cookies, and now I'm making banana bread."
"No," Brooke groans. "I'm not questioning the whole potassium-carb situation at 12:47 on a Thursday afternoon. Well… maybe I am a little. But why are you baking when you should be on your way to Liam's for your interview?"
I pop a chocolate chip into my mouth. "Uh, because it doesn't take me twenty-four hours to get to that side of town."
She scoffs. "Well, then it's a good thing you only have… twelve minutes. Aw, twelve."
I roll my eyes at her blushing on the other end of the phone because she said her fiance's jersey number, then respond. "No, Brooke. It's tomorrow. I put it in my calendar."
She hesitates. "It's definitely not, Tess. The boys play at 1:00 tomorrow," she says cautiously. "Away."
"Huh?" My eyebrows crease as I process her words. "Well, then why would Liam schedule an interview for the same time as his…" The silence that falls between us speaks volumes. "Brooke!" I yell. "You told me it was Friday!"
"I did not!" she shoots back. "I said…" Her voice trails off, and I can only assume it's because she's opening our text thread.
"Hey, girl. Are you still looking for a job?
Liam, the Gators' shortstop, has the coolest daughter and needs a nanny.
You said, 'Yes, please! I'm going crazy, and Trevor keeps sighing loudly every time I enter a room.
' To which I said, 'Wait, why? What's his deal?
' To which you responded, 'He's being weird about the whole Randolphs thing.
When can I meet him?' Then, you texted again and asked, 'Krunk this week? '
"I remember the conversation, Brooke," I squeeze in. "Please hurry and get to the good stuff."
"Right," she continues. "So, you asked about the workout class, and I said, 'Perfect! Friday?' And you said, 'Yes!"
Taking the phone in one hand, I rest my other on the counter. "I thought you meant the interview was Friday!"
"Oh… well, I meant Krunk on Friday."
"Krunk is Saturdays, Brooke! Always has been. Zumba is Fridays, and we don't Zumba. We've had this conversation."
She gasps quietly. "Shit."
I blow out a heavy breath. "Hey, B…"
"Yeah?"
"I'm still not hearing the word Thursday anywhere in there."
"Uh huh, wait." Brooke mumbles through the rest of our conversation, which, if I remember correctly, somehow circled around to an ottoman she had recently purchased. "Damn," she says eventually, realizing what I already know to be true.
I throw my hand over my head, barely missing the spoon handle propped against the bowl.
"You're right," she continues. "I'm sorry. This whole house thing is making me all flustered. We're moving in so fast, and it's not furnished or painted. I swear I'm having nightmares about fifty shades of grey… and I'm not talking about the fun kind."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, attempting to give her grace for all the changes she's been going through—a proposal and a house purchase all at the same time?
If Drew weren't as sweet as he is hot, I'd have smacked him across the back of the head by now.
But their whole relationship has also brought us closer, and for that, I'm definitely grateful.
"So, when is the interview, Brooke?" I ask calmly.
"Today," she answers sheepishly. "Ten minutes."
"Ten minutes," I repeat, laughing to myself. "Great. What a first impression—showing up late with batter-coated fingers, smelling like a monkey's ass."
"I really hope you're talking about the bananas."
My lips part to respond, but as if to mock me, the oven timer really does go off.
"Fuck," I grumble, reaching for the mitt. "B, I have to go. Send me the address again, will ya?"
"Of course," she says, her voice much more chipper than mine. I slide the bread pan from the oven. "Sorry about this, Tess. But don't worry. Like I said, Liam's like the nicest guy on the planet… usually." She blinks away her blip of hesitation. "He's so chill. He'll totally understand."
"Let's hope so. I'll call you after." I pull my phone away from my face, but right before I hit end, I hear Brooke's voice from a distance.
"Wait!" she calls.
"Yeah?" I ask, bringing it back to my ear.
"Good luck, Tess."
"Thanks, B."
"And maybe save me some of those—"
"Goodbye, Brooke."
I end the call and toss my phone onto the counter. Taking the two seconds I have to gather myself, I make a plan.
"I've got this," I mumble.
I have to.
Running into the bedroom, I quickly exchange my flour-dusted t-shirt for a cleaner and dressier top.
In my search, I'm reminded that I did Trevor's laundry last night instead of mine.
He had a big meeting this morning, and his lucky money socks and favorite navy polo were dirty.
Considering I planned on spending my day stress-baking and waiting for the phone to ring with callbacks from the families I emailed all day yesterday, I thought my last pair of blue jeans would suffice until tonight.
I was wrong.
I decide that paired with the white, lace-trimmed, flutter-sleeve top I chose, my faded flare jeans may actually be somewhat of a vibe. "It's the whole I'm a fun professional, but here to work sort of thing," I say aloud, hoping to convince myself as I do.
With that in mind, I toss on some shoes, grab my purse and run for the door. Doubling back only to turn the oven off—a fire's the last thing I need—I skip the stairs two at a time to the main entrance of the apartment complex.
But I pause the second my feet hit the pavement, the panic in my veins increasing.
I know I parked my car right out front after I got fired—it was the silver-lining of my otherwise completely shitty night. And I didn't leave yesterday.
The only reason I stopped my new family search was to call The Gilded Pub.
Surprise—for the first time in years, they didn't need me.
I've worked doubles or helped out after my full-time job when someone called off of the dinner shift.
I've worked sixteen-hour days being there for them for years, but a new manager comes in and hires a load of students from the community college, and suddenly there's no spot for me.
An end to another era.
"Come on!" I take a quick glance down the street, then dig into my back pocket to verify what I already know—my car wasn't stolen.
Sliding my phone out, I find Trevor's number as I speedwalk down the block.
"Hey, what's up?" he answers casually.
"Trev, did you take my car?"
"Oh, uh, yeah. Mine needs gas, and you weren't doing anything important today, right?"
My eyes fall shut as I attempt to smother a heavy exhale. They open just in time to dodge a kid on a skateboard whose hair is hanging so low in his face I'm not sure he saw me coming either. "But that's my car, Trev. And now I need it."
"Shit, okay. Well, how was I supposed to know that? I didn't do it on purpose, Tess."
My eyes roll so far into the back of my head that I think I see my ponytail. "I realize that, Trevor. But I just got a call for an interview, and now I'm carless. Can you just ask next time?"
The line goes quiet until he clears his throat. "Yeah, sorry. My bad. Do you want me to bring it back? I was just about to take lunch anyway, and uh, I can have it home in a couple minutes. Or you can take mine and stop on the way to fill it up."
"No," I sigh. I tell myself that there's no way he could have known that Brooke would have gotten the days wrong.
Sure, he probably shouldn't think of, oh, I don't know, only himself.
But he didn't mean it maliciously. "It's fine," I shrug off.
"I don't really have a couple minutes, honestly—let alone time to hit a gas station. Just keep it."
"Are you sure?"
I roll my shoulders back and look down at my feet, thanking myself from five minutes ago for choosing casual tennis shoes to pair with my outfit. "Yep," I say in the most convincing voice I can muster. "All good. I'll figure it out." Like I always do. "Don't worry about me."
I stop running, only slightly schvitzing thanks to the cool spring breeze. Dropping my hands to my knees, I take deep breaths in, exhaling slowly so that Liam can't hear my heartbeat from the other side of the door.
Catching the taxi was the easy part. Running here from outside the development was a different story.
There was no way I was showing up for an interview for a nanny gig in public transportation, even if this is the city.
Nothing says I'm ill-prepared to care for your almost-preteen daughter like needing someone else to drive me around. Hell, that's probably half of the job.
I just didn't realize Liam would live tucked away in such a residential area. I guess I assumed he owned a high-rise or something fancy like Drew did before he and Brooke bought their brownstone. But it makes sense with having a family and all.
Luckily, the neighborhood is still close to downtown.
If I somehow manage to pull this off and actually have my car, it shouldn't take me long at all to get to work.
And it will give his daughter and me plenty of things to do around here.
But for now, I'm just happy it was close enough that I'm somehow only eleven minutes late.
Once I properly catch my breath, and the beads of sweat on my brow dry thoroughly, I check my reflection in the screen of my phone and head toward the steps.
Raising my fist, I prepare to rake my knuckles against the green front door, but before they make contact, it opens slightly.
A deep, somewhat familiar voice booms through the crack.
There's that déjà vu again.
"Yeah, I'm coming now. I'm done early. Brooke's friend didn't…" The words fade as the gap widens, and a man's head swings in my direction. "Show," he finishes weakly.
We drink each other in as the pieces seem to slowly connect for both of us.
My eyes trail down his tall frame, starting at the top of his full head of hair and traveling to the same neon green swoosh on his sneakers from before.
Just when I'm thinking it can't be possible—that my eyes and my currently chaotic mind are playing tricks on me—the same golden dog I shared an ice cream with just weeks ago comes barreling through the door.
I stumble backward as two hairy paws hit my chest and the same tongue that slurped up Trevor's ice cream licks across my face.
I can't help but laugh, despite the situation, as the man who's been known as the Running Dad in my unanticipated dreams ends his call in the background. This isn't déjà vu—this is him.
"Hey, never mind. I'll just meet you there at takeoff, okay? Thanks."
His arm falls slowly from his ear as Sammy—I think—finally lands back on all fours. "Hi," I say, peering up at him, still bending down to pet the dog.
"Hi?" he whispers.
The dog barks, and Running Dad-Liam clears his throat before reaching for his collar and pulling him back inside.
"That's enough, Sammy," he says, his voice sterner than it was back then.
He traps him behind the door as he pulls it shut enough that Sammy can't escape again and turns back to me.
"What are you—wait..." He blows a breath through his lips and rests his hand on his hip, his face suddenly tinted with annoyance. "Are you Brooke's friend?"
I resist the urge to say, That's currently questionable.
"Yep," I answer instead. I clear my throat. "Yes, I'm Tess."
He stares at me, the green in his eyes mirroring my own, and I'm reminded of how obviously handsome he is.
The night we first met, I remember noticing the way his hair—which I see now is longer on the top than it is on the sides—flipped out from underneath his hat.
And I'm not sure I'd ever forget how his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. The man is a legend on the field now that I'm putting two and two together, but he's also a complete work of art out of uniform.
Objectively speaking.
"You're late," he says simply.
I brush off the pang of guilt I'm hit with for noticing him. "I know, I—"
"Listen, Tess…" My stomach drops, and I tell myself it's only because I was hoping for the job. "The shit I've dealt with the last few weeks…" He shakes his head, his gaze falling to the ground.
I consider giving up—thanking him for his time and maybe asking for one more puppy kiss to help cure my mood—but I don't. "Two minutes," I jump in.
His eyes fly back to mine, sadder than I remember them being during our previous, brief interaction.
"Just give me two minutes, then finish that thought. "