Chapter 4
Liam
"This is such a nice house," Tess says as she strides into the living room, her eyes sweeping over the open space.
"Yeah, thanks." I slip out of my sneakers and place them by the door before following her swaying ponytail and Sammy's flopping tail.
"We just moved here this past summer. I figured with Ruthie starting middle school and this being my last year with the Gators that we should at least have a steady, more comfortable home base. "
"Pun intended," she jokes, looking over her shoulder. "I didn't realize you were retiring this year."
I nod with pursed lips and gesture for her to sit down once we make our way to the couch. She does, settling into the front of the cushion furthest from my spot in the chair, and Sammy, who knows better, jumps up and plops his head into her lap as if he's known her forever.
"So, I have to be honest here," I say, switching subjects and choosing not to deal with the dog right now. "My patience with these interviews is hanging on by a thread, and you started yours off by showing up late."
Her hand pauses mid-pet on Sammy's back. She parts her lips to argue—or defend herself maybe—but then presses them together, letting me finish.
"And just so we're clear," I continue, "Brooke mentioned you were between jobs because you were let go from your last one." I meet her gaze, steady and unflinching. "So, maybe you can help me understand why I should believe this could actually work."
The words come out sharper than I intend, but maybe that's a good thing. The happy-go-lucky version of me—the one who thinks everyone deserves a chance—has gone through multiple employees in this past month alone.
Tess clears her throat quietly and sits up taller. "First of all, I did not get fired."
My eyes narrow, and her shoulders slump slightly.
"Okay, on paper, I technically did. But the Randolphs are moving—to Washington. So, short of going with them, there was nothing I could do."
I nod, attempting not to show her that somehow I believe her.
"And second," Tess continues, "I know I was late. That never happens—full transparency, there was a miscommunication, and I thought the interview was tomorrow."
"Miscommunication as in Brooke was talking about bathroom tiles or the big curtain versus shade debate and told you the wrong day?" I ask dryly, referencing the many conversations I've overheard between her and Alex lately.
She looks at me, hesitating to answer. "No comment."
That earns a faint smile that I try to hide by dropping my gaze to the floor.
Loyalty—I like it.
For Ruthie.
"Go on."
She shrugs. "That's it, really. Once I realized it was today, I tried to get here as fast as I could, but I was covered in flour, and my boyfriend took my car. I had to hail a cab, and then I ran here from the top of your develop—"
"I'm sorry, what?" I cut in, interrupting her ramble. Even Sammy lifts his head and peers up at her with his puppy-dog eyes.
"Yes, I ran here, okay? I guess telling you ruins the effort, but I figured you noticed there's no ride in the driveway waiting for me."
"Didn't notice," I admit, surprising both of us. "Sammy's escaping must have distracted me. But no, not that. Your boyfriend took your car?"
"Oh…" Her expression falters before she pastes her smile back on. "Yeah, he didn't think I needed it. Honest mistake."
"Mhmm. And is this the same boyfriend from the ice cream night?"
Tess's cheeks brighten. This is the first time either of us has mentioned that we aren't exactly strangers. It hits me that… maybe she doesn't remember. That would be fine. It'd make sense. Be easier even.
But I remember. And Sammy definitely did. And something about the way she's suddenly interested in the loose thread hanging from the seam of the couch cushion tells me that she might too.
"Yep," she says, way too cheerful. "Trevor."
She definitely does.
"Trevor…" I repeat. "Got it."
Sammy lets out a low groan as if he's rolling his eyes and lays his head back on her thigh.
Tess grins down at him, and I catch myself watching her like I did then—remembering.
Replaying the memory of running into her.
The relief I felt when my runaway dog was finally still.
The sweet smell lingering in the air and how I wasn't sure if it was her or the ice cream that—
"So, back to your question."
I blink, retraining my focus.
"I would say you should hire me because I have a ton of experience and my references are solid, but honestly, that's all bullshit.
Any wacko can hold a job if the family is desperate enough or just as crazy.
" My neck snaps back as she shakes her head.
"I'm serious. Don't hire me—or anyone else for that matter—based on what degree I have written on my resume.
Hire me because I love it." She huffs out a laugh and looks toward the ceiling.
"And because I've done this my whole life, even before getting paid for it. "
Her eyes fall back down to mine, and she must see in my expression that I don't understand.
"I'm the oldest of five kids," she explains.
I whistle before I can stop myself. "Sorry," I chuckle awkwardly. "It's just… shit, I thought one was hard."
She laughs, and for a second, I forget why I was grouchy before.
"Well, our parents are great—they were always around and are still together.
But somehow that's just how it goes, I think.
It's like any other group—with a team or school project.
Someone takes the lead, and for us, that was me.
I've always been the one my siblings turn to. "
The thought lightens a weight in my chest without offering any explanation. "Maybe they're the better references then."
She giggles again, and I find myself keeping an unofficial score of how many times I can pull that sound from her lips before shaking the thought. "Yeah, maybe," she quips. "Just not Jo. She's the middle one, and that girl has nothing nice to say."
I stop myself from joking back—from responding with, Oh, then I'm definitely calling her. Too easily she's pulling me from the slump I've fallen into, and rather than allowing her to, I hold on to reality with everything I have.
"So, tell me about your daughter."
I can't help but smile genuinely now, my body relaxing as I think about how to describe my not-so-little girl.
"Ruthie's great. She's sweet and sensitive but also funny and full of attitude.
And she's so smart. Book-smart, yes—she does great in school.
But also like take-all-your-money-playing-cards-before-you-even-know-you're-betting smart.
" I roll my eyes playfully. "It's wild."
"She sounds a lot like my youngest brother, Grant."
"It's fun, isn't it?"
She nods sarcastically.
I hold her gaze, my smile quickly fading.
"She also has all these big feelings right now.
Like she'll be so nonchalant about something I thought she'd blow up about and then BAM!
The littlest thing will set her off." I pause, that familiar weight once again on my chest. I blow out a heavy breath and run my hand down my chin.
"Honestly, the feelings, I just—I'm not really sure what to do with them all. "
"Sometimes there's nothing to do," she says simply. "Sometimes those emotions just have to come out—let her feel them, process them, and just sort of be there the best you can through it all."
Her words roll right off her tongue like they've been sitting there, waiting.
But her answer hits me hard unexpectedly.
Ruthie hasn't had that—someone who has been through exactly what she's experiencing—not recently at least. Not now.
But that's what she needs. Someone who gets it—who it comes naturally to because they've seen it before. Because they've been there themselves.
I rein myself back in—pulling out the Notes app on my phone to my list of interview questions. Tess must expect what's coming, because she tosses the end of her ponytail behind her and rolls her shoulders back like she's readying herself for war.
"So, let's say Ruthie wants to go to a friend's, but her math isn't done," I read. I glance back up at her and hold her stare. "What would you say?"
"Is that a rule?" she tosses back. "No activities until her schoolwork is finished?"
"It is," I answer. "She does online schooling asynchronously now, but there are things she has to complete every day—classwork to turn in, deadlines to meet, subjects to study. She's pretty good about getting it done, but sometimes she tries to weasel her way out of it."
She chuckles. "Like any kid would."
"So…" I challenge. "What would you say?"
"No."
"What?"
Tess's eyes wander like she's looking for a different answer. "I'd say no," she repeats when she finds me again.
"That's it?" I ask, surprised.
She shrugs. "If that's your rule, then that's the answer. I'm sure there are times when exceptions can be made, but it sounds pretty clear."
My eyebrows crease as I sit forward in my seat. "And what if she cries?"
The corners of her lips turn down as her eyebrows lift earnestly. "Then she cries, honestly. I'll try to talk to her about it, of course, and attempt to make her feel better. But no one has ever drowned in tears."
I smother the laugh that threatens to spill from my throat, keeping both my expression and tone serious. "And what if she locks herself in her bedroom?"
Tess looks at me as though she knows that's not Ruthie's style, but with how things are changing rapidly in this girl's world, I have to ask. It's something new every day.
"Then, I'll let her," she answers. "I'll check on her—I assume you have keys in case she stays there too long.
But a kid's job is to test us—our reactions, our boundaries, our stamina.
As long as she's safe, and she knows that either you or I are here when she's ready, I think it's good that she takes some time to cool off. "
I run through the past answers I've gotten to the same question.
I'd call you and have you talk to her.
I'd take her phone—kids hate that.
Honestly, I'm not great at math. I'd probably just let her go.
Earlier today someone said, I'd let her finish later—she's only eleven once! And although that's true, that's not how we operate. In fact, I would do exactly what Tess just said.
But she doesn't know that.
"Liam?"
"Yeah?"
Tess looks at me, waiting, and Sammy mirrors her as if he too would like a response. "I said, as long as that's what you would do. I'm here to reinforce your house rules. If you'd say or do something different, then I'd respect that."
Well, damn.
"I'd follow your lead," she continues.
Something in her tone—soft, sure, steady—hits harder than it should.
Damn again.
"You know what I mean?"
I clear my throat unnecessarily. "I do, and I appreciate that."
"So, what else do you have for me?"
I look back down at my list, but the questions all blur together. This has been natural, easy—a conversation, not a grilling. And nothing like it's been before. I felt it that night a few weeks ago, and I feel it again now—talking with Tess is simple.
Maybe too simple.
"I think that's enough for today," I say standing.
Tess doesn't follow. Instead, she looks up at me with confusion etched into her brow. "Really? I feel like we're just getting—"
"You said two minutes," I cut in gently. "But thank you for coming."
"Um, okay." She scratches Sammy behind the ears, then softly nudges him off of her. She stands and shoves both hands into her back pockets. "Well, I can give you my number… in case you have questions or need references or anything."
I blow a breath through my lips and hand her my phone. "Yeah, okay. Sure."
She takes it, and without hesitation, begins typing in her information. When she's finished, she gives it back, and I pocket it without looking at the screen.
"Wait, do you need a ride?" The words are out before I can stop them, a pit settling in their place. "You ran here…"
Tess shakes her head. "No, I'll walk back up to the main street, then call a cab."
Sammy's tail starts flapping at the sound of his favorite four-letter word. "Are you sure?" I ask, still not positive how I feel except that I know I don't love the idea of her heading home alone.
She smiles softly. "Definitely. It'll be good exercise," she says as she heads toward the entryway. "No Krunk tomorrow."
I stop behind her as we reach the door. "Huh?"
She laughs. "Never mind. Thank you for having me. Sorry again for being late."
"Thanks for coming."
She tips her chin down and reaches for the knob. The door opens, and she steps outside, but before she starts walking, she turns back toward me. "Hey, Liam," she says.
I look up from where I'm holding a whiny Sammy back by his collar. "Yeah?"
"You're a good dad, I can tell. You'll make the right call. And I'd love the job, but I don't think who you choose will matter as much as you think."
"Why's that?" I ask skeptically.
She tilts her head, her eyes full of sincerity. "Because she has you."
With that, she bounces down the steps. I watch as she reaches the end of the driveway, her ponytail swaying as she disappears into the development. When I close the door, Sammy looks up at me and barks once as if he knows what I'm thinking.
"Don't start," I say sternly, pulling my phone from my pocket.
Her name lights up on my screen, the contact still open from when she added it.
Tessa Hastings.
Sounds like a name that's too good to be true.