“Mommy, you always say to take reponsibly for our actions,” one of the boys said deadpan.
“Responsi-bil-ity,” she enunciated, “and this is different.”
The boy crossed his little arms over his chest, unconvinced, and Blake had to stifle a smile. He bent down and began to help her by picking the remnants of ice up and chucking them in her now-empty cup.
“Puddles!” one of the boys screamed beside them. His little voice was a war cry, and when Blake glanced at him, his eyes widened. Fist raised high in the air, he looked like he was one step away from auditioning for a remake of Braveheart for all his bravado. He jumped in the puddle of coffee, further splattering it all over them.
The woman winced and lurched back, the napkins forgotten. The soles of the little boy’s Mickey sneakers squeaked over the wet floor as she watched on in defeat.
“It’s okay,” Blake said. From what he could see, Grant had finished wiping the table down. He could certainly handle the floor.
He reached out and gave her arm a little squeeze. “You go ahead. I’ll get this.”
Her head whipped toward him and she blinked, then said, “Oh. Are you sure?”
When he nodded, she exhaled.
“Okay, well, thank you.” Standing, she turned and ushered
the kids out the door like the place was on fire, while Blake tried very hard not to watch her go.
A minute later, all the coffee was soaked up, and the barista had appeared with a mop and bucket. Instead of settling back into his seat, Blake realized his wet pants were reason enough to head home.
“And that’s what you’d be signing up for.” Grant chuckled. “Better run while you can.”
“Your lack of faith in me is inspiring,” Blake said archly as he chucked the last of the soiled napkins into the trash. “You do realize you’re just proving Jen’s point with your comments.”
Grant followed him to the door. “I don’t understand why any of this matters anyway. Why prove you have skills with kids when Jen’s family will hire a nanny of your own anyway? She’ll be like the Duchess of Cambridge. Probably pop one out and be smiling for the cameras the next day wearing Chanel. And who needs to miss social obligations when you can afford a whole army to raise your kid for you?”
“I’m taking care of my own kids. I won’t let somebody else raise them.” Grant knew how Blake felt about family. He wanted one of his own. Desperately. More than anything, in fact. He wanted what he never had. The last thing he would ever do is allow someone else to take center-stage in their lives. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents that cared. He didn’t want that for his children. He wanted to do things right.
Grant arched a brow and paused by the door. Blake wanted to punch the smug look off his face. “So, when she suggests a live-in nanny and you say no, you think she’ll just acquiesce?”
“Whatever your feelings are for Jen’s family, she’s a good girl. You’re acting like she’s some entitled prima donna, too good for her own kids. That’s not fair. You know very little about her. Maybe if you’d stop judging her and spend some more time with her, you’d see she’s not the person you think she is.”
Grant stared at him a moment, his face expressionless before he opened the door. Though the sun shined, a slight breeze ruffled Blake’s hair, and it smelled like rain. They walked alongside each other for a few minutes, weaving into the bustling foot traffic of the Upper East Side. The skyscrapers gleamed in the early morning sun when Grant stopped a few paces down and turned to him. “Listen, you know I support you. If this is what you want . . .”
“It is.” Blake shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Jen is what I want, and if I have to spend a month or more wrangling kids to prove I’m the kind of man her parents need me to be, then so be it.”
Grant nodded and clapped him on the arm. “Alright, then. You have my support.”
CHAPTER THREE
MEL
Inside the warm confines of her tiny apartment, Mel settled into the couch. The muffled sound of the traffic outside was nearly drowned out by the vulgar lyrics of the rap music blaring from the apartment across the hall. No matter how many times Mel had asked Diego to lower the volume over the years, he never did, and today she hadn’t the strength for that particular battle, so she did her best to ignore it. Still, it grated on her nerves. Not that there was much left of them. After the coffee shop incident yesterday, Mel had little fight left. The triplets won. They broke her spirit. She was one step away from babbling incoherently from a wheelchair with a little string of spittle hanging from her bottom lip for the rest of her days. She was that close to the brink of insanity.
But alas, there she was. A decent night’s sleep and she found the energy to go on.
And people thought miracles didn’t exist.
She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. There was a lot riding on the next few hours.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay.