Spencer looks like end-of-the-day-CEO slash sex-god in dress pants and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His sleeves are rolled up exposing his lined forearms dusted with dark hair, but for all his overt, alpha masculinity, his nose curls at Ollie’s fun fact. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”
I pinch my nose so I don’t laugh.
Chartreuse is perched on the lid of her box on the coffee table while Ollie finishes up his Häägen Daz “Caramel Cone” ice cream. Julien might not have made it himself, but he nuked it for fifteen seconds, making the ingredients all squishy and warm inside the frozen vanilla…
One bite, and I’m pretty sure my eyes rolled back in my head.
I know my toes curled.
Spencer is having a tumbler of what looks like scotch, and they’re watching some nature show on Netflix with the sound off.
Ollie scrapes the last of his ice cream, nodding. “They can climb pretty much anything moist.”
“Did somebody just say moist?” I make a face popping into the room in my Unsolved Mysteries pajamas. “You know moist is Number 2 in Buzzfeed’s Top 12 grossest words.”
Ollie sits up, scooping Chartreuse off her perch and moving away from me on the couch. “What’s Number 1?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I take his moist bowl off the mahogany table so it doesn’t leave a ring. I’m betting the table is worth something outrageous like ten thousand dollars—like everything else in this mini-museum. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”
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“What are you wearing?” Spencer’s tone is critical as he narrows his eyes at my black flannel pajamas with the bright yellow show logo all over them.
“Only my favorite PJs,” I announce proudly, doing a little turn. “Unsolved Mysteries…”
“Why would anybody have PJs for that show?” Ollie groans falling back. “It’s boring.”
When I turn back, a smile curls Spencer’s lips. “They’re… not entirely unexpected.”
“Are you two slob-shaming me?” I put a hand on my hip not caring one bit that I’m comfortable and completely covered in flannel. “I feel slob-shamed. I’m taking this bowl to the kitchen.”
I leave the room with my nose in the air, and I hear Ollie behind me muttering. “Women. So much drama.”
The beleaguered tone in his little voice almost makes me cackle. Instead I rinse the bowl in the oversized stainless-steel sink and place it in the dishwasher. On my way back, I slow down when I hear them talking.
“You seem to handle them pretty well.” Spencer is being kind, and I smile. “The way you treat your mother shows the kind of man you are.”
Ollie studies Chartreuse walking on his fingers. “You’re nice to my mom and Aunt Sly. That means you’re good, right?”
My nose wrinkles, and I wish I could see Spencer’s expression. I can’t, and I don’t want to interrupt them. I’m stuck in the hallway, chewing my thumb as I listen.
“Are you worried about being good?” Spencer’s question is easy, like he and Ollie are old friends.
“Sometimes.” Ollie’s voice is quiet. “Mom says I’m good.”
“You seem like a good guy to me. I think you worry about your mom.”
“She works really hard to take care of us. My dad doesn’t help her.”
“What do you think about that?”
Ollie tilts his little head to the side and looks straight at Spencer. “I think it sucks. My friends have good dads, and I don’t. I think it means I shouldn’t have kids.”
To his credit, Spencer doesn’t answer right away. It’s quiet for the passage of several heartbeats, and I imagine him thinking about what our little friend said.
“I understand why you say that.” Spencer’s voice is grave, and my heart hurts.
“You do?”