The Godparent Trap

He snorted out a laugh and then gave Viera a high five. “It’s all right, pretty girl, we’ll work on it.”

She gave him a toothy grin and kissed him on the cheek.

I watched the exchange with rapt fascination as he tucked a curl behind her ear and then nuzzled her nose with his.

He hadn’t shaved yet this morning, which made him seem ruffled and a bit out of sorts despite the fact that he was wearing a long-sleeved black Henley and skinny jeans tucked into black shiny boots that probably cost more than my car.

He was even put together on his off days.

I cringed when I looked down.

Oh well, take me as I am or don’t take me at all.

Ben looked up from his iPad. His five-year-old face was covered in hazelnut spread. “You didn’t do your hair.”

“Thank you,” I said through clenched teeth, “for pointing that out.”

“She never does her hair,” Viera announced proudly.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Kids.”

“She’s not wrong…,” Rip just had to mutter.

I shot him a glare while he started piling up pancakes on Viera’s plate and cutting them into such perfect squares I wondered if he was measuring them with his knife each time he made a slice.

“Gonna cut up my pancakes too, Rip?”

“No,” he said without looking up. “I figured you’d just tear into them with your teeth, you know, like the animal you are.”

“It’s too early for you.” I grabbed a pancake and shoved half of it into my mouth and was about to jab another with my fork when my cell started buzzing in my pants pocket.

I ignored it, and the call went to voice mail.

Then it buzzed again.

With a sigh, I swallowed my last bite and pulled out the phone. The number on the screen didn’t look familiar, but something told me to answer it anyway. Heaven forbid we forget about the PTA meeting this week or the fact that I had to somehow make cupcakes for Ben’s class in the near future.

Gluten-free. Nut-free. Dairy-free. Can’t wait. Can’t freaking wait.

And when I say “make,” I mean “purchase from Whole Foods.”

I tapped the phone. “Hello?”

“Is this Colby Summers?”

My stomach dropped to my knees at the solemn tone of the woman’s voice, and I looked up at Rip. “This is she.”

“Hi, Colby, my name’s Kelly Smith. I’m the charge nurse at Mercy Grace. There’s been an accident.”

“Accident,” I repeated, and then quickly ran into the living room as my world tilted sideways. “Is everyone OK? Who’s this concerning?”

The line was quiet, and then, “We really need you to come down here and sign a few things.”

Signing didn’t sound bad.

“You mean fill out insurance forms?”

“I’m so sorry, Colby, I am, and I wish I was there to tell you in person, but you’re the emergency contact for Monica Jones.”