Miss Fix-It

“Ooh.” Brantley winced. “Didn’t ask?”

I shook my head.

“You’ve had a bad day, huh? Get woken up early after too much sangria, have to spend the entire morning at my place thanks to an asshole delivery service, witness a dispute over a pony and a superhero, then you have a shitty date and have to be driven home by your client.”

Well, when he put it like that…

“And I have blisters on my feet because these shoes are new. So, just a heads up, I’ll be painting in flip-flops this week.”

“They’re great shoes, though.”

I looked down. “Yeah, they really are. Shame they’re painful. Maybe they’re the kind of shoes you wear to watch TV and feel good about yourself.”

“Yeah. They’re those kinda shoes.” His dry tone had me staring at him.

“What does that mean?”

He pulled up into his driveway. The headlights illuminated the side of the house, and he smiled at me. “Nothing. I was agreeing with you.”

I would have called bullshit, but he got out of the car and pulled out his front door key before I had a chance to respond.

Whatever. I’d let it slide, mostly because I should have taken him up on his original offer to take me home. The blister on the back of my foot was now dangerously painful.

Well, like he’d said, I’d had a bit of a shitty day, so what was one more thing to add to the list?

I got out of the car, wincing as I put weight on my right foot and my shoe rubbed the sore blister. “Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered.

“Here.” Laughing, Brantley walked around the front of the car, holding a small, long, rectangle something. “A Band-Aid. For that blister.”

I gasped, taking it from him. “Oh my god, I could kiss you.”

He raised his eyebrows.

I froze.

“I mean,” I started. “Not—you know. Kiss you. I could kiss you, but I won’t kiss you. Oh my god, I have to stop saying kiss you. Crap. Never mind. I’m just going to shut up now.”

He said nothing. He simply gave me a way-too-sexy side grin, and his eyes flashed with laughter…and something that looked a little bit like desire.

I looked away, cheeks flaming, and got back in the passenger side so I could apply the Band-Aid.

Me and my big mouth.

Why the hell did I say I could kiss him? Aside from the fact I could—and that was before the Band-Aid.

Ugh. Ten idiot points for me.

I crumpled up the Band-Aid wrapper and gingerly stepped out of the car. It wasn’t perfect, but it was sure as hell better than it had been before.

“Sssh,” I heard Brantley whisper from the other side of the car. “I’m taking you to bed, El. It’s all right.”

“Mmk,” she groaned.

I turned and peeked over the top of the car just as it rocked when he shut the door. Ellie was draped over his body, her head flopped on his shoulder. Her plaits hung down her back, and she had her mouth open like she was catching flies.

Brantley had one arm under her butt, holding her up, and secured her with his other arm. The stuffed monkey hung with its tail wrapped around Brantley’s pinky finger.

I smiled as he carried her in. Eli was still fast asleep in the backseat, and I watched him through the window. Although I knew he would be fine, I didn’t want to leave him, especially with the front door open and the car unlocked.

So, I hovered awkwardly outside the car, probably looking far creepier than I ever intended to. After all, it wasn’t every day you had a nicely dressed woman in heels staring at a four-year-old through a car window.

Not one who wasn’t their mom, anyway.

Eli rolled his head to the other side, scrunching his face up. He tried to stretch, but the confines of his child seat didn’t allow him to, and apparently, this was the end of the world, because he started to cry.

I stilled. I didn’t know how to deal with a crying child. Especially not an exhausted, half-awake, crying child. My gaze flitted between Eli and the open front door, but when he cried louder and Brantley still didn’t come back…

I muttered, “Shit,” and set my purse down so I could open the door.

“Hey, Eli,” I said softly, brushing his crazy hair away from his eyes. “Sssh. Daddy is just putting Ellie to bed. Hey.”

His eyes, just a shade darker than his dad’s, opened wide and stared at me, glassy with tears. It was almost as if he was looking at me without seeing me, because the tears carried on falling.

“Kawi,” he whispered thickly, sleep clouding his voice. “Out.” He tugged at the straps that kept him safe in the seat. “Pwease.”

Uhhhh.

“Okay,” I said, I think more to myself than him.

Like, woohoo, Kali! You got this! It’s only a child! Go get ‘em, Tiger!