“And to bring her some amazing decorations for her room.”
Matthew smiles. “Yep. She only comes around a couple times a year, and I never know when she’s going to pop in. She’s a semi-professional dancer, still chasing the dream. But when she’s here they have a great time. They’ll play dress-up and then Delilah will tell her some magical mystical stories. Or they’ll go in the back and look at the stars and talk about the constellations. She can weave a really good tale, that’s for sure.”
“Sounds like she’s a free spirit.”
“Very much so. She’s not a bad person. A little odd in some ways, but as long as she’s good to my daughter, I don’t mind her stopping by and hanging fairy lights. It’s their thing.”
I nod, absorbing all the information he’s told me. It seems I have misjudged Matthew from the beginning. He isn’t just a pretty, flirty face. He’s a father. And one of the best I’ve ever known.
Before I can respond, the kettle starts shrieking.
“Anyway, enough of that,” Matthew says, taking the kettle off the stove and setting in on top of a hot pad on the tray. “I’ve actually got a Scrabble board and the sudden desire to kick your ass.”
I smirk at him playfully because it feels like I should. But secretly, I kind of want to let him win, just because he deserves the best life can give him because of the person he is.
What is it with this family manipulating me and my emotions?
Chapter 11
Matthew
The last thing I want to do after this long week is work out. Just the idea of lacing up my running shoes for a five-mile run or throwing around some weights makes me want to call the photographers I work with and tell them all I’m heading into early retirement. That’s believable, right? I’m almost thirty years old and already I’m getting pushed aside for the younger, hotter, baby-faced guys coming up the ranks.
I won’t do it though. Calypso may only be six years old but I know there will be driving lessons, a car, proms, and as much as it pains me to say it, college tuition in our future. Of course, this morning when she put her shoes on the wrong feet and attempted to make her way out of the house without changing them, I wondered for a brief moment if college was a pipe dream.
It’s those realizations that drive me to workout. To keep my body in the best shape possible to make extra money for her future. Accepting my fate, I grab my phone and water before heading out to the garage gym.
I set up my camera to take some video I’ll need to post later on my social media accounts. Yet another detail of my side job—keeping up interest from my fans. Posting shirtless videos of myself working out isn’t my favorite part but is a necessary evil.
As I press the record button and wrap my hand around the handle, Olaf lets out a string of barks that I’m going to have to edit out of my video. These aren’t his normal playful barks nor are they his attempt at sounding vicious, though. He tends to save that particular growl-bark combo for the neighbor’s gardener. Which happens on Friday. I know for a fact it is only Wednesday.
Hump Day. Wine Wednesday. Woman Crush Wednesday.
Everything that isn’t Friday.
“Olaf, give it a rest!” I shout over my shoulder. He doesn’t listen. Instead, he seems to only get louder.
Ditching the video and tossing my phone and bottle on the counter, I make my way to the slider. Peering out the screen door, I look for Olaf and whatever has him going nuts. Not seeing him at first glance, I step outside and begin walking around.
“Dammit, Olaf. What has you going nuts?”
With his front paws on the tree, he’s stretched up as high as he can get as he begins howling. Great. Get a beagle they said. It’ll be great they said.
“Olaf, I swear. The neighbors are going to call animal control. I know Carrie would tell me when they picked you up but seriously, I do not want to explain this to Sprite. Come on,” I implore him, clapping my hands. Nothing.
Leaning down, I tug on his collar and nudge him toward the house.
“How about a cookie?”
That gets his attention and he abandons his post, instead taking off running toward the open screen door and into the house. Closing the door, I make my way to the container and toss a biscuit on the floor for Olaf to snack on while I escape to the garage. I really need to work off some of this newly discovered tension that seems to have found its way to my shoulders.
Powering up my most aggressive playlist, I decide weights can wait. I insert my earbuds, strap my phone on my arm before closing the garage door and taking off down the street for a run. I’m only two houses down when I see three of the ladies from the neighborhood congregating on the lawn. It’s barely eight in the morning and all three look like they’re dressed for the club. Or walk of shame. Who am I to judge?
Offering a small smile to them I watch as each turns her body toward me and waves. Fingers only. I see their mouths moving but thanks to the guitar solo currently pounding in my ears, I can’t hear what they’re saying. Picking up the pace, I let the rhythm of my feet fall in tempo with the music and regulate my breathing.
It’s going to be a long day.
A very long day.
•••
Leaning back in my chair, I slip the pen between my fingers, not really listening to the rant my client is currently on. While I empathize with his current situation, I am not his friend nor do I want to be. The guy is an asshole and his wife figured that out after affair number six and child number four. The child she is not carrying. Why he thinks calling his financial advisor to vent is how he should spend his—and my—dinner hour is beyond me.
“Peter, I understand your frustration. I promise we have maintained meticulous records and will be able to provide everything to your attorney when the time comes.”
“You’re absolutely sure we have to disclose everything? I mean, it’s my money. I’m the one who busts my ass and hired you to build my portfolio not my wife.”
Sighing, I toss the pen on the desk as Mom pops her head in the door to check on me. I hold a finger up to indicate I’ll be just a minute before turning my attention back to the call.
“As I said earlier, we will do what we are legally required to. I have no idea what divorce laws are like, but I’m sure you’ve hired yourself a good attorney. But, can I make a suggestion? Not as your financial advisor but from one father to another?”
“Sure.”
“Put the kids first. Your children are innocent in all of this and shouldn’t take on any of the stress. Take it from someone who has to co-parent. When you want to rant and rave about your ex-wife, stop and look at a picture of your kids. Remember how your words and actions affect them.”
The line is silent. I’m sure I’ve overstepped, but I hate guys like this. I can tell already he’s going to try and get out of his financial obligations to his wife. I only hope that choice doesn’t hurt his children.
“Anyway, I’m going to get going. I have a little girl waiting to tell me about her day. You take care and I’ll talk to you later. Have a good night.”
Before he can respond, I click the end call button and remove my headset, tossing it on the desk. With a few clicks, I begin the process of engaging the backup system before shutting down my computer. When everything is powered down, I flip the light switch and exit the office. My dad’s booming laugh guides me to the kitchen where my family sits, spouting off made up fortunes that may be in our cookies later.
When Mom sees me, she smiles and slides a white box with red writing across the table to my seat. I know the best Kung Pao Chicken sits in that container. My weakness. Since I’m the only one who likes the spicy goodness, my mom always gets a small side for only me.
As I settle into the chair, the same seat I’ve eaten hundreds, probably thousands, of meals at over the years, I roll my neck, letting the tension of the day go. While the table and chairs have been upgraded over the years, we still sit in the same seats as when I was a kid. Only now, Sprite sits t
o my right, naming the broccoli on her plate. Each “tree” as she refers to them has a name and she always says goodbye to it before stuffing it in her mouth.
“Sprite, honey, you need to take bites. I don’t want you choking,” Mom says.
“Ih ohay gwammuh.”
“Baby, slow down and eat correctly, please.” My tone gives no room for argument.
No sooner do the words leave my mouth than she leans over, mouth open above her plate as the chewed up green vegetable falls from her lips. Three different responses from the adults at the table catch her attention. A sly grin takes over her face as my dad barks out a choking laugh, Mom mumbles under her breath, and I groan.
“I’m all done!” The pint-sized one announces and stands from the table, taking her plate to the kitchen.
While she’s off playing with her toys, my parents and I go about finishing our dinner and confirming plans for Thanksgiving and, in code to avoid tiny ears, coordinating Calypso’s Christmas gifts. Then it happens. The same topic my mom brings up every few months. Only this time, she has a partner in crime.
“So, any dating prospects? You know you aren’t getting any younger, Matthew.”
“Thanks, Mother.”
“Oh Daddy, you should take Carrie on a date. I bet she’d say yes if you were really nice and gave her flowers,” Calypso says excitedly, her little eyes wide and her hands clasped to her chest.
“Why, I think that’s a wonderful idea. Sprite has told me all about how fun game night was and how pretty this Carrie is. I think a date sounds perfect.”
Calypso climbs up on Mom’s lap like the little traitor she is. I thought we were a team. The two of us taking on the world. Turns out she’s in cahoots with my mom to set me up.
“And on that note, we need to get home. It’s a school night for someone,” I retort and stand from the table, taking my plate and a few empty containers to the kitchen. With the topic clearly not up for discussion, my mom and I go about cleaning up our dinner while my daughter and Dad work on their puzzle before I really call it a night and usher Calypso out the door.
She chatters all the way home, talking about all her favorite “trees” and which bubbles she wants to use tonight for her bath. I wish I could switch from topic to topic like her. The mind of a six-year-old is amazing and a little chaotic. When we pull up to the house, she’s moved from bath time to why girls can do anything boys can do, even fly to the moon.
The minute I kill the engine, I hear it. The incessant barking from earlier but at an epic level. Great, I just know I’m going to be on my hands and knees digging around a bush with a flashlight to save Olaf from whatever has him freaking out.
“Let’s go, Sprite. I need to see what has Olaf making such a racket.”
“Daddy! What if it’s a zombie?”
“A what? Never mind. I need your tablet before bath time. Time to check the parental controls.”
Making our way into the house, I flip the light in the kitchen before pulling the flashlight from the drawer and heading straight out the door to where Olaf is standing, butt up in the air, his nose in the bushes along the fence.
Now I know where the term “downward dog” came from. This dog is going down.
“What is it, buddy? Let me in there,” I say, nudging him out of the way and dropping to my knees. It’s then that I see it. A tiny little pink… what is that? An alien baby? Maybe Sprite wasn’t too far off with the zombie thing.
“Olaf, I swear, get out of the way,” I groan as I push him farther to the side and scoop the little creature up into my hands.
A high pitch screech behind me startles me and Olaf both. He runs away whimpering while I shift, barely avoiding dropping the critter.
“Calypso! You scared me.”
“What is that? A baby? Oh! Daddy, is it for me? Do I get to keep it?”
“No, you don’t. But I think we need to get it inside and warm it up. I don’t even know what it is.”
Rising from the ground, I motion for her to pick up the flashlight and head toward the house. Wrapping the small thing in a kitchen towel, I do the only thing I can think of. I pull my phone, snap a picture, and text it to Carrie. If anyone knows what to do with a random pink critter in my yard, it’s her.
Chapter 12
Carrie
The house is a mess, I’m in my jammies, and Luke has disappeared on me again. It’s not that I mind him running around a bit. He’s the only animal who lives here so there’s no danger. Except, I wasn’t expecting to have company tonight.
Not that Matthew bringing over a baby squirrel is considered company. It’s more of an urgent animal rescue situation. Our focus will be on the tiny newborn, not on my small duplex and how it looks like a tornado hit recently.
Oh who am I kidding? Matthew may not care, but I do. And that just pisses me off. I shouldn’t care what he thinks about my housekeeping skills or my giant nightshirt and ratty sweatpants. But I do.
After spending the evening with him and Calypso, he just seems so much—more. So much more than just a pretty face who loves to flirt and keep his bed warm with a random body. Which I realized the other day I don’t actually know if that’s true. The rumor mill amongst bloggers and his flirty pickup lines only confirmed that impression I had of him. Until now.
Now he’s this amazing guy who is a good cook, a great housekeeper, and a fantastic father of the most amazing little girl. She’s witty, smart, and one heck of a “creative player.”
And I’m the crazy lady with a squirrel for a pet.
“Come on, Luke,” I call out as I get on my hands and knees to look under the couch. “At least humor me and get in your cage until they get here, will you?”
Of course, now is when the doorbell rings. I should know better than to hope the lone man in my life will help me out at a time like this.
“I hope you fell asleep in the sink again,” I grumble as I make my way to the door. “It’d serve you right if I didn’t see you before washing my hands.”
I pull the door open, expecting to find Matthew in all his cover model glory standing on my front porch. Instead, it looks like he and Calypso have been digging in a mud puddle.
“Rough day?” I ask, gesturing them in. Matthew looks down at both of them and it’s as if he’s just now realizing that they’re both covered in dirt.
“Oh. Yeah. I had to manhandle Olaf out of the way to figure out what was making him go ballistic.”
“And I thought Daddy was fighting a zombie and was saving him,” Calypso tosses out proudly. I raise my eyebrows at her in question, so she leans in and quietly adds, “Always go for the head. It’s the only way to kill them.”
“Seriously. No more iPad at Grandma’s house until Papa stops unblocking websites.” Matthew’s frustration is evident, and I suspect this isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion. But we don’t have time for this. I’ve seen a picture of this new baby, and he’s probably on borrowed time.
“Okay, well come in and let me see this little one you have for me.”
Matthew holds out a dishrag which I take gently, pulling it to my chest. Moving quickling, I head toward my dining room, currently also a squirrel bedroom, when I hear the front door close. Gently, I set the towel on the table and unwrap it.
“Is Sven going to be okay?” Calypso asks sweetly from my side.
“I hope so.” I pull the tiny pink baby out of the rag and realize there’s about a fifty-fifty shot for this guy. “You already did good by giving him a good strong name.”
A quick inspection shows no visible injuries and he’s squirmy. All good signs. But his eyes are still sealed shut, he doesn’t have any hair, and a tiny little umbilical cord is still attached to him. All bad signs about his chances.
“First things first, we need to get him a little bit of sugar water to help stabilize him.” Tucking him safely into my sports bra, I head toward the kitchen and start grabbing all the ingredients I need.
“Um… did you just…?”<
br />
I look over my shoulder at Matthew who has the strangest look on his face.
“What?” Now I’m self-conscious. Do I have toothpaste on my chin? A booger hanging out of my nose? I have some sort of stain on my jammie top, don’t I?
“You just stuck a squirrel in your bra.”
Oh yeah. I guess he’s never seen me do that before. Hazards of working in wildlife rescue, I don’t even realize what I’m doing until someone points it out.
Clearing my throat of my embarrassment, I turn back to the job at hand and spend a little more time than necessary making sure the water is at the right temperature for my mixture. “It’s a sports bra. When they’re this little, the best way to get them warm is skin to skin contact.”
Matthew doesn’t say anything so I take a chance and glance over at him. He’s nodding and watching me closely as I pour water in a small bowl. “Makes sense. I guess I just never thought of doing it for an animal. Seems… strange.”
I scoff. “You’ll just have to trust me when I say a squirrel in my bra is hardly the strangest part of my life.”
I gather the rest of my supplies and the three of us head back into the small dining area. Since it’s just me, I don’t need it for actual dining, so it ended up being a combination of Luke’s bedroom and my blog room. Mostly Luke, though.
His oversized cage is set up on top of a large towel on the table for easy clean up. Extra rags and clean food bowls sit on top, next to branches of fresh leaves sticking out in various spots. Squirrels like to chew on bark and leaves so I have to change them out regularly. Of course, that also means never walking too close to the cage without paying attention. Impaling yourself on a branch is never fun.
I settle myself on the chair and pull Sven out of my bra. “Come here, baby. Let’s see if we can get you to eat something.”
“Can I watch?” Calypso moves closer, eyes focused on the wiggly thing in my hand. He’s barely the length of my palm. Wrapping my fingers around his body to keep him warm and his head where I want it, I bring the syringe to his mouth and hope for the best.
Model Behavior Page 9
