Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Still, I’m careful to keep an eye on her. She’s a tiny thing, easily crushed beneath a boot or a large purse, and her safety is always top of mind.
When a little girl with blond pigtails makes a beeline for us, squealing in excitement just as Remy slips quarters into the Tetris machine, I’m ready, and smoothly insert myself between kid and pup.
“Hey there, you look like you love dogs,” I say, crouching down to the girl’s level. She can’t be more than four or five and is clearly a huge animal fan. She’s practically trembling with excitement, which has Barb looking skittish.
“Yes. Is that your puppy?” she says, still at a decibel way too loud for sensitive dog ears. “She’s so cute!”
“Yeah, that’s Barb,” I say, modeling a soft, soothing voice. “She likes making new friends, but she does get a little nervous around loud noise. Can you whisper while you pet her? I bet she’d like that.”
The girl nods solemnly, before adding in an exaggerated whisper, “Yes, I can.”
“Maddie!” A woman with slightly darker blond hair hurries over, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry. She just bolted. She loves chihuahuas. She must have seen your dog and—”
“No worries, it’s fine.” I pull one of Barb’s organic chicken treats from my pocket and hand it to Maddie. “Can you tell her to sit? Once she does, you can give her this treat and pet her if you want.” To her mother, I add in a softer voice, “She’s good with kids.”
As soon as her mom nods the go-ahead, Maddie takes the treat. “Barb, sit please,” she whispers. “Can you sit, Barb?”
Barb, ever the show-off, executes a perfect sit, adding a charming head tilt for good measure. Maddie beams as she offers the treat, and Barb plucks it from her open palm. She then proceeds to pet my pup with a reverence that’s very sweet.
“Aw, she likes you,” I say, knowing it’s what every dog lover wants to hear.
“Thank you so much,” Maddie’s mom says, casting a grateful glance Remy’s way before she and Maddie move on to play more games.
I turn to find Remy watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She smiles, but something lingers in her eyes. “Want to take a break and get some pizza? I’m starving all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, sure,” I agree. “You know me, I can always eat.”
Over thick-crust pepperoni that lives up to the hype, Remy devours two pieces with barely a word before beginning to pick at her leftover crust. She tears it into pieces that she arranges in neat rows on her plate, playing with her food the way she always does when she has something to say, but isn’t ready to say it.
I wait her out, knowing better than to push.
Finally, she looks up, meeting my gaze with a wary expression I don’t understand until she says. “So…you’re really good with kids.”
Ah, so that’s what happened…
“So are you,” I remind her. “You coach rugrats way more often than I do.”
“It’s not the same,” she says. “That’s a structured environment with rules, not just…being a grown-up around random small people. I mean, I’m getting better with that kind of thing, but it took me a while.” She sucks in a breath, bobbing a stiff shoulder. “I think it’s because I was never really a kid myself. Not a normal one, anyway.” She nods toward the gaming area. “Like that little girl. My dad would have read me the riot act if I’d run off like that and started chatting up some stranger with a dog. Or made loud noises in public.” She exhales a soft laugh. “Or in private. Our house was very quiet.”
My heart aches. I want to gather her close; to tell her it sounds like her dad was kind of a shit parent and that she deserved better. He probably didn’t mean to be—Coach Lauder isn’t a bad guy, just a hard ass—but a man shouldn’t hold a kid to the same standards as a pro athlete. Little Remy deserved patience, gentleness, and the freedom to be a loud, messy kid.
But I know she’s not ready to hear any of that. Not yet.
For good or for ill, her dad is the only family she’s got left, and he’s not the kind of man who’s going to go to therapy to work through their issues. Accepting him, as is, has clearly been her only option, thus far.
“I get it. But you don’t have to play by those rules anymore,” I say, instead. “You get to call the shots now. That’s one of the only cool parts about being an adult. Taxes and cleaning the toilet sure as hell aren’t any fun.”
Her lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t form. “I know. And like I said, I’m getting there. I just…” She tears off another piece of crust, aligning it with mathematical precision. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever not feel a little awkward around kids. And someone who feels awkward around children shouldn’t have them, you know? That’s part of why I keep things casual with men.” She rolls her eyes. “You’d be surprised how many guys our age want kids. Or think they do, anyway.”