I’m versed enough to know that crust is a hard no for most kids, so while cutting it off, I made it a little more exciting by turning his square of white bread into a piece of doggy-shaped toast.
Look at me using my kitchen skills on day one of this gig. Who the hell needs cookie cutters?
“Woof! Woof!” Max barks, pointing at the bread.
“Do you like doggies?”
He slaps at the toast in excitement before tearing off a leg and popping the bread in his mouth.
Glad to know I’m still in debt from pastry school when I could get this kind of reaction by cutting some store-bought bread into the shape of a Labrador.
I lean my elbows onto the counter to get on his level. “Max, what do you think is wrong with me?”
Damn. Loaded question for a fifteen-month-old. I guess I really am losing it.
He doesn’t answer, continuing to chew away at the bread and avocado. Little does he know there are people in certain parts of the world willing to pay twenty-five dollars or more for some avocado toast and he’s over here mashing it into his mat long before it ever makes it to his mouth.
I rephrase my question. “Do you think I’m going to get my life together by the end of summer?”
He looks at me with shiny eyes.
“Do you think I’ll stop sucking in the kitchen?”
He giggles.
My eyes narrow. “Do you think I’m going to figure out these recipes?”
He smacks his lips as he chews before giving me his biggest smile.
“Wow.” I straighten. “Hanging out with you is going to be excellent for my self-confidence. Did you know that?”
He squeals and I chuckle, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “All right, little man. I’ll be sure to keep phrasing my questions so I like your answers.”
My phone dings on the counter. The eighth time in eight innings.
Unknown: This is Sanderson . . . again. Ace wants to know how Max is doing.
I can’t help but roll my eyes at the unknown number accompanying the exact question I received during all seven of the previous innings. Kai is ridiculous, pulling these poor employees into his overprotective insanity.
Me: Good. He’s sleeping really well after the whiskey I slipped into his bottle.
Unknown: Oh okay. Well, um . . . Ace wants me to tell you that you’re fired.
Me: Weird. I was fired three times already tonight, yet I’m still at the hotel with his son.
Unknown: I’m sure he’ll reach out again in the ninth.
Me: I’m sure he will.
When I agreed to this gig, I wasn’t fully convinced I was ready to spend my summer taking care of anyone other than myself, but I said yes because my dad is almost impossible to say no to. Whatever convincing I needed was solidified by Max and how easy he is to be with, but his dad’s overly concerned parenting style is causing me to question my decision.
My attention falls back to the little boy who is an absolute mess covered in avocado.
“Max, is your dad the most overbearing parent of all time?”
He squeals and from now on, I’m taking that as a definitive yes.
“That’s what I thought.”
Chapter 6
Kai
Still in most of my uniform, I jog down the hall to my hotel room. As quietly as possible, I enter the darkened space, Max’s noise machine covering up whatever sounds I do make as I hurry to his crib.
He’s okay. In fact, I’d say he’s better than okay, sleeping soundly in a cozy pair of pajamas with his favorite lovey in his fist that I didn’t even tell Miller about.
I don’t know why I didn’t tell her about the tiny fox-shaped comfort he’s obsessed with. Max doesn’t sleep without the thing, but even though I’m glad he’s getting some rest, I can’t lie and say I’m completely stoked that she seemingly did fine without my guidance.
Following the light filtering through the crack under the adjoining door, I tap my knuckles against the barrier between Miller’s room and mine.
“Come in,” she says just loud enough for me to hear.
Opening the door, I find her sitting on the mattress, legs crossed, attention on the TV. Max’s baby monitor sits on the nightstand where she can check on him while she watches the Food Network without any sound.
“Does this make sense to you if you can’t hear it?” I gesture towards the TV, but Miller doesn’t look in my direction, keeping her eyes on the screen.
“It makes way more sense with the sound off. I only wanted to see how they made their frittata. I don’t need the backstory about how their great grandmother had a chicken farm, so it inspired them to create this dish for their children on the first day of school, ya know?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Mesmerized by the woman on the television, she barely glances my way to wave me off before doing a double take, her eyes falling right back to my body.
“Are you still in your uniform?”
“Had to rush over here and make sure my kid was still breathing.”
“You texted all night. Lighten up a little, Baseball Daddy.” She refocuses on the screen, but then her brows furrow and her attention finds mine again. “You know, this uptight control freak thing is making it really hard to imagine myself watching Max all summer long.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Is that supposed to deter me?”
Her eyes narrow. “For someone who says they like my dad so much, you’re hell-bent on making his job hard, huh? You act like this towards any person who comes within a ten-foot radius of your son, they quit, or you fire them, only for him to bend over backwards to do it all over again for you.”
Well . . . shit. That’s annoyingly perceptive.
And because I hate that she’s calling me out on day one, I deflect. “If he’s so important to you, where have you been? I’ve been playing for him for a year and a half and assumed you were a kid, not a full-grown woman, because you’ve never come around before.”
“I’m not around because he’s important to me.”
I nod my head as if I understand. “That makes no fucking sense.”
“Emmett Montgomery would give up his apartment, his dreams, and his career if it meant he could live near me. Work keeps me busy, keeps me from staying in one place for long, so we see each other on the road a few times a year. This is the first time in my adult life I have some free time and he wants me around. I owe him, so could you stop making it so difficult to pay him back?”
“What do you mean you owe him?”
She waves me off. “Maybe one morning we could get drunk together and I’ll explain it to you then.” Miller grabs her phone from the nightstand, holding it out for me to see. “Look at this video of Max. Look how happy he is.”
On the small phone screen, a video plays of my giddy son sitting on the couch, pointing up to the television screen where he can see me pitching. He’s never been to one of my games and, for all I know, this might be the first time he’s ever seen me play. The constant repeat of “Dadda” makes my chest physically ache as he watches me do something I’ve loved my entire life, but all that changes at the end of the video when I watch him cuddle up to his new nanny.
I can feel my face fall in conjunction with my stomach. He’s never been so comfortable with someone else so quickly, never had a woman in his life that he wanted to cuddle up to.
It scares the shit out of me.
Because as much as Miller has freaked me out today, what scares me more than anything is how Max will react in two months when she’s gone, if this is how much he likes her on day one.
She continues to scroll through picture after picture of him, Max smiling as widely as his little mouth allows, and when she’s done with her slideshow, without a word, I head back to my room.
“That’s it?” she asks.
I linger back into her space. “What else do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. How about ‘Thank you, Miller. I’m not surprised my son loves you already because you’re the easiest person to get along with’ or maybe you could try to get to know me. Anything really.”
“I don’t want to get to know you.”