I look at Ward, who just shrugs, not fazed at all by the nudity. I can’t imagine a man with Ward’s impressive physique eats at McDonald’s often, but it will make Crew’s day.
I turn back to Crew. “Sure, as long as you put on pants.”
“Fine. But I’m not wearing socks.”
Goodness, where did he get his bossiness from?
“Fine.” I’ll take it. I don’t need much in life. Just a child withsomedecency.
Eighteen
Ward
AmIonadate right now?
I had only planned on apologizing, but now I’m walking down the block with Lyndi and Crew toward McDonald’s, feeling very much like I’m on a date.
If going to McDonald’s with a four-year-old can technically be considered such.
I sneak another glance over at Lyndi, who is wearing skinny jeans and a frayed black band t-shirt. She’s had me stumbling for words since the moment she opened the door. She’s effortlessly stunning.
I wouldn’t even need a heart to notice that. But I do have one, and it won’t stop thudding against my ribs like it’s throwing a frat party.
“Fly me,” Crew says, grabbing hold of my hand.
“Okay.” I release his hand, pick him up by the armpits, and throw him into the air.
Two screams follow. One of delight, and the other decidedly not.
“Whatare you doing?” Lyndi screeches.
“I’m a rocket,” Crew squeals. But Lyndi doesn’t match his excitement. In fact, she looks ready to grab Crew and run away from the big bad wolf.
I don’t blame her.
“Sorry.” I gently put him down beside his mom and take a safe step away. Crew must have had a different version of flying in mind. “My sister hates when I do that with the girls too.”
Lyndi worries her bottom lip. “I didn’t hate it, it’s just…no one has ever played with him like that before.”
A surge of protectiveness rears inside of me. Whoever missed the chance to play with his kid is an idiot. My heart hurts for Crew. He deserves to experience this level of play with a father figure. What kind of father leaves his family? His child?
I have the sudden urge to punch something.
“I’m always up for a good wrestling match,” I say and rustle Crew’s hair.
Lyndi is silent, and I look up to see her studying my chest, the expression in her eyes… confusing me.
I really need to learn eye language.
Lyndi grabs Crew’s hand as we cross the street, then has to physically pull him into the line before he can make a mad dash for the play area.
“Can I get a hambooger and frenchies?” Crew asks me, jumping up and down and tugging on Lyndi’s hand.
I look over at Lyndi for a translation.
“He has a different name for everything,” she explains. “Hamburger and french fries.“
“Sure, little man, whatever you want.” I can’t say no to those blue eyes.
