I released a loud breath. Hazel wasn’t wrong. Scott—the tall, dark, handsome, successful journalist with the toned body and the hair that felljust soover one eye—had started out as a colleague I’d met while covering local politics and had quickly become a friend, sort of. But it was fairly obvious—apparently even to seven-year-olds—he wanted more, and I was fairlysure I was going to give it to him…
Again, once I’d tied up this one teeny, tiny—did I mention how teeny-tiny it was?—loose end.
“Hey, now! Didn’t Scott talk with you about the pictures you were coloring when we were at the coffee shop last weekend? He’s making an effort to get to know you.”
She pursed her lips. “He suggested I color inside the lines.”
“Oh.”
“Like a big girl.”
I winced. “Okay, okay. Look, I said he wastrying, not that he was succeeding.Yet. Some guys don’t have a lot of experience with kids your age, babe. Give him time—”
“He called me Bug.”
“Icall you Bug!”
“Because you’remyfather. No one else can call me that unless I say. And he got veryhuffywhen I told him so.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth. On the one hand, I was glad my lessons on personal boundaries had taken root. On the other…
“Also? Scott won’t drink hot cocoa because he doesn’t put processed foods or refined sugar in his body, he thinks Beyoncé’s talent is overhyped, and he has apet bird.”
I blinked. I… didn’t know any of those things about Scott. But then, I’d never bothered to ask, and I didn’t doubt Hazelhad.
Sometimes my overwhelminglikeof her swamped me. I mean, I’dlovedher from the first moment I saw her, all red-faced and scrappy, snuggled in Jake and Nora’s arms, but you couldn’t help loving people sometimes. It wasn’t always voluntary.Likingsomeone was an entirely different matter.
“What’s wrong with having a pet bird?” I demanded. “You’ve been harassing me for a pet for months!”
“I don’t trust anything that doesn’t have whites in its eyes,” she said, like this should be obvious, and I wondered if maybe I should quit photography altogether and spend my time writing a book calledLife Advice from Hazel.I wasn’t sure if it would be shelved under comedyor self-help, but either way, it was bound to be a bestseller. “And besides, I have been asking you for acat. Cats and birds aremortal enemies.”
“Bug,” I said patiently. “Scott’s a nice guy. He’s got a good job. And he’s hard-working and responsible.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes. “Well, if nice and responsible’s what you’re looking for, Mrs. Boudreaux is single.”
I gaped.Direct fucking hit.“Listen to the sass! Who evenareyou right now?” I demanded.
She sat back in her booster seat with a self-satisfied smile. “Your daughter.”
Yes. Yes, she definitely was. And she was worth any sacrifice of time or money or effort or—I swallowed and glanced at the passenger’s seat, a bit guiltily this time—oranything.
“You can just chill right the heck out,daughter, because I’m not marrying Scott oranyone,” I informed her.
“Ever?” She frowned.
“Ever.”
More specifically, I wasn’t marrying anyone everagain.I was busy trying to dissolve a relationship, not get into one.
Hazel sighed and kicked at the back of my seat. “How much longernow?”
“Uh, less than two minutes. We’re basically there,” I said.
“Where’sthere?”
“I told you. A tiny town called O’Leary.”
“And why are we here?”
