“Does he now?”
The blush on Maverick’s cheeks spreads like wildfire, turning the color of ripened cherries.
“He’s getting mixed up,” he offers, holding on to Sammy tightly as he shifts from foot to foot. “I saw a documentary on Michael Jackson. That’s who I’ve been talking about. Not”—his blue eyes travel up and down the length of my body—“you.”
“Yeah, right.” Sammy giggles, and Maverick digs into his side until the little boy is squealing with laughter.
He lowers him onto the ground and crouches in front of him. “We’ve spoken about not playing with people’s phones. Now it looks like we’re going to have to have a chat about not listening in on other people’s conversations, aren’t we?”
Sammy looks suitably chastised, dipping his head. “Sorry, Uncle Kick.”
“Hey, I have an idea,” Pip says to Sammy with a clap. “I’m dying to see how Uncle Kick’s office looks. Want to take me for a tour?”
Sammy’s big blue eyes brighten. “I’d love to.”
“Assuming that’s okay withUncle Kick, of course?” Pip tries not to smile as he uses the way-too-cute moniker.
The muscle in Maverick’s jaw twitches, like he might be a little unsure about trusting Pip with his nephew.
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “He’s working toward his associate degree in ECE and is great with kids. Sammy will be safe with him.”
“Oh, okay. Great.” Maverick gives me a quick, grateful smile, then turns to Pip. “Thanks. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Cool.” Pip lowers to the floor. “Jump on, Sammy.”
Disbelief crosses Maverick’s features, and I don’t blame him. Despite his small stature, Pip is way stronger than he looks, andhe’s able to scoop Sammy onto his shoulders and piggyback him effortlessly. “Bye, Uncle Kick. Bye, Michael Jackson.”
And with that, they’re off. I glance at Maverick. There’s a genuine affection in his eyes as he watches them leave.
“Sammy seems like a great kid,” I say.
Maverick smiles. “He’s a firecracker, that’s for sure.”
“Firecracker, hm.” I tap my chin. “Help me remember, is that a Michael Jackson song or not?”
His smile fades, but not entirely. “Kid definitely lacks a filter.”
True. And while I could press Maverick on the little nugget Sammy dropped about him talking about me to his brother, I decide to spare him any further embarrassment.
For now.
“What was that about him playing on your phone?”
Maverick rolls his eyes and heads back to the coffee machine. “He changed my ringtone last week to Ginuwine’s ‘Pony.’”
I snicker, following him. “Why did he do that?”
He goes back to twisting the machine’s controls. “He said he picked it because he knew I liked horses, and a pony is a baby horse.”
I nod a few times. “That’s actually pretty smart.”
“And because the start of the song sounds like someone burping.”
A soft laugh escapes me, which I quickly mask with a fake cough. “That’s quite funny.”
“It is. He also said he wanted to cheer me up because I’ve been sad lately, so it was kinda hard to be mad at him for that.” Maverick’s breath hitches, as if realizing what he just said. “Want a coffee?” he asks, a frown settling on his forehead.
“Uh, sure.”
