It’s six in the evening.
I’m living a very exciting social life by chilling in bed and watching Netflix.
Alone.
No Thin Mints this time.
They’re all gone, and I’m all out of Girl Scout sources to get more.
Might have to search the black market later.
I’m licking Cheetos cheese off my fingers when my phone rings, and I nearly drop it when Cohen’s name flashes across the screen.
He never calls.
We’ve texted a few times, but since I’ve started hanging out with Georgia and Noah, I communicate through her.
I’m unsure why I drag in a calming breath before answering, “Hello?”
“Jamie.” My name sounds stressed, leaving his mouth. “Are you busy?”
“Nope.” Cleaning cheddar fingers doesn’t count as busy, right? “What’s up?”
“An employee just walked out, leaving me stuck at the bar, and Noah’s babysitter can’t stay any later. Is there any way you can hang out at my house until I can get there? If not, I completely understand. Georgia suggested you might be—”
“That’s no problem,” I interrupt before he talks himself out of the idea.
“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m in a bind.”
“I can be there in about ten minutes.” I jump out of bed and scramble for clothes that don’t make me look homeless.
“Thank you. I’ll let the babysitter know you’re coming. If you need anything, call me. If I don’t answer, call Georgia.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be there.”
A gorgeous, college-aged blonde answers Cohen’s door.
No wonder Noah says he wants his babysitter to be his girlfriend.
She stands up straight, and her words are chirpy. “Hi! I’m Sylvia. You must be Jamie.”
I nod, and when I say hello, it’s not nearly as chirpy as hers.
She retreats a step, allowing me space to come in. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re all Noah talks about.” She peeks back at me with a frown. “I feel bad I can’t stay later, but I’m going out of town.”
“Totally understandable. I’m happy to help.”
“Jamie!” Noah shouts when I come into view. He punches his hand through the air before dashing across the living room to give me a hug.
Bending down, I hug him back, squeezing him tight and savoring the moment. The more we hang out, the closer we get. This little boy has sent a wave of happiness through my life, and moments like this, even though they’re joyous, still send a flash of fear through me.
That motherly instinct has hit me.
The love for him in my heart is there.
Whether that’s good or bad, I’m not sure.
I’m playing by Cohen’s rules, going at it minute by minute.
Cohen could have a bad day and decide no more Noah visits for me.
I could say the wrong thing, and he could pull away the happiness we’ve created.
The thought is terrifying.
Never did I think I’d get so attached in such a short amount of time, but Noah has won me over with his radiant and childish heart. He’s funny, a ball of energy, and the sweetest little guy. Cohen raised him right, and a sense of guilt twists my heart that we’d ever doubted him.
Noah gives Sylvia a hug good-bye along with a kiss on the cheek, and we make ourselves comfortable in the living room when she leaves. Cartoons are playing on the crazy-large TV, and Noah has his action figures displayed on the floor, perched up as if they were watching the show with him.
Cohen’s house is warm and comfortable, very homey. The walls are painted a light gray throughout the entire house with the exception of Noah’s blue bedroom. The couch is cushy, which I love. Nothing’s worse than a stiff couch. Two brown suede recliners sit on each side of the couch. Blankets are everywhere—thrown over those recliners, a Spider-Man one spilling over the arm of the couch—and brown suede pillows that match the recliners are scattered around. Just like in the hallway, pictures of Noah are everywhere. School pictures, pictures of him and his family, and ones of him with others.
Twenty minutes later, Noah looks back at me. “I’m hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten dinner?”
“Sylvia made me chicken nuggets and gross broccoli, but I’m hungry again.” He pats his stomach.
“What would you like to eat?”
He provides a sly grin. “Pizza.”
I snatch my phone from my bag. “Let me check with your dad.”
“Dad won’t care. I’ll save him a slice and a half.”
Yeah, not pushing my buttons with this one.
I could see Cohen banning me for giving Noah a pepperoni instead of a broccoli sprout.
Me: Is it cool if we order pizza?
He texts me back a few minutes later.
Cohen: Since I’m sure he won’t let you say no, that’s fine.
Me: He agreed to save you a slice and a half.
Cohen: Tell him I appreciate his generosity.
“Good news,” I tell him, pulling up the pizza shop app to order. “Pizza it is!”
This is my mom’s third call.
Her seventh text comes through.
Mom: Are you alive? I thought you had the night off at the hospital?
Knowing my mom, she won’t stop calling until I answer.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Noah before walking to the kitchen and returning her call.
“Honey, why have you been ignoring my calls?” she answers. “I’ve been calling you all day.”
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?” Her voice is stern and worried. “Are you working too many hours at the hospital again?”
That is a regular question from her.
“No, Mom. I’m working regular ER doctor hours,” I answer.
“Which is too many hours! I don’t understand why you won’t work in a practice. Your father does.”
“I don’t want to work in a practice.”
“Hey, Jamie!”
My hand tightens around my phone at the sound of Noah yelling my name, and I turn around at the same time he comes barreling into the kitchen.
He jumps up and down, his voice rising. “Can I have a cookie?”
“Who’s that?” my mom asks.
I gulp, unable to speak. Instead, I nod as I give Noah a thumbs-up, and he dashes to the pantry. A package of cookies is in his hand when he turns and scurries to the table.
“Jamie!” my mom yelps.
I hear the wrapper opening when I speed-walk to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. “I’m babysitting.”
“Babysitting? Babysitting who?”
“A kid.” My stomach sinks.
My mother won’t stop at that answer.
“I’d assume so. Whose kid?”
She’s also always been a nosy one.
To lie or not to lie.
My pizza threatens to come up while I fight with myself on how to answer.
“It’s Noah, Mom,” I reply, resting my back against the door. “I’m babysitting Noah.”
The line goes silent, and I double-check that she didn’t hang up on me.
“I’m sorry.” She clears her throat. “Did you say you’re babysitting Noah?”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Yes.”
Another silence.
“Heather’s Noah?”
“Yes.”
“What?” Her voice lowers. “How?”
I hold the phone closer to my face and lower my voice. “I can’t exactly go into the details at the moment.”
Her shocked tone morphs into an angry one. “How long has this been happening behind our backs?”
I shut my eyes, hating the betrayal in her voice. “It’s not behind your backs.” When she doesn’t reply, I release a heavy breath. “It hasn’t been long. I wanted to make sure it stuck before I got anyone involved. I plan to ask Cohen if you can see Noah, but you can’t tell Heather about this, okay?”
“Jamie, you know I don’t like secrets.”
“If you want Cohen to even consider letting you meet Noah, you should start liking them with this one.”
Noah yells my name again.
“Look, I have to go,” I rush out.
“Call me when you leave. I want to know what he’s like.” She sighs. “Snap a picture if you can.”