Page 15 of Mister Mom

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Toys ‘R’ Us is its usual chaotic scene. Kids are whining in every aisle and every parent looks like they’re on their last sane nerve.

“Let’s make this quick,” I remind Payne as he skips along the rows, searching out his favorite area.

We round the corner and he doesn’t pause before heading right for the tented castle. Needing to get off my feet, I plop down on a queen’s chair and allow my hand to hold up my head.

“I’m the knight.” Payne’s voice wakes me up from my comatose state.

“Payne.” I shoot him a silent warning, my eyes veering over to the father whose attention is now on the fantasy tent in the middle of the play zone. Usually I can relax for a while before he’s fighting with another kid about whose castle it is.

Is my son spoiled? Yes.

Is it my fault? Probably.

I’m not proud of that fact.

“You can’t have the sword, it’s mine.” Payne’s mean voice echoes out of the tent and the father peeks his head in only to usher his child out.

“I’m sorry.” I stand to my feet. “Payne, honey, time to go.”

The man holds his—whoa—son’s hand. A son who is probably twice the size of Payne. My son knows no fear.

“It’s okay. We’ve been here for a while.” The father shoots me a crooked smile and his gaze falls down my body and then back up.

One. Two. Three.

He leans forward. “Are you Layla Andrews?” he whispers. At least he’s not one of those people who scream and pull their phone out for a picture.

“I am.” I soften my own tone with the hopes he doesn’t try to sell a story about Layla Andrew’s son accosting his child to the tabloids.

“I thought so.”

The boy wrangles out of his dad’s hold and flies back into the tent.

NOOOO.

“I’m Zeke Donner.” The man holds out his hand and I shake it absentmindedly, my mind too occupied with what Payne could be doing to his poor son inside that tent.

“Hello.”

“May I say, you’re so much prettier than the magazines make you look.” His green eyes sparkle and although I’m not looking for love, he seems like a decent guy.

A regular guy dressed in jeans and a t-shirt who actually takes care of his child. There’s something sexy about a man who takes charge of his responsibilities.

“Yeah, well, they seem to have a way of finding me on those mornings I’m just running out for coffee and donuts.” I laugh.

His eyes fixate on my mouth, but he doesn’t laugh with me.

“This probably seems crazy, but how about dinner?” He extends his arm so his long-sleeved t-shirt rises when he takes a glance at his watch. “I know my son is going to be throwing himself on the ground soon.” A deep chuckle leaves his throat and before I can politely decline, Payne and his boy run out of the tent.

Zeke’s son has the sword and a shield strapped to his chest. At least he has protection.

“Yeah. Let’s go to the King’s Quarters,” Payne says and I glance to the dad, whose eyes are filled with hope.

“The King’s Quarters?” The other boy’s shoulders fall. “I want to go to Playzone. The ball pit.” His green eyes that match his father’s stare up, as though he’s saying, Do not make me go to the King’s Quarters.

Zeke pats his son on the head. “We’ll go to Playzone tomorrow.”

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