Page 31 of Foster

Leo grins and I grin back at him, and we start plucking at our guitar strings with the famous melody, causing the patrons to groan before clapping with wonder and satisfaction that we’re pretty damn good at knowing many of the songs people throw at us.

Not to say we don’t get stumped, because we do. We save those song titles and try our best to learn some of them for future performances. But this song we know well because it happens to be one of Leo’s favorites.

Our rendition is beautiful with Leo handling the bass notes and me harmonizing the higher ones. When we finish, we get a standing ovation and several women come up to drop money in Leo’s case.

But it’s Foster who I look to because I seem to only care what he thinks. His eyes are hooded as he looks back at me, a slight smile on his face as he shakes his head and gives a slow, intentional clap. As if he can’t believe what he just heard.

I beam from the inside out with pride and realize it’s been a long time since I cared what individuals thought of my talent. I wonder why it matters to me what Foster thinks.

Leo thanks the crowd for coming and a steady trickle of people walk up to praise the performance. A few more women throw more money into Leo’s guitar case. One lady drops a note in there, which I’ll bet has her number on it.

Foster and Bowie Jane hang back while Leo and I stow our instruments. Two of the coffee shop employees pack away the microphones, remove the stools and set up a table with four chairs for additional seating for later crowds.

With my guitar case in hand and my purse slung over my shoulder, I move over to Foster and Bowie Jane, beaming at them both but my gaze focusing on the little girl. “I can’t believe you came to watch me play. Surely you had more exciting things to do on this beautiful Saturday.”

“It was Dad’s idea,” Bowie Jane says. “But I wanted to come too.”

My eyes slide to Foster to see if he’s embarrassed to be called out like that, but he merely stares back at me. “It was well worth our time. You’ll have to tell us other times you’re playing and we’ll come watch again.”

I’m the one who gets flustered and I feel my face heat up. It’s not a pretty look on my pale skin. “That’s really sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”

“I know we don’t have to,” Foster replies, a slight tinge of censure in his tone. “But we want to. I’m going to tell my teammates about it and I’m sure they’ll want to come with their SO’s.”

My forehead crinkles at the unknown term. “SO’s?”

“Significant others,” he explains. “Wives, girlfriends, partners. Not casual relationships.”

“There’s a distinguished difference in who gets invited to what?” I ask, fascinated.

Foster lifts a shoulder. “Not a hard rule and not something that’s ever discussed. It’s just that for more intimate gatherings like this… where it’s about fellowship and camaraderie, SO’s would come. The casual daters on the team wouldn’t bring casual hook—” Foster stops midsentence, realizing he was about to say hookups, and glances down at Bowie Jane who is following the conversation in earnest. “Casual girlfriends,” he amends.

“What’s a casual girlfriend?” Bowie Jane asks.

I lift my hand to my mouth to cover the smile and force down a bubbling laugh. I’ll give Foster credit though—he doesn’t flinch over the difficult question. “When a relationship is casual, there’s not really a deep commitment or love between the two. So if one of my teammates has a casual girlfriend, she wouldn’t come to gatherings that focus around our friends and family, which we keep more private.”

“And Mazzy is like family, right?” she asks.

“Right,” Foster says with a firm nod. “And also a very good friend.” He then turns to me. “What do you have going on the rest of the day?”

“Just going to relax at my parents’ house. Maybe read a book.”

“She should come with us for pizza and bowling,” Bowie Jane says, reaching out and taking my hand in hers. “Will you come?”

“Oh, honey,” I reply, giving her a squeeze, and cutting my eyes to Foster briefly. “I don’t want to impose on you and your dad’s time together. You and I can do bowling and pizza some other time when Dad’s on a road trip.”

“You should come,” Foster says, and I’m stunned by the invitation. I could totally see Bowie Jane asking me because she and I have really clicked this week.

I don’t know what to say so I stall for time, glancing at my watch as I take stock of my feelings. In my other nannying jobs, my days off were not just for me to decompress and recharge, but it was also a time for busy parents to bond with their kids. Not once was I ever invited to a family event, no matter how close I’d grown to my charges.

Pointing out that this time is precious to Foster and Bowie Jane and they should take advantage of it is the honest truth and I should insist they adhere to that. But part of me is flattered by the invitation and another part is actually excited and intrigued by it.

My conscience whispers that I have no right to be excited or intrigued by any of this, especially because it’s probably got more to do with the handsome dad inviting me to spend the day with them when he clearly doesn’t need my help. Foster is an incredibly capable single dad and there’s no purpose for me joining them.

“Please, please, please come with us, Mazzy,” Bowie Jane pleads.

“If we aren’t interfering with your plans,” Foster says, “I think you should come. It’s just more opportunity for us all to get to know each other and with the season starting next week, it’s about to get crazy.”

My attention darts between Bowie Jane—face screwed up in an adorable pout—and Foster, whose stare is intense and hypnotic.

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