Page 67 of The Fake Out

The teenager ushered all three younger kids out the door.

“The term rugrats implies that we crawl.” Another blond girl who looked identical to the first one followed them out the door.

I stepped back to give the kids space as they tumbled out and clambered down the stairs to the sidewalk.

“No, it means you’re shorter than me.” The teenager shook his head, his shaggy red hair falling into his eyes again. “Come on, Addie. Up ya go.” He scooped the little pigtailed girl up and popped her up on his shoulders, then turned back. “Kai! Win! Let’s move it.”

Two more kids came flying out the door, chasing the others.

“Ma’s inside.” He tipped his chin as the four-year-old pulled his hair. “Just go in.”

For one second, I was frozen to the spot, watching the seven kids skip down the road, laughing and pushing each other.

They couldn’t all be Dylan’s, right? Or was she running the daycare out of her house until the space at Langfield Corp was ready?

“Oh, hi!” Dylan chirped, peeking her head out the door. “The kids get off okay?” She shook her head, her curly red hair dancing around her shoulders. “What am I saying? Of course they did. Liam is as much of a drill sergeant as Becks these days.” She pulled the door open wider and stepped back. “Come in.”

The moment I crossed the threshold, I could swear the air lightened. The crystal blue on the walls, the original but refinished woodwork, and the stone fireplace created a serene calm that was palpable. How it was possible was a wonder after the way those seven freaking kids had just left the house like a pack of Tasmanian devils. Child number eight was here, babbling from a play mat in front of the entertainment center.

But the high ceilings, the crown molding, and the original fireplace, mixed in with the modern sectional and artwork, were perfection. This was the type of brownstone dreams were made of.

“It’s beautiful.”

She nodded. “We wanted the aquamarine energy. Cortney suffers from anxiety, so it’s important to have the calm, healing energy to give him peace.”

“Sure.” I nodded. Though I had no idea what she meant, she’d done an amazing job with the place.

She pointed toward the sofa, so I moved that way and sat, placing my portfolio on the floor next to me. Dylan gracefully pranced across the floor, scooped up Willow, and dropped onto the couch, crisscrossing her legs. As she settled Willow in her lap, the baby cooed up at her.

“Oh, shoot.” Dylan’s eyes went wide. “I have the manners of a six-year-old. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“No, thanks,” I assured her. My stomach was still a mess of knots, so empty was the way to go.

She pursed her lips. “My friend Shay left some swamp sludge for the kids that they don’t want. If that’s your jam?”

“I’m sorry. Swamp what?”

Dylan shrugged. “It’s like bone broth and spinach and cat puke or something.”

Hmm. That was…different. “I think I’ll have to pass.”

“Me too. Every damn time.” Holding the baby with one arm, she used her free hand to grasp the crystal pendant that hung from her neck and slide it across its chain. “And Cort went with the team, so he’s not here to be the bigger person.”

“Does he not normally travel with them?” I asked.

She shook her head. “That was a big ask when they offered him the GM position. He wanted to be home, so he is for the most part. They’re checking out a reliever on the Kansas City Roasters this week, though. They’re trying to lower the payroll for next year or something.”

I worked not to frown in response to that comment. That didn’t sound good for Emerson’s contract being renewed.

“Plus, he’s worried about Mason and the trainer. He thinks they’re banging behind everyone’s back.” Dylan laughed, the sound a light tinkling. “He did it with me behind Becks’s back, so he isn’t really one to talk.”

Willow reached up and grabbed a fistful of her mother’s red hair.

Dylan just tipped her head down, still smiling, like it didn’t faze her. “Anyway, enough team talk. About the design…” She lifted one brow.

“I brought some samples of my work.” I reached down to my leather bag.

She waved me off. “I’ve seen so much of your work. Honestly, your charcoal of Cortney sold it for me.”

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