Page 18 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

“I sure do,” I tell her. “We could probably fit all of your friends in here!”

Bonnie sniffles again. “They aren’t my friends.”

I frown a little bit. “I thought you were having fun at your sleepover.”

There’s no doubt that she really is sick. But I’m wondering now, was it just stress? Just convenience?

Bonnie lets her head thump against the glass of the window and curls her arms around her chest. “They made fun of me. Cause I don’t like playing video games and stuff.”

“Oh, well that’s not nice of them. What do you like to do?”

“Play piano,” says Bonnie. “And paint.”

“And garden?” I ask.

She looks over at me. “How do you know that?”

I almost tell her that earlier today I was admiring the flowers that she was growing, but I hold my tongue. The last thing I need is to explain why I was at her house—I’m not sure how Jackson would handle something like this.

“Your father told me all about it and I look forward to seeing it myself,” I say, hoping to cheer her up.

Bonnie smiles, just a little bit, and spends the rest of the drive back home talking about the flowers, the garden, and her favorite out of all the nannies, Cheryl, who loves to work outside and teach Bonnie all about the different types of flowers and their meanings.

By the time that we get back to the house, she’s in a much better mood, even if she is still sick.

I come around and pick her up again, carrying her inside. I intentionally left the house unlocked when I left to avoid being locked out. My purse—and my phone—get left in the car because my arms are full. I don’t give it much thought, taking care of Bonnie is at the top of my mind.

I instruct her into washing her face and getting changed into pajamas, and then set about finding something that she wants to eat. Sick children are picky children. I end up getting her a microwaveable cup of chicken noodle soup and some saltine crackers, just to put something in her, and a juice box, one hundred percent organic and no added sugar, from the back of the fridge.

Bonnie eventually ends up tucked into the bed and I smile at her, hoping that the fever breaks quickly and that this is just a bit of a tummy bug. As I go to click off the lights, she asks me, “Amanda?”

“Yes, hon?” I say, pausing in the doorway. I would give her medicine, but she isn’t my kid. I don’t want to step on any toes.

Bonnie asks, “When I feel better, can I play something for you? Then you can tell me if the piano’s better than video games or not. I can’t ask Dad, cause he has to say that what I like is best. Cause he’s my dad. But you will be honest with me, right?”

“Of course,” I tell her. “I would love to hear you play something.”

She smiles at me then settles into the bed, wrapping her arms around a massive stuffed rabbit. She presses her face into the toy, and I step backward out of the room, pulling the door only partially shut behind me, so I can still hear her in case there’s an issue.

Still no sign of Jackson, but it’s fine. I’ve already made up my mind as to what I’m going to do.

With no nannies around and her father still at work, I’ve really got no choice but to go turn on the TV in the living room and settle in for the night—with an organic vanilla pudding cup out of the fridge, of course.

I’ll wait until Jackson gets home, so Bonnie isn’t left here by herself, and then I’ll head out. And tomorrow, I’ll put some serious thought into what I actually want out of thisthingthat I’ve got going with Jackson.

But… Only tomorrow.

I’ll put it off, for just a little bit longer.

Chapter nine

Jackson

“Bonnie?”

It’s the first thing out of my mouth when I step into the house, shoving the door open with far more force than needed. Amanda’s head snaps up from where she’s fallen asleep on the couch. It’s almost three in the morning.

“Jackson.” Amanda yawns, stretching one arm over her shoulder. “There you are.”

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