Page 30 of Muddy Messy Love

We stay like that a smidge too long until Cole seems to catch himself with a tiny shake of his head. His smile fades away, and he removes his hands from his pockets to adjust the knot of his tie. The transformation from soft to hard—from open to closed—takes mere seconds, but what’s left standing before me now is most definitely Managing Partner Cole. Professional.Impenetrable.

“Shall we?” he asks, and even his voice has changed from wearing wool to armour. It’s subtle, but I’m wired to notice subtleties. The bad ones, anyway.

I frown a little but nod, feeling like someone just stole my cosy blanket on a frosty morning. But we are in a workplace—a fancy law firm, no less—and he is the big boss and I an employee.

Cole steps past me to the door, swipes his fob across the sensor, then holds it open for me to enter. I pass him, stepping into a magical wonderland with star-spangled carpet and joy braided through the air. A brunette beauty approaches us with a warm, homely smile. She’d be a few years my senior and wearslilac skinny jeans with shoes resembling Chucks. My feet rejoice from their squished confines, and my eyes literally glass with gratitude.

Thank you, universe.

“Avery, this is Hannah Beaufort,” Cole says. “Hannah, Avery Masters. Avery is the new Marla.”

“Nice to meet you, Avery. Welcome to the madhouse.” Hannah offers me her hand, which I shake.

“Thank you. Nice to meet you too.”

“You’ll answer to Hannah. She’ll fill you in on the hours and expectations.”

Cole’s tone is fit for a courtroom. Still, I meet his gaze with a smile that could burst. “Thank you.”

His armour vanishes for a beat, and it’s like hitting the warm, gooey centre of a chocolate lava cake, but then he looks away, nods once, and marches for the door. “Good day, ladies.”

“Bye, Cole,” Hannah calls out—almost tauntingly.

Interesting.

Turning back to me, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Sometimes he’s as warm as a snowman.”

So it seems. I much prefer Sunshine Cole to Snowman Cole, that’s for sure, but I chuckle all the same and scan the room. One little girl is playing dress-ups. A boy is mastering a puzzle. And a second girl is hiding under a desk, covering her eyes with her hands to aid invisibility.

“We only have a few here now. This group will triple as it approaches nine, and you’ll meet Tej soon. He’s the other full-timer. The kids love him.”

Hannah takes me around to each play- and workstation, summarising all the procedures before showing me where to leave my bag and store food.

As we reach the bassinet, her voice softens to a whisper. A tiny baby in pastel green lies asleep on his back, his hands restingeither side of his head. Gently, I reach in, pressing my index finger into his teeny palm, and his little fingers curl around it in a grip ten times his size. “This is Jack, our latest addition. Only seven weeks old,” Hannah says, and my stomach flutters. He’s the youngest baby I’ve ever met and smells like talcum powder and promise.

“He’s beautiful,” I whisper, wrestling my finger out to meet Hannah’s smile.

She leads me to the craft area next. Eccentric fish and cellophane seaweed hang from the ceiling, and a small weight barrels into my thighs, knocking me unsteady. Catching my balance, I look down at the precious little girl wrapped around my knee. Caramel pigtails curl either side of a perfect part, and pale denim overalls cover her puffed-sleeved shirt. She was the one hiding. “Hi, there.” I smile at her, and she smiles back with chubby, dimpled cheeks and big green eyes.

“Avery, this is Ella. Ella, this is Avery,” Hannah says, untangling her from my leg. “Come here, cookie.” She lifts Ella onto her hip and kisses her temple. “This is my daughter. She’s a girl of few words.”

“She’s adorable,” I say.

“That she is, but don’t let her silence fool you. She can be very opinionated when it suits her.” Hannah winks, and I laugh. “Your hours will be Monday to Friday, eight until six. I’m here at seven for the early birds, and we stagger our one-hour lunch breaks to maintain ratios. Think you can handle that?”

“Sure.” I nod.

“Well then,” she says, “guess I’ll leave you to it. Feel free to introduce yourself to the parents and kids as they arrive.”

Hannah wanders over to the costume corner, so I head to the opposite one, taking a seat on a mini chair at an equally small table next to a boy named Alex, who’s almost four. “Hey buddy, what are you doing?”

“A farm puzzle,” he replies with articulate words and intelligent eyes.

“You’re doing a great job. Can I help?”

Alex nods and hands me a timber chicken. Exaggerating difficulty, I try to squeeze the piece into the spot meant for the pig, and Alex grins at my idiocy, shaking his little head. “That’s not where it goes!”

“Oh, it’s not?” I frown.

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