Page 67 of From Maybe to Baby

That's why you're googling our season schedule?

Busted.

In my defense, it was purely research-related. I mean, if I'm writing about family-friendly activities, I should probably understand hockey season logistics, right? That's just thorough journalism. The fact that I now know every game date for the next couple months is completely coincidental.

The resort's extensive programming allows families to...

To what? To break down all your carefully constructed walls? To make you question every rule you've ever made about relationships? To have tiny humans demand "Lexa stories" at bedtime because apparently, I do better voices than their Dad?

Another buzz:

Kids want their bedtime story about the princess who lives in the volcano

Apparently only you tell it right

Something about proper eruption sound effects

I should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember all the reasons this is complicated.

Instead, I find myself packing up my laptop and heading to their suite. Again.

My three-day rule is not only broken, it’s destroyed, possible forever.

"LEXA." Jace launches herself at me the moment I walk in. "Daddy doesn't do the voices right."

"I do okay voices," Jonas protests.

"You do hockey voices," Lukas informs him seriously. "Lexa does magic voices."

When did I become Lexa instead of Miss Minty? When did I start reading bedtime stories and sticky hugs? When did I begin planning my day around swim lessons and naptime schedules?

Could the real Alexa Minty please stand up?

"Tell the one about the brave princess," Jace demands, dragging me toward her bed. "The one who wasn't scared of anything."

"Except commitment," I mutter.

Jonas catches it and laughs.

I shoot him a look, but it's hard to maintain indignation when he's standing there in dad mode, looking unfairly attractive while wearing what appears to be half of Jace's sparkly hair clips and ropes of beads around his neck.

"Very professional," I remind him, nodding at his get-up.

"Always."

An hour later, after three stories, because apparently, my volcano voices arethatgood, two glasses of water, and one lengthy debate about whether hockey princesses need to brush their teeth, I find myself on the balcony again. With Jonas. Again.

"You're breaking your rules," he observes, one eyebrow raised

I don’t mind being called out. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going down fighting.

"Technically, I'm conducting research." I show him my laptop, still stuck on that first paragraph.

"Is that why you know our playoff schedule?"

"That was..." I search for a good answer. "Statistical analysis."

"Of course." His hand finds mine in the darkness.

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