Page 2 of Puck Me at Midnight

Emma smiles, not missing a beat. “I would like to be, does that sound okay?”

Sam glances at me for confirmation, then nods slowly. Charlie, emboldened by her calm demeanor, steps forward and holds up his sippy cup. “My cup,” he says.

Emma laughs softly, the sound light and genuine. “Nice to meet you too, cup,” she says, shaking the cup’s handle like a hand. This earns a giggle from Sam and a shy smile from Charlie.

She stands and looks back at me, her expression serious but still calm. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about the boys, their schedule, and what you need from me?”

I nod, leading her to the kitchen table and clearing a pile of mail off one of the chairs. As we sit, she pulls out a notebook and pen from her bag, her movements efficient and practiced.

“Before we start, I just want to say,” she begins, her tone even, “I understand how overwhelming this must be. I’ve worked with families going through difficult transitions before, and my goal is to make things as smooth as possible for you and the boys.”

Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I’m not sure how to respond. Finally, I manage, “That sounds… good. We could use some smooth around here.”

Emma nods, her eyes meeting mine with a reassuring confidence. Maybe, just maybe, things are about to get better.

Chapter Two

Emma

I’ve always prided myself on keeping my cool. After all, I’ve worked with more than my fair share of overwhelmed parents and tantrum-throwing toddlers. But walking into Spike Kelley’s house? It’s like stepping into chaos personified.

The boys, Sam and Charlie, are adorable, no question. Sam has these big, curious eyes and a mischievous grin that hints at the trouble he’s already planning. Charlie’s got chubby cheeks and a death grip on his sippy cup that makes me want to scoop him up and hold on tight. But the house itself looks like it’s barely holding together under the weight of two active kids and a new parent who’s clearly in over his head. Toys are scattered everywhere and I’m pretty sure that there is a couch under the mountain of laundry in the corner of the family room.

And then there’s Spike.

I didn’t expect him to be so… hot.

I’d Googled him when I got the job—hockey enforcer, lots of penalty minutes, a reputation for being tough as nails on the ice. The man who opened the door this morning is something else entirely. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a scruffy jawline that looks like it’s permanently set to smolder. His dark hair is messy in an unfairly attractive way, and when his blue eyes met mine, I forgot how to breathe for a second.

Which is ridiculous and completely unprofessional. I’m here to take care of his kids, not stand around getting flustered like some lovesick teenager.

“Get a grip, Emma,” I mutter under my breath as I glance around the living room, taking mental notes. The boys’ needs come first. That’s why I’m here, and that’s where my focus has to stay.

I’m surprised that he doesn’t have a fleet of domestic staff helping him out, but the agency that filled this position said that a nanny was all he wanted around the boys. He wants their lives to remain as close to what they were before the accident as possible.

Still, it’s hard not to feel a little overwhelmed. It’s obvious Spike’s been doing his best, but there’s a rawness to everything—the way he moves, the tired lines etched into his face. He’s a man trying to hold it together with duct tape and sheer willpower. And as much as I’m here to help, the enormity of it all is sinking in. Two little boys who lost both of their parents. A man who’s barely keeping his head above water.

Charlie toddles up to me, holding out his sippy cup like it’s a peace offering. “Juice?” he says, his voice impossibly tiny.

I crouch down to his level, smiling. “Juice, huh? I think I can handle that.”

Sam, who’s been eyeing me warily from behind the couch, finally pipes up. “Are you gonna stay?” he asks, his tone cautious but curious.

“That’s the plan,” I say gently. “If it’s okay with you and Charlie.”

Sam considers this for a moment, then nods. “Okay. But you gotta be nice. Charlie cries a lot.”

I bite back a laugh. “Good to know. Thanks for the warning.”

Spike clears his throat behind me, and I stand up quickly, brushing imaginary dust off my jeans. “We can sit down and goover their routine,” he says, his voice gruff. “I’ve got a schedule… sort of.”

“That sounds great,” I reply, trying to keep my tone professional.

As we sit at the kitchen table, I pull out my notebook and pen, ready to dive into the details. Spike starts rattling off information—what the boys like to eat, when they usually nap, the times he’ll be at practice or on the road. I scribble furiously, nodding along, but my mind keeps drifting back to how different he is from the parents I’ve worked with before. He’s rough around the edges, sure, but there’s desperation in the way he talks about the boys. Like he’s doing everything he can to make up for the fact that their world was shattered six months ago.

It’s… appealing. And frustrating. Because I don’t want to be attracted to him. I want to focus on the job, on helping these kids, not on the way his voice gets softer when he talks about Sam’s love for hockey or how he’s been working with Charlie on his colors.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. “Okay,” I say, looking up from my notes. “This all makes sense. I’ll need a day or two to get the hang of everything, but we’ll settle into a routine soon enough.”

---