Page 20 of Promise Me Sunshine

“Oh. Well…I’m good with kids.” I wave my hand like it’s nothing.

He gives me a narrowed look of appraisal. “Reese said that you turned down the job offer.”

I rock on my heels. The music is beckoning me back inside. I’m going to scream if I have to think straight any longer. “Yeah.”

“Why?” He must sense my desire to ditch him and getback to the dance floor because he repositions himself between me and the door of the club.

“I don’t do long-term gigs anymore. You know my…situation. Do you really think I’m fit to be permanently integrated into some kid’s life right now? I’m a complete and utter mess. I can fake it for a couple days in a row, but regularly? No way.”

He nods, apparently in total agreement with me. “What if…what if you came back for just alittlebit longer?”

I frown, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. That nervous look is back. “Spit it out, Miles. Whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

“I have a proposal for you.”

I roll my hand in the air so fast I feel wind.

“Look,” he says. “I’m not trying to convince you to be a full-time nanny for Ainsley. But…what would you think about coming back just long enough to teach me how to do what you do?”

“You want to be Ainsley’s babysitter?”

“I want to be someone they can rely on. Who they like having around. And right now…I’m striking out on both counts. Neither of them really…like me. As you could probably tell. But they likeyou.So if you could just teach me some tricks and in exchange—”

“Tricks? Miles, it’s my personality, not a magic show.”

He’s agitated. “Right, right. Of course. But there must be something you could, I don’t know, coach me on? I just want to learn—”

“And what would be in that for me?”

“Ah.” He’s slowly shifting from agitated to wary. Backlit by the orange glow from the streetlight, his eyes are coal-black. “Look. You’re clearly grieving right now.”

I wince.

“Well,” he continues. “I’m kind of a grief…expert, for lack of a better term. And I was thinking that in exchange for the babysitter lessons I could…help you get through this.”

“How?”

“I understand what you’re going through. Not the specifics, but the general idea. Iliterallyknow how to keep on living after…”

His eyes spark with pain and he cuts off.

It’s this, more than anything, that makes me realize he might be on to something. Because if it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to finish that sentence either.

“Have you talked to anyone about it?” he asks. “Your parents?”

I think of all the calls I’ve avoided from my mom, the texts unanswered.

“That’s a nope.”

“What about people you don’t know? Doctors? Bartenders? Priests? Therapists? A grief counselor?”

I shake my head. I have to bully myself just to get the toothpaste on the toothbrush. Finding a grief counselor, making an appointment, clearing it with my insurance, hauling my ass to the appointment, and then talking about Lou to a stranger? Literally impossible.

“Well, then…you can talk to me. Anytime. That’s what I’m offering.”

“I don’t think I need someone to talk to,” I insist. “There’s nothing tosay.She’s gone and I’m…”

“Then we don’t have to talk. I’ll just be your companion. I was thinking that it might be helpful…You might want someone…I could…you know…do your list with you. You haven’t been able to cross anything off yet, right? I’llhelp. We can go through one by one. I’ll be your list…buddy.” He seems to be genuinely offering, but also he says the wordbuddylike someone else might say the wordvomit.

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