Page 3 of Stick Move

Brighton was good with kids.

“Interesting,” I murmur.

“What?” Julie asks.

“Nothing.” I check the time on my phone. “I should get going. I promised Camryn ice cream.”

Julie pouts. “What about our play date?”

My gaze strays to the real estate office as Brighton comes out, stands still for a second and walks back inside. “Once I have full-time care figured out, I’ll let you know.” I don’t want to keep my daughter from a playdate with her friend. It’s just…I don’t want to go and I’m hoping when I finally hire a new nanny, she can be in charge of such things.

“What is that woman up to?” Gemma murmurs, shaking her head as she too watches Brighton run around like a chicken with its head cut off. “Hey, Noah. If you don’t want to see Brighton on the streets, you should buy the resort and keep her on. Make her do all the menial work. Oh, I know. She could be your maid.” She wags her eyebrows at me. “You know, payback for the way she treated you.” She laughs. “You could even make her wear one of those French maid costumes. That would be the ultimate payback, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” is all I say under my breath. Hell, what do I know about running a resort? Absolutely nothing and I don’t plan on finding out what it takes. “See you guys around.” I walk over and collect Camryn, who doesn’t want to leave until I remind her that I promised her a double scoop of chunky monkey.

My heart squeezes tight as she slides her tiny hand into mine and waves goodbye to her friends. “Daddy, I like Ms. Julie,” she says. “Do you like her too?”

“I do like her.” I take a breath, worried about where this conversation is going.

“Becky said she heard her mom tell Ms. Gemma that she was going to get Becky a daddy, and that I needed a mommy. Do I need a mommy?” She glances down. “I think I’d like to have a mommy.”

“How about a triple scoop of ice cream?” I blurt out before she can go any further down this path. Her big blue eyes—eyes that match her mother’s—go big as I press the light to cross the street. As the lights flash, we hurry across the crosswalk and I guide her straight to Get the Scoop.

I order an ice cream for Camryn that’s bigger than her head, and get a small chocolate cone for myself.

“Daddy, this is huge.” Delight lights up her face as we step outside into the warm sunshine.

“You’d better eat it fast before it melts all over you.”

“If I eat it too fast, I’ll get a brain freeze. Remember when that happened to you.” She giggles at the memory.

I chuckle. “Yeah, I remember.”

“It’s wobbly,” she says as she licks the top scoop, which looks like it’s about to tumble off.

As I envision the disaster, I glance around. “Maybe we should sit.”

“Right there, Daddy. Right there is a bench.” Without looking at who might be coming our way, she darts toward the bench, but when she does, she stumbles on a crack in the sidewalk and the top scoop of her ice cream takes a leap and lands with a thud on the crisp white shirt of the woman coming our way, and that woman is none other than…Brighton White. She gasps in response, and my blood drains.

Fuck me twice.

“Daddy, I lost my top scoop,” Camryn squeals as she rebalances herself, holding tight to her cone so she doesn’t lose any more.

“Looks like I found it,” Brighton announces, glancing down at her soiled shirt and the blob of ice cream melting on her shoes. She steps back, and tugs her shirt from her body.

I briefly close my eyes, hoping this isn’t really happening. But when I open them again, I find Brighton standing before me, dressed in cute white shorts, with a mostly white but now chocolate stained shirt tucked into the front of her shorts. “I’m so sorry.”

Her blue eyes are strained, upset when they meet mine, but I’m not entirely sure it’s from the mess of her clothes. I hand her the napkins I’d stuffed into my back pocket. “I’ll pay to have this cleaned.”

“No worries. It was an accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Camryn says and Brighton’s face softens as she turns to my daughter.

“It’s okay. Do you want me to take you back in for another scoop?”

“Daddy?” she asks, blinking up at me with hopeful eyes.

“No, two big scoops is enough. It’s my fault for piling on the third. This probably wouldn’t have happened if I made better choices.”

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