Page 61 of The Overtime Kiss

Luna waves a hand. “I want them.”

“She’s a friend! They’re the best,” I say since I’ve been following my baker friend’s pop-up shops since she started selling her baked goods recently.

“Yeah, I hear she has great chocolate chip cookies,” he says. “They’re…scandalous.”

“Let’s go,” I say, but then as we’re walking to the players’ lot, a new worry digs into my chest. Does he just want to go with his kids? Sure, I brought them to the game, but it’sTyler’s time with them now. I should let them have it. Even though the thought of not going twists my chest.

After they pile into the backseat of his car, he comes around to open the passenger door for me. “Tyler, you can drop me off at home if you want to have dessert just with the kids.”

He scoffs. “Are they one of your guilty pleasures?”

You are. “Yes.”

“Then let’s be scandalous.”

I slide into the passenger seat, and we head off to get dessert after the game.

The next few days go well enough.

I volunteer at the animal rescue, helping with animal intake, and sending thank-yous to donors. I shop for food again, wandering aisles filled with people buying groceries for the week. It’s mundane, but there’s a quiet, grounding rhythm to it. I join Trevyn on the occasional dog walk, and he tells me Tyler sent him hockey tickets, and he’ll be taking a date to the upcoming game. I’ll need to thank Tyler again for that, and for making my friend happy.

I pick the kids up from school—with my cardboard sign on the dash, thank you, Luna—though Elle takes them on the one day she works in the city. It happens to coincide with one of my skating lessons, so it suits me perfectly.

She keeps the kids overnight, but then she has to drop them off unexpectedly early the next morning, an hour before school. Tyler’s at the gym, so I answer the door. The kids rocket past me, and I turn to their mother. “Hi, Elle. How are you?”

Elle’s an attractive woman with an intelligent air and long dark hair cinched neatly. I’m a hot mess in my pajamabottoms and a T-shirt—no skating lessons this morning. I adjust my untidy ponytail and start to tuck in my shirt. Then stop and let it hang out. Who tucks shirts into pajamas?

Elle’s polished and poised, but she’s also warm. “I’m well, thanks. And I hear great things about you.”

I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. But whether it came from Tyler or the kids, it has to be good. “The kids talk about you a lot. All good stuff,” I say with a smile. That’s the best approach when meeting the mom, right? It has to be.

“Well, that makes my day,” she says, then adjusts her bag. “Oh, and if Tyler hasn’t remembered Parker’s science fair forms yet, give him a nudge for me. He’s got his strengths, but paperwork isn’t one of them.”

Her tone is light, affectionate. There’s no tension there, no resentment—just the familiarity of co-parenting with someone she still respects. That’s how I read it, at least.

“Got it,” I say, smiling back, then waving as she heads down the steps, her sneakers slapping against the pavement.

I close the door and watch her walk away through the window, trying to piece together the story.

She’s smart, she’s kind, and the kids adore her. Sure, she’s busy, but what…capsized for Tyler and Elle? He knows my deal—he was there the day my life went tits up. But why is he a single dad? What didn’t work with Elle? They clearly get along, so I doubt there was cheating. It truly seems like a good divorce, but there must have been something? The questions chase me as I move farther into the home, tell the kids to get ready for school, then head downstairs to get myself ready.

As I’m pulling on jeans and a sweater, the thoughts swirl again. What does Tyler want now? Is he looking for love, for marriage, for…that kind of life?

And why do I care?

I shake off the thoughts, trying to tell myself it doesn’tmatter. It’s not my place. I move on and take the kids to school, like a nanny should do.

A nanny should not obsess about her boss.

Somehow, I’ve managed to avoid any more awkward run-ins with him. No garage moments where I’m wearing only a towel. No heated moments in the kitchen when I sneak furtive glances his way. No massages or naps on my couch. Just the faint reminder of him in small things, like the sheets I curl up in at night or the quiet creak of his footsteps upstairs.

Everything is starting to feelbusiness as usual, especially since I turn in the science fair paperwork. On Friday morning, I head to the rink again at dawn where I take another video of my morning routine, then shoot a skating tutorial on how to do a camel spin. After that, my student arrives, and I focus on her.

I’m nearly two weeks in, and the job is steady. Everything I wanted.

I tell my therapist as much when I finally see her again later that morning, catching her up on everything that’s gone down since my almost wedding.

“And how are you feeling about all that?” Elena asks, waving a hand as if to encompass the montage of the last few months.

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