Page 65 of Sweet Thing

“Me? Nah, just messin’ with ya. You’re kind of prickly, so I’m guessing you’re not getting much sleep. Your kid’s a cutie, though. Saw her the other day when Adeline stopped by.”

Since when was MacFarlane on a first-name basis with my nanny?

“Don’t look at my … kid.”

“So touchy.” MacFarlane grinned while I pushed the incline on the treadmill higher.

Adeline

The Chicago School of Folk Musichad recently opened a new branch in Evanston, much more convenient for one of their JiggleJams sessions, aimed at infants and toddlers past six months. Tilly had loved these as she was becoming more mobile. The combination of music, dancing—well, wiggling—and socializing was a great way to entertain while providing networking options for the parents.

I got the impression that most of the adults were parents and not paid caregivers. It would have been nice to have Lars here when I wasn’t mad at him, but until then, I was determined to enjoy the sight of Mabel wriggling about on the large Turkish rug with several other kids her age.

A heavily pregnant Miss Emmy led the group in a rousing rendition ofRow Row Row Your Boaton a lovely Epiphone Masterbilt Texan guitar. The older kids joined in while the wigglers crawled, planked, and rolled their way through it.

“Now isn’t she the cutest,” the woman next to me said after the song had ended. “What’s her name?”

“This tiny dancer is Mabel.”

A crawling Mabel thrust out her hand at the mention of her name, which caused her to lose her balance and fall on the side of her face. Before I could intervene, she’d repositioned her palm on the rug for support and resumed her headbutting attack on a nearby child. A future hockey player, for sure.

“She’s a clever girl,” my neighbor observed. “Already knows the charmers.”

I assumed she was referring to the Little Lord Fauntleroy lookalike, currently absorbing Mabel’s assault with a solemn grace beyond his months. “Is he yours?”

The woman smiled proudly. “Yes, that’s Tristan. Which preschool is yours signed up for?”

“Oh, none yet.” Tilly had just started at Goddard in Riverbrook, and now that I thought of it, Mom and Dad had signed her up as soon as she was born. Another thing I should tell Lars, though it was hard to plan that far ahead when the mother’s whereabouts were a mystery. “We’re keeping our options open.”

The woman regarded me with a suspicious smile before scooping up her little princeling. Best not to contaminate him with Mabel’s sorry lack of ambition.

Miss Emmy launched intoThe Wheels on the Bus, while my mind strayed to that kiss and Lars’s reaction.

He was right. Nothing could happen between us. But to have him tell me I was a sweet toxin that he needed to work out of his system through exercise, that I was bad forhismental health—I was all for honesty but sometimes there wastoohonest.

I took out my phone and sent a text.

If Lars was so determined to work me out of his system, then I needed to do the same.

It wasn’tuntil I witnessed Lars at the Kershaw dinner table that I finally understood how embedded he’d become in my family’s life. It could have been the glow attached to Mabel that had everyone in a good mood, but there was more to it. Aurora presented him with a martini before anyone else, the infamous Scandi Noir. My mom made sure he had a serving of chicken parm larger than Wisconsin, even bigger than the one she gave her husband. Meanwhile, Dad and Lars were deep in a discussion about some prank Peyton Bell had pulled on one of the other rookies (a jock strap took a starring role) and my dad had spent the entire time chuckling away at Lars’s minimalist, dry commentary. Another uber-fan.

Even Tilly loved him. She insisted she sit on Duckman’s lap after dinner, a vacant spot because Mabel was spending all her time being shuttled between Aurora, my mom, and my dad. (My father’s comment that maybe he and Mom should give parenthood another shot, get it right this time, earned an apt glare from the woman herself.)

The only person who wasn’t fully on board the Lars Fanclub Train was Hatch. My brother was friendly enough, but he also spent most of dinner watching me to see if I was watching Lars. After narrowing my eyes at him for the third time, he finally shrugged and gave up the surveillance.

Don’t worry, bro. Lars Nyquist is no longer on my radar.

What a relief to be free of it. Seeing Lars so close to everyone, especially my dad, reminded me of the bullet I’d dodged. If something more than a kiss had happened between us, there would be hell to pay. My father might be the best man I know, but he would go ballistic if he knew I’d messed around with a teammate and friend.

The moment of madness had passed. Hooray for sanity!

After dinner, Tilly abandoned her new fave and found me.

“I want a song!”

“You do? Well, maybe H-man can sing for you.”

Tilly shook her head in disgust. “Hatch is a terrrrrible singer!”

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