Page 23 of Sweet Thing

I busied myself with taking in all the baby equipment, a task that worked semi-decently to calm my racing pulse. It wasn’t as if I were starved for affection or kindness—my family was the kindest and most embarrassingly affectionate people on the planet. Yet here I was, simpering at Lars Nyquist’s gratitude. Or maybe it was that softness that came over him when he realized he was coming off as too gruff.

I was a sucker for it, so I needed to shore up those defenses as quickly as possible.

What a difference twenty-four hours made.

One day later the Empty Net was no longer the rowdy, spectacle-drenched bar where one-night stands dumped babies into the arms of shocked professional hockey players. Though I wasn’t convinced the drama-free atmosphere would last long.

“You did what?” Punctuating the screeching in my face, Rosie added a good shoulder shake.

Let me tell you more about my friend. Rosie was what could be best described as an experimenter and a truth-teller, except when it came to herself. I could always count on her in good times and bad, and though she was a couple of years older than me, she never treated me like a kid. She did, on occasion, treat me as an innocent in the ways of the world, particularly as she had no problem attracting men while I was generally man-repellent. I was the stick-in-the-mud to her free spirit, and we balanced each other beautifully.

“I just helped carry some stuff into his house. That’s all.”

Then I left in an Uber. After two hours and ten minutes.

I couldn’t just drop and dash. We set up the crib in Lars’s bedroom—his idea, so he could keep an eye on her—and I organized the supplies while trying not to nose about his space, which was expectedly masculine, shockingly neat, and boringly impersonal. I showed him how to heat up the formula using the bottle warmer and watched while he fed the baby.

It was a lot of information for the guy to take in. It bothered me to go but if I hadn’t left then, I don’t think I would have left at all. Before I did, I made an emergency appointment with Pepper, who was married to former Rebels player, Bast Durand. An early childhood education specialist with a childproofing business, she would come in tomorrow and make sure Lars’s home was safe for Mabel.

“So, you’re like his personal assistant,” Summer said, completely straight-faced. She’d always struck me as a gentle soul and not given to heavy dollops of sarcasm.

“More like a family friend.”

Rosie snorted.

Summer stared at her. “What’s that about?”

Rosie shot a quick look of semi-apology at me. My historical hankering for Lars Nyquist was not common knowledge. As I was 99% certain that I was long over it, discussion wasprobablyharmless, plus giving it air would prove I was on the right side of this thing.

“I may have once harbored a minor crush on Lars.” Summer’s eyes went wide while I pointed at Rosie. “I’m over him.”

“Didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to. And even if I wasn’t, then it wouldn’t matter. I won’t be working for him as his nanny.”

Summer’s mouth dropped open. “He asked you to do that?”

“No, my parents did. He’s in a bind but he’ll be interviewing candidates tomorrow. An agency is sending them over.”

Rosie took a sip of her Dovetail Hefeweizen (the Empty Net had really stepped up its local brewery game). “Does anyone really think he can get someone hired and installed in a day, though? That’s majorly wishful. He needs to be on a plane the day after tomorrow for the New York game.”

Summer’s mouth twitched. “Zara Jacobs took three months to hire the right nanny. Then she fired her, and took another two for her second round.” Zara was married to Cody, one of the players. “It takes time to do that process correctly. Never mind that, though! I want to know more about this crush of yours.”

I thought I’d gotten away with it. “Like I said, a schoolgirl thing. When he arrived on the team, oh, five-ish years ago, I was gaga for him. Mrs. Adeline Nyquist in my notebooks, social media stalking, the usual. And then—” I paused and sent a glance toward Rosie, who looked sympathetic. “About a year ago, he overheard me talking about how I thought he was the sexiest guy alive.”

Summer clamped a hand over her mouth. “No!”

“Oh, but yes.”

“How did he respond?”

“He was cool about it, and we were re-clearing the air last night when he was bamboozled by a baby.”

“That’s wild!” Summer touched a finger to her chin. “He’s probably forgotten all about it, now that he has other things on his mind.”

“Not sure he even remembered it at all until I ran into him last night.” That was how low on Lars Nyquist’s radar I fell. The worst—or second worst—thing that had ever happened to me was barely a blip for him. “But you’re right, he definitely has his hands full.”

“And you don’t have a crush on him anymore?” Summer’s sharp look gave the question an uncomfortable weight.

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