Page 25 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
I pretend to take notes. “That’s genius. I’ll have to remember that for our next build.”
We spend the next hour playing every game under the sun - Duck, Duck, Goose, Simon Says, even an intense round of Freeze Dance. At some point, Nico, and Mason, launch into a detailed discussion about their schools, telling me about their teachers, a mysterious kid named Leo who apparently never follows the rules, and how Mason once won a race by “running super-fast like a cheetah.”
By the time the meeting ends, I’m exhausted in the best way. The kids take off towards their parents, and I watch as Blake crouches to meet his two at eye level.
Mia launches herself into his good arm, her tiny fingers fisting his shirt, while Nico chatters away, eyes shining. Blake listens intently, nodding along, ruffling Nico’s hair in that effortless, affectionate way, and he says something to Mia. He smiles at them - it’s one of those smiles that bring back memories and make something tighten in my chest.
It’s…, nice. And it’s annoying that I think so. At this moment, Icannoteven hate him properly. I shake my head, pushing the thought away. No need to go down that road. Not today.
Mia nods, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I like Whitney,” I hear her say.
Blake glances at me over Mia’s shoulder, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he says, “she’s pretty great.”
I blink, momentarily caught off guard, but before I can react, he’s standing, ushering the kids toward the door.
One by one, everyone starts heading out, the backyard emptying as the night settles in.
I exhale, finally alone, stretching out my stiff limbs.
What a day.
Chapter six
Blake
Next.
I rub a hand down my face as the door opens, and another woman steps in. That makes seven interviews in three days. Seven. And not a single person has been the right fit. So far, I’ve met a self-proclaimed “child whisperer,” the one who learns on the job, or - like the last one - thinks watching two toddlers is basically the same as babysitting a goldfish.
God help me.
The woman in front of me flops down into the chair like she’s settling in for a Netflix marathon. She pops her gum loudly, completely unfazed by my mother’s disapproving stare.
I glance at her resume, and before I can say anything, my mother leans forward with a tight smile.
"Spit it out," she says.
The woman blinks. “Huh?”
"The gum. Get rid of it."
There’s a beat of silence before the woman plucks the gum from her mouth and - dear God - was about to stick it to the underside of her chair.
“Nope,” mom stops her before she can stick it in. “Don’t you dare do that. Find somewhere else to stuff it.”
The woman lets out an exaggerated sigh but reaches into her bag, grabbing a tissue to spit the gum into.
Mom smiles, tight and polite. “Much better. Now we can continue.”
"Sure!" She says brightly, smacking her hands on her thighs. "Fire away."
I press my fingers to my temple. “It says here, Miss Martins that you worked at a daycare?”
“’Just Zoey’ and yeah.”
I wait for more.
…Nothing.
