Crazy for Loving You

by Grant, Pippa

  “Good news,” she announces. “We found the batter. We’re back in business. Hi, everyone. Welcome to Fish Tails! I’m Laney, and I’ll be your server today. Hush puppies all around? And for you too, Mr. Bergman. I got you covered. You all need menus, or did Daisy already tell you what’s best? You should listen to her. She never picks wrong.”

  “Flattering, but also true. I recommend the seafood bucket for you, Becca. And West, definitely try the coconut-crusted swordfish with the mango salsa. Life-changing.”

  He snaps his gaze from roaming around the room and when it lands on me, his eyes narrow dangerously thin. Yes, yes, his life has already changed once in the past two days, but the more important part is, Becca should totally be salivating over him with narrowed eyes, because protective grumpy dudes with muscles are almost as sexy as dudes with babies, and West is a protective grumpy dude with muscles AND a baby.

  But Becca isn’t watching him. She’s leaning over to peek at Remy.

  I ignore my own disappointment and West’s glare, and I ask for a mahi-mahi sandwich for myself, plus a pitcher of Pixie’s famous mango sweet tea.

  Neither West nor Becca object to my orders for them, so Laney bounces off after promising Chipper one last time that no, she’s not kidding, there is more hush puppy batter in the kitchen.

  “Of course there is,” Becca says with a half-laugh, her gaze darting to West’s chin.

  I kick back in my chair with the front two legs off the ground. “So how do you two crazy kids know each other?”

  “We went to high school together,” Becca tells my left ear.

  “In Chicago?”

  Her brows furrow, and she finally makes eye contact. “You…really know a lot about West.”

  I wink at her. “Occupational hazard of getting in bed with someone.”

  West chokes on air.

  “Figuratively speaking,” I finish. “When you’re born in the world I’m born in, you have to find out things about people. Sorry. Kind of. Also, I’m having complicated feelings about co-inheriting a baby with a guy whose brother plays for the Thrusters. Am I going to get in trouble if I admit I seriously hate them because they beat my home team so bad in the hockey playoffs that I woke up bruised the next day? Rude. How is Tyler, by the way? I could see myself liking him a lot if he got himself traded down here. He should do that.”

  Becca’s still staring at me wide-eyed, and I realize she’s not at all impressed by West’s professional hockey-playing brother, but is still very impressed with me.

  Maybe because I can spit out a lot of words without taking a breath.

  “He’s amused,” West tells me.

  “Oh, at the whole baby thing? That is funny. My cousin was a riot.”

  Becca’s star-struck exterior finally cracks. “She one-starred West’s job on her nursery. She wasn’t funny.”

  “She one-starred a gallery opening for my mom’s new jewelry line once. Mom put itching powder in her sheets in retribution. Now that was funny. Not the part where Julienne was dating a guy at the time who liked to secretly record sex tapes—hello, human decency and privacy laws—but definitely the part where Mom showed her actions have consequences. In the form of Julienne accidentally doing a sex tape where she couldn’t get off because she was itching so bad. Or so I heard. I don’t like watching people’s private sex tapes.”

  Becca and West share a look, then Becca looks quickly away.

  This isn’t working. Dammit. Now West is going to think all of my favors suck just because this one went sideways.

  “Your mom sounds…like she’ll have fun being a grandma,” Becca says while she lines up her wrapped silverware so it’s even with one of the fish scales painted on the table.

  “Oh, she will. If it were up to her, I’d have seventeen kids. How many do you guys want?” I pause three seconds, because I’m not actually an awful wingman, and add, “Each, I mean. Sorry. I worded that all wrong.”

  “I have the only two I’m ever having.” Becca forces a laugh, but it doesn’t quite erase the horror in her eyes, and now I have to find out what West’s favorite food is and make sure it’s brought in at least seven times a day. “What about you, Daisy?”

  “Never gave it much thought. West? Your turn. Is Remy it, or do you want more one day?”

  A muscle ticks in his jaw and he looks me dead in the eye.

  Yep.

  I owe him big time.

  “Six,” he says. “Be terrible to deprive Remy of the joy of siblings, wouldn’t it?

  “Oh, I don’t know. I was an only child, and I turned out fine. But I guess it’s a good thing I have a big house. That way, we don’t have to make it hard to share custody. Oh! I could even convert a couple of my lounges to schoolrooms, so we could hire private tutors for all of them, and then we’d never have to be separated.”

  I smile.

  Becca’s forced smile freezes awkwardly, and she looks at me, then West, then back to me, like it’s dawning on her that I might want him around.

  That’s right, Becca. He’s a catch. Open your eyes.

  “You should’ve seen him singing Remy to sleep last night,” I whisper to her. “Total dad porn material. Does he have tattoos? He won’t show me.”

  “I—yes,” she stutters.

  “Mango sweet tea and hush puppies!” Laney announces.

  “Oh, fabulous. Wait until you taste this. It’s homemade and it’ll ruin you for regular sweet tea forever. Right, Laney?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it will.”

  She smiles and swings around to put a second basket of hush puppies on Chipper’s table. I pour mango sweet teas all around and pass around the plates, then insist everyone try at least one hush puppy smothered all to hell with the strawberry butter.

  Becca moans when she bites into it.

  I moan louder.

  West ducks his head over his plate and stares at it while he sucks his sweet tea through a straw. His ears have gone pink and it’s only the fact that he looks utterly miserable that’s keeping me from actually having fun right now.

  Any woman who only wants a man after another woman shows interest in him isn’t a woman that deserves a guy like West.

  Like sixty percent of my good ideas, this one wasn’t actually a good idea. Informative, but I really shouldn’t have done it.

  Alessandro sends me a warning glare, and it’s not a quit being a dick look.

  It’s a don’t get more ideas look.

  Like I wouldn’t be doing West a favor if I showed him that there are women in the world who would appreciate him.

  “I could live on these hush puppies,” I declare, and I pop the rest of mine into my mouth with another moan.

  When I open my eyes, both West and Becca are staring at me, though West quickly goes back to scanning the restaurant like he’s worried about rabid alligators invading and trying to eat us all.

  I dab my lips with my napkin and smile at them. “Why eat if it’s not an experience, right? So. Becca. You have two kids?”

  “Yes!” She straightens with a smile like it’s a relief to be back on neutral ground. “Two girls. Eleven and nine. Mia does swim team, and Izzy loves Tae Kwon Do. They’re both huge readers, and Mia’s in advanced math. She’s so—oh, gosh, I could go on for hours.”

  “I get it. My mom used to brag about how many books I could balance on my head and how many minutes I could hold my breath underwater. Proud moms are good moms. Give it up, superstar!” I fist bump her while she goes back to slightly star struck, which is sad, because people should always tell moms they’re doing an awesome job. “What do you do when you’re not super-momming?”

  “I’m a CPA with a firm downtown.”

  “I love accountants! I have three of them myself, and the business has an entire accounting department. They’re awesome.”

  I’ve even partied with a few of them. But Becca doesn’t strike me as the rainbow shots type of accountant.

  And West definitely needs a rainbow shots kind of girl.


  I have a sense about these things.

  But while West sits there studying me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m playing a game with his lady friend, she beams like I’ve just told her she’s the new queen of Fish Tail-landia.

  And I beam right back while I grab another hush puppy.

  “Can I—is it okay if I hold the baby?” she asks. “I miss babies.”

  “Of course. He loves to be held. Especially by people who know how to hold babies.”

  West is still watching me.

  And that’s all he does until our food arrives.

  He watches me charm the pants off his lady friend.

  Figuratively, I mean. Unfortunately.

  It’s always more fun when clothes actually come off.

  Fourteen

  West

  Our food hasn’t even arrived before I’m realizing that Daisy is perfectly competent at anything she wants to do.

  From running a real estate empire to playing fucking matchmaker to learning everything she needs to know from someone who doesn’t realize she doesn’t know it.

  Anyone walking by—and Becca herself—would see Daisy building Becca up like the best mom in the entire universe. You hold him so well. Aw, is he looking at your necklace? Babies love shiny dangly things, don’t they? When did your girls say their first words?

  She’s making Becca’s whole entire year. But she’s also soaking in every word like Becca’s offering a crash course on motherhood.

  Which will be catastrophic if Daisy decides Becca needs to be her new best friend.

  My nerves can tolerate a lot.

  Having Daisy talk me up to Becca while pretending she’s a ditz who misses social cues and needs motherhood advice?

  It’s worse than having my mother play matchmaker.

  And she once asked a sold-out theater if there were any takers for her single military son, because she wanted grandbabies.

  It got so many laughs it went in permanently and now everyone in the world with a Netflix account can soak up the glory of my mother’s sense of humor about my single status.

  Our food arrives. Becca keeps holding Remy and telling Daisy stories about raising her girls while she balances eating with jiggling him anytime he makes a little noise.

  He’s a funny kid.

  Doesn’t just sleep all the time. Sometimes he’s looking around like he’s not sure how he ended up in this weird world, or what it all means. Other times he has this almost-smile on his face that makes me think he knows something I don’t.

  He might only be two months old, but he already has a personality.

  And if personality is genetic—I shoot another glance at Daisy when our food arrives—then he’ll go places in the world.

  Whether those places are good places or bad places, he’ll undoubtedly jump in with both feet.

  And there’s a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach that suggests overnight is all I needed to fall in love with the little guy.

  To want to be here to see him grow up.

  Fuck.

  Just babysitting, I remind myself. I’m just here temporarily babysitting. I can care, but I need to be prepared to move on.

  “I’m getting him the hugest library,” Daisy tells Becca. “All the classics. Dr. Seuss. Baby Einstein. Phoebe Moon. Plus the rest of the bookstore. Have you seen our bookstore here in Bluewater? It’s so cute. Oh! Isn’t Pixie sweet? She gave you extra shrimp.”

  Becca’s big red seafood bucket is overflowing with more shrimp, crawfish, and crab legs than two Marines could eat in an entire day, which is impressive, and it smells like melted butter topped with deliciousness and magic.

  “I don’t think extra shrimp was necessary,” Becca says with a small laugh. “Wow. This is…huge.”

  Daisy winks and slides a glance my way. “I’ve said that a time or two lately. Want to try the mahi? It’s delicious. Trade you a bite for a few shrimp.”

  They swap parts of their lunch like they’re long-lost sisters, and Becca slides me a look as though she’s wondering what Daisy’s seen on me that’s huge.

  She hasn’t mentioned her new boyfriend again.

  And I don’t give two fucks.

  What the hell was I thinking? Becca isn’t into me.

  And honestly?

  I wasn’t really into her.

  “How’s your swordfish?” Daisy asks me. “Oh, lucky. I didn’t know it was sweet potato fries day. Pixie’s sweet potato fries are the best.” She plucks a fry off my plate and moans again.

  Threesome! Threesome! Threesome! my nuts chant.

  I need to get them a muzzle.

  “West has the weirdest luck,” Becca says while she tries to shell a shrimp one-handed. “He’s the guy who’d take the scenic route to work one morning, get to the office, and find out there was a fifty-car pile-up on the interstate he usually takes. Or—he always gets window tables. Always.” She points to the window beside us, overlooking a garden with lush plants and curving pathways. I don’t know what’s around the bend, but I suspect it’s more million-dollar homes and golf cart trails.

  My sisters wouldn’t be able to stop gawking at anything here. Tyler would fit right in though.

  “Let me take him so you can eat,” I tell her, pointing to the baby.

  “Oh! Right. Thank you.”

  I take Remy, who waves his arms like he’s telling me a story, and let the women keep talking while I go back to watching the surroundings and bouncing twelve pounds of sweet baby.

  Also, the swordfish is perfection.

  Don’t need to engage in the conversation going on around me, especially with a delicious meal to savor, and honestly, their words are flowing too fast for my one good ear to catch everything. Almost like being at home.

  I take a bite of swordfish, make a face at Remy, who coos or tries to smile back, sweep a glance around the restaurant, then give a cursory study of the women.

  And repeat.

  Until I notice Daisy’s lips are swelling.

  Are they?

  Or is this a trick of the light?

  She frowns and touches two fingers to her bottom lip, like she’s realizing something is off too.

  “Whath appenin’ to my lipsh?” she asks.

  Red creeps up her neck, and she attacks it with her French manicured fingernails.

  “Oh, fuck,” I mutter. “Are you allergic to seafood?”

  “My mom ith, but naw me. I’m thuperwoman.” She tries to clear her throat.

  Then tries again.

  Alessandro tips his table lunging toward us. “Back,” he barks.

  All my instincts say I need to get her to Benedryl first, then epinephrine if that doesn’t work, but I’m holding a baby, and Becca’s shrieking and diving for cover while Alessandro leaps for Daisy.

  Her whole face is mottled red now, and she’s alternately scratching her skin and trying to talk.

  “Hospital?” I say.

  “Benedryl,” Alessandro barks at a server, who shrieks, drops a full platter of fish sandwiches, and breaks into a run toward the kitchen.

  I leap up, baby in hand, while everyone in the restaurant starts moving, craning necks, stepping out of their seats for closer looks, rising in the aisles.

  “I have medical training,” I tell Alessandro.

  “I have medical training,” he growls back.

  “Maybe reminding her she was allergic to something before she ate it would’ve helped.”

  “Noth allergic,” Daisy croaks out. “Aythe loths of frimp. Aww my wife.”

  “She’s not allergic to anything.” Alessandro’s taking her pulse when the chef dashes out of the kitchen.

  “Daisy,” the perky lady with blue pigtails under her hairnet wails. “Your pretty face! What have I done to your pretty face?”

  “It’ll grow ba—aaa—ath.”

  “Benedryl!” the chef shrieks, shoving a box at Alessandro.

  He rips the package in half, sending pill packs flying onto the nei
ghboring tables, then pops one out and shoves it at Daisy. “Swallow. Then hospital. Now.” He turns a glare on me. “Baby. Home. Now.”

  The blue-haired woman bursts into tears.

  Remy bursts into tears.

  Alessandro tosses Daisy over his shoulder, and stomps out of the restaurant through the growing crowd. I want to follow, but for what?

  To be one more person slowing them down?

  I’m not her relative. I shouldn’t be anything to her.

  Still, my heart’s in my throat, and I can’t tilt my good ear close enough to the door to hear what’s being said out there along with seeing which direction they’re going.

  “That wasn’t…normal,” Becca says behind me. She’s huffing like she leapfrogged the tables to get to us. “Should we go pay the bill?”

  I nod, even though I don’t want to go anywhere except wherever Daisy went, because christ on a cracker, if the Benedryl doesn’t work and she doesn’t get to an emergency room fast enough—I shudder.

  And then I feel movement under my left hand.

  The hand holding Remy’s butt.

  And isn’t that just about the most appropriate thing in the entire world?

  Fifteen

  West

  Becca offers to drive me back to Daisy’s house after I get Remy’s diaper changed and attempt to pay the bill.

  Pixie, the chef, refuses to let me, so I leave a nice tip on the table, and we quietly slip out the back toward the small parking lot where Becca’s car is waiting. On the way, we pass a small, fenced-in lagoon with Steve’s House on a sign. I stop and squint at the gator.

  “Does that thing have a prosthetic leg?” I ask aloud.

  “Mind your own fucking business!” the parrot from yesterday morning squawks at me.

  Christ.

  Was that really just yesterday morning?

  “I guess we’re not supposed to know,” Becca says with a forced cheer. “Do you think Daisy will be okay?”

  “Yeah. She’ll be fine.”

  She better be fucking fine, because I’m about done with the emotional roller coaster.