The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob

by Pippa Grant

  I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. “What…how did that go?”

  “We’re putting a massive ad for his car empire up in center field. Raffling off another car next season with all proceeds going to a children’s hospital. Getting use of a car for the mascots to ride around in for between-inning shenanigans. And he swears the one and only time he met our mother, he personally showed her around three car lots and gave her the same deal he would’ve given to either of us, which would’ve been basically the best deal he gives to his own kids, but he’s not dating her, he would never date her without asking our permission first, and swore up and down that he knew she was out of his league.”

  To be a fly on the wall in that conversation… “So you went easy on him?”

  “Who the fuck is she dating?”

  “Daddy? Did you say the fuck word?” James calls.

  “No, James, I said I need Uncle Levi to get me a fork.”

  “Fork fark ferk!” Emma chants.

  Tripp sighs.

  Lila squeezes her lips tighter together, but her green eyes are dancing and her shoulders are shaking like she’s barely holding her laughter in.

  “You know you’re gonna have to apologize to Stan,” I tell Tripp. “And probably make Mom and Davis apologize too. And then apologize to your team manager. If you were more approachable, he wouldn’t be sneaking around with Mom the way he is.”

  He’s muttering to himself, eyes squeezed closed again, and even Lila’s not laughing anymore.

  “You wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t a decent guy, right?” I offer.

  “And here I thought I had at least twenty years before worrying about someone on the team dating one of my family members. My head coach and my mother? Jesus.”

  I glance out at the yard again, where James and Emma are both chasing the dog with arms full of leaves now. “Gives you perspective on how they feel, doesn’t it?” I say with a nod to the kids.

  I wonder how Ingrid’s girls would feel about their mom dating.

  And it’s not the first time it’s crossed my mind.

  Hudson’s closer to James and Emma’s ages. He’d notice I’m there, but I don’t think he’d read a lot into it. I’d be one more person to play with.

  Zoe, though?

  She’s smart.

  And Piper? She wears her heart on her sleeve over her hockey pads. It took approximately three seconds to figure that out the day I watched them all.

  “No.” Tripp shakes his head, glaring at me. “This is nothing like what preschoolers go through when their parent starts dating. Because I know what he’s doing to my mother.”

  Lila rubs his back. “We’re going to have to pretend we don’t.”

  “They’re definitely not doing anything to each other,” I agree. “Dinner. That’s it. Hands to themselves.”

  “He’s fired,” Tripp announces.

  Lila stifles another smile. “No, he’s not.”

  “He is in my mind until I get a grip on this.” He tilts his head toward me. “What are you grinning about? You have no idea if the woman you’re in love with will take you back.”

  He’s not wrong.

  I can do all the right things, and it still might not be enough.

  And I wouldn’t blame Ingrid one bit.

  Sending my mom and calling in favors aren’t the same as someone who’s there day in and day out, doing the hard work right alongside her.

  Her life is busy. It’s full.

  And I might not add enough to it to be worthwhile.

  “I’m irresistible,” I tell my brother. “Of course she’ll take me back.”

  He hears the doubt in my voice. I know he does.

  So it’s no surprise when he shakes his head, takes another hit off his bottle, then clinks it to mine. “Damn right. She’d be lucky to have you.”

  That’s what a good big brother says when he has to.

  Even if he doesn’t believe it.

  I sigh and sink lower in my chair. “Here’s hoping she agrees.”

  That knot in my stomach?

  It’s not so sure.

  Not at all.

  Thirty-One

  Ingrid

  Zoe’s singing at the top of her lungs as she combs her wet hair, and Piper’s shrieking over Skippy joining her in the shower, and Hudson’s running around in his briefs and a cape, making Mr. Axolotl fly and pew pew at the glitter still on the wall from the day Levi babysat the kids.

  How is it possible to miss someone so much you can’t breathe one moment, and then glow so hard you can’t breathe for sheer appreciation of a simple bakery bag delivered to your doorstep the next, and still be standing here capable of barking orders at your children despite not being able to breathe so much lately?

  Add in that I haven’t had more than six texts from him since his mom and her friends stopped by the other night, and I’m questioning everything I know and feel.

  But only for a moment, again, because Hudson just ran straight into my stomach. “Oof. Hudson. Stop.”

  Apartment living is going to kill us.

  This boy needs space to run. I’ve known it for a while, but living above the store, three blocks from school, no more than a five-minute drive, even in traffic, to any of the kids’ activities and doctors, makes my life work the way it needs to.

  I spend zero time commuting so that I can fit more into every day.

  And maybe I fit more into every day so that I don’t have the time to stop and think about if I’m doing the right things for my kids, and if they’ll one day appreciate living in an apartment instead of a house with a yard, and getting to do all of their activities so they can have well-rounded lives with hobbies when they’re my age instead of packing in everything they need to pack in for everyone else.

  How is it that Levi never once complained about how difficult my schedule was to work with too, yet all I can think about since his mom left the other night is all the ways I haven’t been setting a good example for my kids, and all the ways I could be more flexible if I got just a little more sleep and had a little less to do every day?

  And then all the ways that I feel lonely.

  And a little hollow.

  And how it’s my own fault because I’m the grown-up here, and how can I put all the blame on Levi for not being here when I keep myself so busy that I didn’t even realize Zoe had adopted a baby squirrel for an entire month?

  My son eyeballs me like I’m an alien, and I wonder if I muttered any of that out loud in the last two seconds.

  But then he lifts his stuffy. “Mr. Axolotl told you to move.”

  “Don’t do drugs, Mom,” Zoe said.

  “I am not doing drugs.”

  “We talked about drugs today at school and you look like people who are on drugs, all spacey and running into people.”

  One…two…three…

  My phone rings, and I fish it out of my pocket so fast that I drop it on the floor before I answer, and when I flip it over—

  “Dammit.” The fudging screen is cracked.

  And it’s not Levi calling.

  It’s Yasmin.

  Shit shit shit.

  Four… five… six…

  I swipe and answer, because let’s be real.

  The only reason my screen wasn’t cracked before is that I upgraded from my last cracked-screen version six months ago, and I’d somehow managed to not find the right angle to crack this one when I dropped it.

  Until now.

  “Ingrid? I’m so sorry to bother you, but there’s a customer in the loft who won’t leave.”

  Seven… eight… nine… “Me or the police?”

  “You. I’m not worried, I just…well, I need to lock up and go.”

  “Can you watch my kids for five?”

  “Yep. I’m in the stairwell.”

  I hang up, open my door, and there’s Yasmin. “Sorry,” she whispers.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay.” We get this from time to time. Usually a woman who needs to cr
y it out a little more before heading back to her family.

  Possibly I’m that woman tonight, and our late customer will be talking me off a ledge.

  Because when Levi gets home from his tour on Sunday, I’m texting him and asking if I can take him out for dinner.

  “I locked the front door so no one else can come in,” Yasmin says.

  “You’re the best. Sorry about Hudson. And the squirrel.” I also need to let the squirrel go.

  But it’s right before Christmas.

  The kids are home most of the day with a very tolerant—for now—babysitter.

  I tuck my phone into my front pocket, realize I’m wearing a slice of pepperoni on my left boob, and belatedly wonder if I have any pizza sauce smeared on my face.

  Whatever.

  Not like a fellow mom who needs a safe place for a few more minutes won’t get it.

  I wonder if it’s Brittany. I legit keep thinking she’s going to crack any day now.

  Or possibly I’m projecting.

  But when I climb the stairs to the loft in the dim light that happens when the downstairs lights are off and just a single lamp up here is left on, it’s suddenly very, very clear that the customer isn’t Brittany.

  The customer isn’t a customer at all.

  I grip the handrail tighter as Levi turns his head and looks at me.

  He’s on the nearest couch, my favorite couch—purple velvet with exactly the right spring in the cushion—with his elbows resting on his knees, in dark jeans, a plaid button-down, cheeks three days past needing a trim, his hair still a little sparkly, and those beautiful blue eyes resting over dark smudges that haven’t shown in any of the photos I’ve seen of him in concert, and yes, I’ve been stalking social media and the entertainment gossip sites for all the photos I can find, and yes, I am utterly in love with the fact that he’s wearing glitter in his hair on purpose during his holiday concerts.

  My heart leaps into my throat at the same time words tumble out all wrong. “What are you doing here?” I know he has a show in Seattle tomorrow night after performing in Denver last night. Southern Virginia is the wrong direction.

  “I want to date you.”

  I suck in a breath that sits in my lungs like electrified butterflies. My knees wobble and order me to sit. I don’t want to sit. I want to throw myself at him, tell him I’ll sell the store and ask if we can just travel the world with him for the next forever, wherever he goes, even though I know my kids wouldn’t be happy without their friends and I don’t know how I could throw away the little community we’ve built here, which is exactly why my knees are issuing orders.

  They know I can’t just do whatever I want when it would hurt other people.

  But I don’t see hurt when I look at Levi.

  I see hope. And determination. And worry.

  “Ingrid?” His eyes rake over me like he’s a drowning man and I’m his life raft.

  Me. He could want anyone else, but he’s back for me. “You’re here.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Fuck my knees. They’re wrong. And I don’t need them.

  Okay, I do, and thank god they’re not holding it against me that I just said to fuck them, because they’re carrying me the last few steps to get to him as he stands, and then I’m throwing my arms around him and hugging him with all my might.

  I couldn’t hug him if he were a mirage.

  “You’re here,” I repeat.

  He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. “Only for a couple hours, but I’ll be back Sunday. I had to see you.”

  I bury my nose in his shirt and suck in the scent of pine and cinnamon and Levi. I don’t know how he manages to smell different every time, but still the same, but he does, and I want to sniff him every day. “You’re here.”

  I can’t stop saying it. I’m a broken record.

  He grips me tighter and strokes my back. “I missed you.”

  “But why?”

  It’s a legitimate question. I’m a serious work in progress. I made him jump through hoops just to fling with me.

  “You made me happy. And isn’t that what life is all about?”

  Forget the floor is lava. My knees are white toast soaked in milk, which is exactly what Hudson tried to eat for breakfast this morning. “I’m an utter disaster, Levi.”

  “From where I stand, you’re a successful businesswoman with three kids who know you love them more than anything and who know they can do anything too.”

  His shirt is so soft, the chest beneath it so solid and dependable, with his heart racing in my ear, and I can’t stop rubbing my cheek on him. “You, of all people, should know looks aren’t everything.”

  “I’m not looking. I’m feeling. You are. You’re fucking amazing. I’ve met thousands of people. Tens of thousands. You’re the one who sticks, Ingrid. Every time. You make me happy. You change my life. You put your heart into everything you do, put everyone else first, you own who you are, and you deserve whatever it takes to make you happy too. I want to know if I can be what makes you happy.”

  I’ve been practicing how I want to ask him to dinner for a week, and I can’t touch that. “Do I make you happy?”

  We’re swaying. The only music is the sound of his voice, and we’re dancing to it. “So much, Ingrid. So much.”

  “What if it’s all a honeymoon phase?”

  “We’ll go slow. You tell me the rules. I still have a lot of travel next year, but when I’m here, I’ll be here. I like you. I like your kids. I miss you. I want to call you and text you and make you dinner and be here for birthdays instead of feeling guilty for calling in favors that aren’t the same and then pretending that Thanksmasbirthaversaries for all of the days I missed are enough.”

  I could dance with him like this forever. “We’re a lot of work.”

  “I know. And you’re worth it.”

  “Are we?”

  “Ingrid.”

  I smile into his shirt. Dating a guy who’s gone a lot is still terrifying.

  But it’s Levi.

  He’s grounded. He’s smart. He knows me. He knows my kids. He knows what he’s getting into.

  And he’s a leap worth taking. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

  “Don’t be. You had good reasons.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “Come to my family’s New Year’s party with me. Bring the kids.”

  “You’re in New York on New Year’s.” The ads to watch his New Year’s Eve show have been all over lately. You could say the universe has been taunting me.

  “That’s why we do it three days before Christmas. It’s when we can all get together.”

  It’s so absurd, but also so understandable, that a surprised laugh bubbles out of my chest. “On one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “You let me—Yasmin.”

  “I let you Yasmin?”

  “She’s with my kids. She needs to go home. I need—”

  “Help?”

  I look up at those kind blue eyes, his brow quirked like he’s well aware of how much help I need, but he likes me anyway, and I sigh.

  It’s a mostly happy sigh. “If the kids see you, they’ll get wound up, and then—”

  “And tomorrow’s Saturday, and they’ll sleep in.”

  “No, they’ll be up early. It’s the universal law of children. Let them stay up late, they get up early. Something about their sleep rhythms being off.” I suck in a deep breath. Time to prove I can do this. “But it’s okay. It’s almost Christmas break, and they will catch up some. If the squirrel behaves.”

  The smile spreading across his face lights me up from the inside brighter than anything since watching Piper’s face when she had her hearing aids put in.

  “You are everything I never knew I was missing,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing me with his perfect lips, his fingers tangling in my hair, his body pressed to mine, and I know what we’re about to attempt to do won’t be easy, and I know I’ll have my moments of doubt, but I
know one other thing that’s more important than any of my fears and worries and objections.

  I know I’m home.

  Thirty-Two

  Levi

  It’s three days before Christmas, and Ingrid and her kids are with me in the elevator on the way to Beck’s penthouse.

  Zoe’s bouncing on her toes. “Are you sure Waverly won’t be here?”

  “Positive, glitter-bug. She’s not family.”

  Piper’s giving me dirty looks because I already answered the same about Ares Berger.

  Only Hudson is currently happy with me, mostly because I slipped him a fidget device at my mom’s recommendation, and he’s trying to figure out how many different buttons and knobs he can push on the heavy dice-like object. His tongue’s sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and he’s concentrating so hard I wonder if I might’ve broken him.

  The squirrel is back at Ingrid’s place. All the bedroom doors are shut and the window is open, but I swear Skippy gave me the Are you nuts? Pun intended. I know where my dinner comes from look when I whispered to him that he should run off and be free.

  And Ingrid is playing with her fingers beside me. “Are there name tags? I feel like there should be name tags. And will it really just be your closest friends and family, or does your closest friends and family include like, the mayor and a bunch of important business people and half the Fireballs?”

  “If anyone’s rude about you not knowing their name, remember what they look like and I’ll take care of it later. Besides, you already know Davis and the mom squad, you met Wyatt when Ellie brought him into the store yesterday, and that pretty much just leaves Cash’s siblings and the dads for you to figure out.” I pause as the elevator doors ding open. “And possibly a handful of baseball players. Sarah probably invited Mackenzie, and she’ll come with Brooks, so…”

  “Brooks Elliott?” Piper asks. “I don’t like the way he wore his underwear outside his uniform for warm-ups, but I guess his cape is okay.”

  I squeeze Ingrid’s hand while she reaches for Hudson and the five of us step out of the elevator. “I’m on root beer all night, there are almost a dozen other parents here, and you met Beck and Cash’s security teams downstairs too. The elevator’s direct to where they’re hanging out with Giselle and Chuck. No one’s escaping. Have all the fun you want. You’re covered.”