The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(64)

Awesome. Now I’m the harping hangry hot mess. “Yasmin’s grabbing us both something down the street.”

“Something good?”

“Something fast and easy. We’re busy.”

He frowns.

I pretend not to notice, even though my heart flutters and soothes everything that counting to ten didn’t.

A month ago, it never, ever would’ve crossed my mind that Levi Wilson would be the kind of guy to care that someone else enjoys what they have for lunch. He has people to worry about that for him, right?

Except that’s not him.

And I’m slowly realizing that his inherent kindness and goodness and compassion are probably exactly what make him so good on a stage. He doesn’t just pretend to see people. It’s not something he was taught.

It’s who he is.

And who he is keeps coming back for who I am. Despite the utter insanity in my house.

Or maybe because of the utter insanity in my house?

I duck my head to press a kiss to Hudson’s hair. “Be. Good.”

“Mama, I’m always good.”

I cringe and silently apologize to Levi. “That means you need to lock all the doors and windows and put mattresses over the bookshelves so he doesn’t climb them again. They’re bolted, and I don’t want to know why you had to figure that out, but it’s still a far fall from the top.”

“We’ve got this, Mom,” Zoe says with a sigh well beyond her years. “Go sell some books so you can afford to keep us fed.”

“The bookstore does fine,” I stutter. “We can afford food. And clothing. And everything you need.”

“Blah blah,” Piper mutters. She grabs Levi by the foot. “Take your socks off. We have to do toes unless you can walk on your hands to battle the lava couch, and you’re good at a lot of things, but I doubt you’re good at hand-walking.”

“Shows what you know,” Levi fires back.

Zoe tackles me with a hug. “Mom? Can Levi send Waverly Sweet a video of me?”

“Yes. Fine. But not for putting on the internet. The internet is—”

“Full of pedophiles and people with seaweed fetishes. We know, Mom.” She kisses my boob, because it’s at face height and of course she does, then prances back to her makeshift stage that I probably shouldn’t look too closely at, lest I discover it’s my new lingerie.

“I’ll be back at five. And thank you. And I’m sorry.”

I turn to leave, and Giselle holds out a hand. “I won’t help him babysit, but I’ll put your tampons away for you. Girls gotta stick together.”

“I think I love you.”

I get a full smile at that. “Good. Because I don’t put tampons away for just anyone.”

Downstairs, I pause in the stockroom and call Portia.

She picks up on the third ring. “Oh, honey, don’t tell me he canceled.”

“Worse. Or better. I don’t know. My sitter canceled today, and he volunteered to cover, and he’s upstairs fitting into my chaos like—hold on. He just texted me.”

I put her on speaker and flip over to my text messages.

When I was eleven, I wrote an original song for the school talent show about living out of a van down by the river with my best friends, Raccoon and Otter, while my mom ‘worked for a living,’ and the school called my mom to talk about public assistance programs that the state offers. Your kids are awesome. And totally normal where I come from. Enjoy work.

“Portia,” I whisper.

“Oh, Ing, don’t do it. He’d be home even less than Daniel was.”

“I know.” God, I know. I know from my roots, where I found three more errant gray hairs this morning, to the tips of my toenails, which do not have fungus anymore, thank you very much. My throat gets thick and my eyes burn. “I know. And this is just—it’s just a fling, you know? But he’s upstairs having a pie-making, bad karaoke-singing, squirrel-throwing-tampons-all-over-the-living-room party with my kids.”

“He’s trying to make a good impression on you. You put out yet?”

I take her off speaker in case Yasmin or Holly or a random customer who thinks this is a bathroom wander in. “He brought me a pretzel from Germany. What was I supposed to do?”

Thank god she laughs at that. “I’d go down on Griff every night for a week if he brought me home real German pretzels.”

“Right? And it’s not like we’re gonna sit on his couch and watch old episodes of I Love Lucy and just talk all night tomorrow.” The two dinged-up boxes of squawking chickens and yodeling pickles sitting more securely on the shelf beside me remind me exactly how much fun we’re likely to have, completely naked, and hopefully multiple times over.

Am I horny because I’ve been denying myself so long, or am I horny because Levi’s that sexy?

Both, I decide. Definitely both.

“Are you falling for him, or are you falling for having your needs met for the first time in years?” my best friend asks.

We share a wavelength. I swear we do. “I don’t know.”

“Would you give him a kidney?”

“Yes. I mean, if the doctors told me I wouldn’t ever have to give my kids one. Actually, I’d have them tested to see if we’d be a match first, because if we wouldn’t—”