The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(83)

But I can’t make myself say any of that to his mom.

Instead, I look her straight in the eye and ask her the same question I’ve wondered time and again. “But why me? Why us?”

“Does why matter?”

“Mom! Mom, oh my gosh, Mom, Waverly Sweet knows it’s my birthday!” Zoe throws herself into my lap and hugs me tight. “Thank you thank you thank you. This is the best birthday ever.”

And there goes that hot ocean behind my eyeballs again. But I look at Donna Wilson while I hug my baby girl close, even though she doesn’t fit nearly as well in my lap now as she used to. “He’s cheating,” I whisper.

She smiles, and I see his smile, and my heart somehow manages to swell with warmth and break down in sobs at the same time. “He second-guessed himself, if it helps. But what you’d be comfortable with got overruled by what would make someone else happy.”

And that’s both better and worse.

Because he’s not just thinking about me.

He’s thinking about all of us.

“Do I need to worry about surprises for Hudson?”

Donna laughs. “Absolutely not. He likes you too much for that.”

“Mom! Hudson’s trying to eat the mistletoe!”

Three of the mom squad leap to their feet and dive for Hudson, who is, indeed, chewing on the plastic ivy wrapped around the balcony railing.

“Do you think Waverly’s going to call other people and wish them happy birthday?” Zoe asks. “I hope so. That would be so nice of her to call everyone on their tenth birthday.”

I squeeze her tighter. “I hope so too. Who’s ready for cake? We apparently need to give your brother something edible to chew on.”

Levi’s mom and her friends don’t stick around, but they do all tell me to call them if I ever need a helping hand.

And Ellie hugs me before she leaves too. “I adore your store. When the little one gets here, we’re coming for storytime on Saturday mornings.”

It takes three centuries to get my kids and the squirrel to bed after birthday cake and presents, but once they’re all settled, I close my bedroom door, take a deep breath, and hit Levi’s number.

It goes straight to voicemail.

Right.

Because he has a concert tonight.

I don’t leave a message.

I don’t know what to say.

Thank you seems insignificant.

And my gut-level he can’t take your phone call because he’s too busy for you reaction isn’t something he deserves.

He’s trying.

Question is, can I find a way to meet him halfway?





Thirty





Levi



Some days I hate my job.

Today’s one of them.

I’m supposed to be on a bus halfway between Denver and Seattle right now, headed to my last show of my Christmas album mini-tour, but instead, I’m in Copper Valley.

Why?

Because I want to see Ingrid.

I don’t want to be performing in Seattle tomorrow night.

I want to be here.

Unfortunately, though, it’s Friday. She’s working hella awful hours at her store, and I can’t walk into a crowded shop to ask the owner to be my girlfriend without causing a massive scene.

If there’s one thing she’ll never be, it’s a publicity stunt.

Talking to her in private is the only option.

She’s texted me more since Mom and her friends stopped by the store to visit, but it’s not the same as it was before yet.

While the clock ticks down to closing time, I head over to Tripp’s place. He and Lila and the kids are back from their honeymoon, and they’ve been working half-days so they can spend more time together after the craziness of the baseball season.

“You saved a squirrel,” Tripp repeats to me. We’re hanging out on his back deck as James and Emma run around the yard throwing leaves at each other in the waning afternoon light.

I’ve been filling them in on my adventures with Ingrid, since I haven’t yet. Feels good to talk about her. “It wasn’t my squirrel.”

“That’s worse. And after all of James’s frogs and chipmunks…”

Lila pats his hand. “Think of all he’s learned from them.”

“James or Levi?”

“Both.”

“Nice throw, Emma,” I call down to the three-year-old, who’s sporting yellow and red leaves in her blond curls. “You need me to come talk to that leaf about flying farther next time?”

“I do it myself, Unka Wevi,” she yells back. And then she picks up a stick half her size and flings it at James.

“Atta girl,” Lila whispers.

Tripp sighs. “Emma, don’t throw sticks.”

“It frowed on its own.”

God, I love three-year-olds. “How’d you know Lila could handle your kids?” I ask Tripp.

Not even gonna beat around the bush about it. If I’m heading to Ingrid’s place to ask to be part of her life, part of her family’s life, then I’m going in armed with knowledge and an answer to every objection she might give me.

“Sitting right here,” my sister-in-law says with a smile.

“You strike me as the type who’d rather have people talk about you behind your back while you can listen in.”