Heartbreaker(8)

He’s made it clear that he’s moved on. Why shouldn’t I?





Three.


I can hear the chaos from the house before I even make it up the front path. I open the door, and right away I’m hit with the noise from music on the radio, a cartoon on TV, a baby crying from the next room, and the sound of a dog barking wildly.

“Kit got a booboo,” Lottie says, appearing in the doorway with a baby wailing in her arms. She looks frazzled, with paint spilled on her shirt and something sticky in her blond, choppy hair. “Can you take him for a sec? I haven’t had a minute all day. He puked over me this morning, and I can’t get it out.”

“Come here, you little munchkin!” I happily lift my nephew from her arms and she lets out a huge sigh of relief.

“Look who’s here,” she coos to him. “Auntie Eva will make everything OK.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Rock star.” Lottie scampers upstairs, and a moment later, I hear the shower sound. I rock Kit gently. He wails, his face red and fists clenched.

“Bad day, huh? I know how you feel.” I distract him with a toy and take him through to the living room, setting him down in his pen to play. Soon enough, the tears are forgotten, and I can keep one eye on the baby and start tidying up around the room. By the time Lottie comes back down with wet hair and fresh sweatpants, the place looks half-way back to normal again.

“Finally, I don’t smell like barf!” she declares. “That’s the one thing they don’t tell you about having kids. Sure, they warn you about the poop, and the sore boobs, and never sleeping again, but somehow I never got the part about smelling like a bad hangover twenty-four seven.” I feel a familiar ache, but I ignore it as she collapses on the couch with an exhausted sigh. “Anyway, how are you? What’s life like in the outside world, with people who can hold a decent conversation?”

“Fine,” I tell her, glossing over the epic, unsettling part of my day. “Work, the shelter, the usual.” I shrug. “I just came by to pick up that blue sweater, you know, the one with the V-neck?”

Lottie frowns. “I think Kit was using it as a blanket. I’ll go check.” She disappears into the laundry room, then emerges holding it up triumphantly. “Look, not even a stain on it.”

“Thanks.”

Lottie tosses it over. “When are you going to quit living out of a suitcase?”

“What, you want me to move in back here?” I laugh. Lottie looks around at the clutter of toys and baby gear.

“Maybe not. But don’t you get sick of moving every few months?”

I shrug. “I like it. It’s like an adventure, living in a new house every time.”

“Life on the edge,” Lottie teases. “My big sis, so reckless and wild.”

Mom and dad left the house for us while they’re in Savannah, but there’s only so much chaos I can take. I worked out a deal to housesit and manage some of the summer houses while the owners are out of town. It means moving around every few months, but it’s worth it to have my own space to come home to, a small corner of the world that’s just mine. But even though Lottie was practically pushing me out the door too, a part of me still feels like I should be here, helping out more.

Lottie yawns. “Want to stay for pizza and leftover casserole?”

“Tempting, but I’ll pass. I’m going out,” I say slowly. “I think I have a date.”

“Think?” Lottie sits up. “With who? How? Where?”

“It’s no big deal,” I shake my head. “I’m meeting the new vet at Dixie’s later.”

Lottie’s blue eyes widen. “The hot one! Sawyer, whatshisname.”

“How do you know?”

“Please. Word travels fast here, especially when it comes to sexy single guys. The moms in my baby art class all had their panties in a twist.” Lottie waggles her eyebrows, and I laugh.

“It’s nothing. Like I said, it’s just a friendly thing.” Lottie whacks me with a cushion. “Hey!”

“You’re not doing this again,” she says, pointing at me. “Pretending like it’s nothing romantic so hard that even the guy gets the hint and leaves you alone.”

“Since when?” I protest.

“Since always.” She rolls her eyes. “You did it with that accountant guy last year, and that hot waiter we met at Target—”

“He was staring at your maternity cleavage,” I point out, but Lottie doesn’t quit.

“I’m serious, you’re like an old maid already!” she argues. “I don’t get it. You’re young, and hot, and your boobs aren’t leaking milk every two hours. At least one of us needs to get laid sometime soon, and right now, I’m too tired to even try.”

I give her a sympathetic smile. I know it can’t be easy. She’s only nineteen, and while all her friends are off at college, partying without a care in the world, she’s here raising a kid on her own. “You’ll get there, soon enough. When Kit’s a little older, and—”

“We’re not talking about me!” Lottie interrupts. “You’re the one who needs to be out having fun. Lots of fun,” she adds. “With protection.”