Page 29 of The Rebound Play

I know she’s teasing—and fishing. Definitely fishing.

“I’d be happy to,” I reply smoothly.

“Tell you what. I’ll keep it a secret, so you’re not mobbed by all the kids in town.” She throws us a wink. “Have fun, you two,” she says before she walks away.

I steal a look at Keira. Her cheeks are glowing, lighting up her beautiful face, and I allow myself the hope that maybe, over time, she’ll remember how good it was to be with me. And she’ll want me back, just as much as I want her.

CHAPTER 8

KEIRA

I slam the car door shut, balancing two overstuffed paper grocery bags in my arms. Jonelle, a woman who runs one of the fresh produce stalls at the farmers’ market gave me a pumpkin and a recipe for pie that doesn’t involve using canned pumpkin puree. So, tonight I plan on making a pumpkin pie from scratch for the family, making the pastry gluten-free for Clara. I’m not exactly a born baker, but I do love a good pumpkin pie in fall, and since I’m the only one in the house who could make one, it’s up to me to pull out my best Martha Stewart. And if using Jonelle’s pumpkin proves too hard, I’ve got some backup canned puree in the kitchen pantry—I just won’t tell Jonelle.

Snow begins to fall, and I look up at the darkening sky in surprise. Snow? In fall? That hardly ever happens. The kids are going to love it. I take a moment the let the small flakes land on my face, melting on impact, before I begin to climb the steps up to the house. I’m so busy thinking about snow and Dan—okay, mainly about Dan—when I put my weight on the broken step and almost fall flat on my face, crashing to the floor. Apples go rolling across the porch, and a mandarin orange is propelled toward the front door with a smack, landing in a moist mess on the welcome mat.

Dang it! I have got to fix that step.

If only there were enough time in the day.

I collect the errant groceries, telling myself to clean up the mandarin, and pushing through the door, I call out to Benny. He’s got his next lesson with Dan this afternoon, and last time we were late. It’s not a good look. Dan’s doing this as a favor for us, and we need to respect his time.

Plus, I’ll admit, being late suggests I’m not totally in control of my life, which I’m trying desperately to show him I am. Poised, in control, crushing it. That’s the goal. Not tripping on steps I should have fixed months ago, bruising apples and propelling mandarins.

As I make my way into the house, I glance down the hallway and to my surprise, Benny appears at the entrance to his and Hannah’s room, wearing his thick tracksuit pants, his warm jacket, and holding his hockey stick in his hands with his helmet on his head.

“Wow, Benny. You’re all set?” I ask him in wonderment. Anyone who has ever cared for a six-year-old boy will know just how miraculous this moment is.

“He’s been wearing his hockey clothes for the last hour, waiting for you,” Hannah informs me from behind her brother. “He’s in love with hockey.”

“Am not,” Benny states.

“Are too,” Hannah counters. “You love hockey. You want to kiss it.”

“No, I don’t!” Benny insists.

“Yeah, you do. You want to kiss it. You want to love it. You want to?—”

“No!” Benny insists. “Aunt Kiki, tell her I don’t want to kiss hockey.”

“Hannah,” I warn, still balancing the groceries in my arms. “You’re being unkind about something that’s super important to your brother.”

“Yeah, Hannah,” Benny echoes.

I hear Clara calling me from the living room. “Coming!” I call out before I give a stern look to the kids. “Be nice to each other.”

“I am being nice,” Benny harrumphs. “And you want to kiss figure skating.”

“You’re right,” Hannah says smugly.

I roll my eyes. Kids.

“Did you know it’s started snowing out there?” I ask to distract them.

It works. Their eyes bulge and immediatly, they rush to the closest window to see.

I push the swing door to the living room open with my back. “I got the apples you wanted but tripped on that dang step again and—” I trail off as I take in Clara sitting up on the sofa, a beaming smile on her face, and I look from her to the person sitting on one of the chairs.

Dan.