10. Mallory

Of all the things that have gone wrong in my life, especially recently, I”ve never once felt targeted, like the universe was conspiring against me. Like I was doomed or jinxed or cursed. But as I push the stroller through the gates to Tate”s complex and see his front door wide open, I can”t help but wonder if maybe there is some kind of cosmic vendetta with my name on it.

I know Los Angeles has its share of crime, and I’ve been careful since I got here to lock the door, even when I’m home. Park Tate’s fancy car near the entrances to the stores I go to so the walk isn’t long. Be vigilant when I’m on strolls with Dylan, like the one I just returned from. To find the house being robbed? I mean, what else could it be? Tate is still on his road trip. He doesn’t get back until tomorrow morning. His cleaner came yesterday. Maybe she forgot something and came back?

I move myself and the stroller so I”m blocked from the open door by a large palm. And then I dig into the belt bag I have on. I have the house keys and my cell in there but not the car keys. Shit. I was hoping to maybe get in the car and drive to a police station. Instead, I pick up my phone and start to dial 9-1-1.

Tate is going to be so mad, but like, what else can I do?

Before I can hit send, I accidentally drop the phone. It hits the pavement with a clatter that sounds like fireworks going off in my brain. So loud! But was it really? Dylan coos, unaware of the precariousness of the situation. I bend to pick up the phone and glance around, hoping another tenant is out and I can call to them for help.

And then I see her.

Tenley Garrison, walking up to the front door of Tate’s townhouse, carrying a giant light… the kind used on movie sets. I start to back up, pulling the stroller and myself toward the front gates. But of course, she sees me. Our eyes literally lock and I look away and spin the stroller around quickly, Dylan squeals happily, like he”s on an amusement park ride or something.

“Mallory? Mallory Echolls?”

Oh no.

I keep walking. Fast.

But being Tenley, she doesn’t stop. And she gets louder. “Hey! You!”

I make it to the sidewalk, which is amazing because the automatic door beside the gate for pedestrians opens super slow. But Tenley is bogged down with that light she’s holding so she can’t exactly run after me. Except that she must have put it down because I hear fast approaching footsteps and then suddenly there she is, directly in front of me. I immediately drop the sunshield over the front of the stroller so she can’t see Dylan.

”Mallory,” she says with a warm but confused grin on her face. ”I knew it was you! Didn”t you hear me call?”

”No. I… S-Sorry,” I stutter. ”Hi, Tenley.”

Tenley is the only Garrison that intimidates the hell out of me. Out of probably everyone. She’s this… force. She”s just so unabashedly sure of who she is and has been like that since we were in high school. It doesn”t hurt that she”s drop-dead gorgeous too. Even now with her hair in a ponytail under a UCLA Extension baseball cap and no discernible makeup on her face, she”s stunning.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, still smiling. “Did you know Tate lives here? This is crazy. I thought you were in England.”

“I was. I’m here now.” I try to smile back at her but I’m in full-blown panic mode. “And I have to get somewhere. I have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” Tenley blinks those big blue eyes of hers. “So, wait, you live here now? In Venice? And you, what? Babysit for someone in Tate’s complex?”

“Yeah. I babysit one of his neighbor’s kids,” I hate lying about Dylan, or at all, but I have no choice. Tate made it clear he doesn’t want his family to know yet.

Tenley reaches for the sun cover to lift it and I gently push her hand away. Our eyes meet again and I smile more effectively than last time. “I forgot to put sunblock on him so I’m keeping him covered.”

“So you and Tate must be hanging out again,” Tenley states and she seems to have no intention of unblocking my path so I have no escape at the moment.

“I have run into him.”

“Yeah, I mean must be hard to avoid him. What with your bedroom directly across the hall from his,” Tenley notes and her arms fold across her chest. She’s not smiling. Her big blue eyes are narrowed. “His house is filled with baby stuff, Mallory.”

“Oh.” That’s my admission of guilt and she knows it.

Tenley looks so proud of herself. I heard she was minoring in criminology and I guess she”s acing it judging by her deduction skills. ”He said I could use his place for filming and then he canceled saying he had a teammate”s family staying with him. The Quake are renowned for having a relatively young roster. There are only two players with kids on the whole team, and I”ve met them both volunteering at Quake events and going to games with Tate”s family pass. I called them both and neither of them were staying at Tate”s so I used my spare key.”

“He’s going to be pissed you found out this way,” I whisper to her. “And things with him and I are already strained.”

“It can’t be that bad if he’s letting you and your baby stay with him,” Tenley says, still not getting the entire picture. Probably because it”s a plot twist even too big for her detective brain. ”I mean Tate is not a kid person or a guest person. Women never even spend the night in his bachelor casa. Even after they take a ride on his hockey stick.”

“Ten, you should just talk to Tate about this,” I suggest. “In the meantime, you can finish filming whatever you’re filming and I’ll take Dylan to a coffee shop and come back in, like, an hour. Does that work?”

”We need three hours,” Tenley says, and her expression gentles. ”You and… Dylan, did you call him? You two can be there. It”s a quiet scene between a mom and a daughter. We just need the kitchen and the patio.”

“Okay.” I nod. “He needs a nap anyway so I’ll stay upstairs until you’re done.”

Tenley nods and we walk side-by-side back into the complex. There’re a couple other people in the house, I can see them through the front window as Tenley helps me lift the stroller up the stairs to the front stoop. “So when did you have a baby? While you were in England?”

“Yeah. He was born in England,” I answer and my brain does backflips trying to figure out how I’m going to get Dylan out of the stroller without Tenley getting a good look at him. If Tenley gets a good look at him, I’m sure she will figure out he’s Tate’s son.

We’re face-to-face on the small front porch with Dylan’s stroller between us. He makes an agitated noise and his little legs kick. He wants to be out of the stroller and I don’t blame him. “Can we shift positions so I can get him out? The entrance is too small to manage the stroller in there. I usually take him out and collapse it before bringing it in.”

“Sure,” Tenley says and we shimmy past each other. I squat and stick my head under the cover instead of lifting it. I reach to unfasten Dylan and he claps his hands and grins at me.

“I know Dyllie Bear. I’ll free you and we can grab a snack and take a nap while… my friend does her thing, okay?” I say to him and he gurgles and grins and babbles what sounds like “babees” on repeat, which I think is his way of saying berry. I usually give him blueberries and raspberries as his after-stroll snack.

“How old is he?”

“Almost ten months,” I reply and scoop him out, holding him to my chest so his head is on my shoulder, facing away from his unknowing aunt. Then I gently cup the back of his head to keep him there.

The screen door is held open by a big black box with wires hanging from it. I think it’s a speaker or something. She motions for me to enter the house, but I don’t move and nod toward the door, suggesting she goes first. Neither of us move.

“So his birthday is…”

“July,” I reply. “Why do you care, Tenley?”

I probably sound rude, but I’m freaking out about her line of questioning. I can literally see her brain taking every piece of information I give her and putting it together like she’s solving a puzzle.

“Because you and Diana were visiting Tate last fall,” Tenley says, filling my heart with dread. She tilts her head, the ends of her long blonde ponytail grazing her tiny bare shoulder covered only by a tank top strap. “Let’s see your little bundle.”

“He’s tired. And shy.”

“Mallory. I’m not going anywhere until you let me see the little guy,” Tenley replies quietly, her voice so calm it’s terrifying. Like she already knows the answer to the question she isn’t asking.

So I take Dylan and turn him around in my arms. I keep my eyes glued to Tenley’s face as she looks at Dylan. She smiles and bends forward and gives him a little wave. And he gives her a little wave back, which is really just opening and closing his little chubby fingers.

And then, Tenley reaches for him and I let her take him out of my arms, lifting him over the stroller and into her arms. He doesn’t cry or fuss. He blinks up at her with a goofy semi-grin on his tired face and reaches for the end strands of her ponytail that are sitting on her shoulder.

“Hi little man,” she says sweetly as he stares at her. “Dylan, I’m your Auntie Tenley.”

And there it is. She knows.

When her eyes look up at me, I stare back without a word. No lies. No argument. I”ve lied and lied and lied again and I”m just too emotionally exhausted to do it again. And she”s too smart to fall for it anyway. Tenley nods at me as if accepting my silence as the answer and her eyes well with tears. But she smiles and turns and carries Dylan into the house.

I feed Dylan a snack in the living room, with Tenley’s help, while the other people she brought set up the camera equipment and lighting and two actors do their own makeup in the dining room. When I bring him upstairs for his nap, Tenley comes with me and once he’s settled she heads downstairs to finish prepping for her shoot. I stay upstairs, sit on the bed, and contemplate calling Tate. He needs to know what happened but I don’t want him to yell at me. This isn’t my fault. And I also don’t want him to get so upset it throws him off his game. They play Vancouver tonight and then get on a flight home first thing in the morning.

We haven”t really talked since our fight before he left. I interviewed four nanny candidates yesterday at a coffee shop around the corner. Two were good matches. I sent him their names and my notes via email. He texted back that he would set up second interviews. And other than sending him shots of Dylan, we don”t speak.

I start to text him now, but then erase it and then text again and then erase it, and then… there’s a soft knock on the door. Tenley pokes her head in. She shoots me a smile. “Have you told him I know yet?”

“No,” I admit.

“Well, it can wait. Come watch the action downstairs.” Tenley motions for me to get up and out of the room. “Ever seen a film being shot? It’s fun. Plus I’m the director on this so you can watch me boss people around.”

Her grin gets wider and I laugh a little and head downstairs with Tenley.