Chapter 6

W e ride in a sleigh that goes above the park on some kind of track. It's a bit sketchy, and it looks old as hell, but Amelia is loving it as she sits wedged between Maci and me.

After a few weeks with Maci, Amelia loves her as much as she did Maddie. And it's killing me, knowing that, in a month, I'll have to tell her that she's going to have a new nanny. That is, if I can find one I trust. Next week, I'm going to have the agency that works with our team put out a listing, and hopefully, we can find a good fit. But something tells me no one will fit as well as Maddie or Maci does. And if they do, it'll be a goddamn miracle.

We round a corner, and the sleigh squeaks and jiggles a bit. I look at Maci, and her eyes are huge as she looks over the edge.

"This is higher up than I recall." She attempts to smile, though it's obvious she's nervous.

I lean all the way to one side, making the sleigh uneven. Before we got on it, I studied the ride enough to know it couldn't tip. Otherwise, no way would I fuck around this way. Hell, I wouldn't have let the girls on it at all if it looked like it wasn't safe. But seeing Maci sweat a tad is totally worth it right now.

"Cut it out," she hisses behind Amelia's head, giving me dagger eyes. "Didn't you read the sign? You can't goof around on these things!"

I move around more, stomping my feet. Amelia is too busy gazing out at the view of the park to even notice, but Maci's face is as red as a tomato.

"Your three-year-old is behaving better than you," she hisses, darting her eyes to Amelia. "Cut the sh—crap."

"You seem awfully nervous, Boston," I coo, pulling my ball cap down further because there's no way I want to be recognized today. This day is about Amelia, not me or my fans. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were afraid of heights."

"I am not." She rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to the view.

It's overcast today, which is my favorite type of weather—the kind where you can throw on a sweatshirt and shorts or jeans and be good to go. That's part of why I love Maine; the weather slowly starts to cool in September, making it the ideal temperature.

I look down and spot a pretend post office, where you can send Santa letters and he'll send you one back. I want to take Amelia there before we leave. This is the first Christmas that she's finally starting to understand the whole Santa Claus thing, and I can't wait.

This place is corny and definitely older than Santa Claus's balls, yet I kind of love it here. I might need to make this a yearly thing with Amelia, especially since it's clear she loves this place and it's making me more excited for Christmas.

Though I'll admit, I hate that the old dude with the beard gets all the credit, and I just look like a loser. I guess that's what parents do though. Anything to make our kids' lives more magical without taking any of the credit.

I love taking credit for shit.

"I want to do that!" She points her tiny finger toward a barn, where reindeer roam outside. "Can we go there right now, Maci?!"

"As soon as we get off this … really fun sleigh, we certainly can." She smiles. "And you even get to feed them!"

Amelia's mouth hangs open in pure disbelief, and I feel warmth spreading across my chest, knowing how happy she is right now. I glance at Maci, who's wearing a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee and a light-gray crewneck sweatshirt with the word bookish across the chest.

"Did they give you a discount because of that hole?" I say, jerking my chin toward the jeans.

She tilts her head to the side, and her eyebrows slowly rise. "Logan Sterns, that was the worst dad joke I think I've ever heard," she deadpans. "Also so, so overused."

"Dad jokes are all I've got." I shrug and relax, putting my arm on the back of the sleigh behind Amelia so my fingertips are behind Maci. I don't miss the way she tenses when she realizes how close my hand is to her back.

"Well, maybe you should buy yourself a book of better ones," she whispers, giving me a playful look.

"You know how Tom Cruise does his own stunts?" I ask her nonchalantly.

"Yes. Why?"

"I come up with my own jokes." I wink. "Because I'm a dad. And it's what I do."

She fights a laugh and instead calls me a, "Loser," under her breath just before it's time for us to get off the ride.

Our sleigh has barely stopped, and Amelia is already cheering and talking about the reindeer, unable to contain her excitement.

"Look at that one, Daddy! He's hairy!" Amelia squeals as the deer eats the grain from her tiny palm. She scrunches her face up. "Buddy, that tickles!"

"I can't wait for her to wash her hands," Logan utters, giving the deer a questionable look as its slimy tongue laps Amelia's hand. "Gross. I mean, is this sanitary?"

"Oh, would you cut it out?" I sass, taking the cup and holding it out for another deer that walks up. "Your hockey gear probably has more germs than these guys."

"Maybe, but I wash my shit. And I wash my ass and my balls too," he grumbles. "This dude washes nothing." He tips his head forward at the deer. "I don't think he's brushed his teeth before either."

"He's a reindeer, Daddy!" Amelia gives him a dirty look. "Of course, Santa brushes his teeth."

"I don't think he does a good job then," he says, and when she gives him another look, he holds his hands up. "I meant … his smile is beautiful. And he is … a very attractive deer. Best-looking one I've ever seen, hands down."

"Yes, he is," she says proudly, scratching the deer's head.

I shake my head at him and laugh before I scoop Amelia up and put her on my side. "What do you say, girlfriend? Let's go wash our hands before your dad has heart failure, and then we can find the next thing."

"Yes, on the handwashing. And time for a shitty cookie," Logan says, patting his stomach. "I love me some shitty cookies."

"Two quarters in my jar!" Amelia points at him, holding up two little fingers. "You said this many bad words."

When he looks at me to defend him, I raise a brow. "You heard the girl. Two quarters to pay up for your potty mouth."

"I feel extremely ganged up on today."

He mopes before heading toward the sink, and Amelia and I follow close behind, both giggling.

I set her down and wash my hands as Logan washes his own before helping her with hers. Though, like always, she says she can do it all by herself. I don't know much about kids, but for Logan's sake, hopefully, that's a three-year-old phase that doesn't last long. Right now, she is very independent.

I lift her up again, and she rests one hand on my shoulder, the other on my collarbone. It's only been a few weeks, but I'm attached to this kid. There's just something about her I can't put my finger on. And I'll admit, it's been strangely comforting, hanging out with her dad too.

The past few days, I've even managed to write five thousand words. Compared to my old writing goals, that's nothing. I know I could have written more, but I forced myself to go to sleep so that I'd be rested for Amelia in the morning.

I've found inspiration in an unlikely place. I haven't told Holly yet that I've been writing because I'm afraid the streak won't last. But if it does, I really could release a book by spring.

A hockey book.

And I could do it while continuing to nanny for Logan Sterns because I can't see myself leaving these guys in a month. So, if I can balance both, at least for a while, I want to do that.

Eventually, Logan will find someone he wants to be with romantically. And who knows? Maybe that person will take over caring for Amelia. But for now, he needs me. So, I plan to tell him on this trip that I'm not going anywhere. Not yet anyway.

He looks at the map, leading us to the bakery with the cookies. They might not be the best gingerbread cookies, but I know Amelia is going to love decorating her own—something I recall doing as a kid.

"Here we are," he says, stopping in front of the small building. "The home of the shitty cookies." He keeps his voice low enough for his daughter not to hear—I'm sure out of fear he'll have to put more money in her jar.

"Yet, somehow, I think you'll still polish off a few." I poke him playfully, unsure of how or when we got to this place where we can joke around and feel comfortable doing things like that.

"Damn right I will," he whispers before looking at his daughter, checking that she didn't hear his swear word. When he sees she didn't because she's too distracted by the case of cookies and treats, he sighs in relief. "I'm fixing to be broke if she keeps calling me out on my mouth."

"You could just not swear." I shrug.

As I step up to the counter, setting Amelia down in front of me so she can look at all the cookies, Logan leans closer, bringing his lips to my ear. "You're one to talk. You write that straight filthy stuff, Boston."

The hairs on the back of my neck come to a stand, and my breath hitches. My cheeks grow hot just as the girl behind the counter, dressed like an elf, asks us what we'll have.

Swallowing, I put my hand on the top of Amelia's head, running it through her hair. "Whatcha think, girl?"

"One of those, so I can go over there and decorate it." She points from the gingerbread men to the bottles of icing sitting at the tables.

Everything looks basically the same as it did when I was a kid, making my heart ache a little as I think about me, my sister, and my parents, all together.

God, I miss my dad.

"This little girl and I will each take a gingerbread man." I smile before glancing at Logan.

Before I get the chance to ask him what he wants, the girl looks at me. "And for your husband, ma'am?"

"Oh, um … no—" I stumble over my words, as if it matters if I correct this woman I'll likely never see again. But for some reason, I feel the need to try to correct her in front of Logan.

Putting a hand on my back, he smiles at her when I crane my neck to look at him. "I'll have two of the gingerbread men." He gazes down at me, his lips turning up, and I'm close enough to see that damn subtle dimple that I've come to love. "You know what? Make it three. They look pretty delicious."

Even though I set Amelia down to pay, Logan all but shoves me out of the way and hands his card to the cashier. Gathering our cookies, we follow Amelia as she books it to a table, excited to decorate her cookie.

"What color do you want, sweetie?" I say, nodding toward the green, blue, white, and red bottles.

"I'll take red, thanks," Logan says with a smirk, knowing damn well I wasn't talking to him.

"Care to make this a competition?" I raise an eyebrow, pulling my cookie, a white bottle, and some sprinkles in front of me. "I'm sure Amy would judge. Wouldn't you, girl?"

By now, Amelia's cookie is completely saturated with green icing. And when she seems happy with the amount, she sets the bottle down, only to grab a handful of sprinkles and dump it on the cookie. "Yes, I will pick the best cookie." She nods before picking her cookie up and taking a bite. It's hard, but her little teeth finally get through.

"How is it?" Logan says, carefully putting some green on his own. "Magical?"

She doesn't say anything, just simply holds up her thumb.

Logan nods once. "That's good."

He glances at me, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. "You're going down, Boston."

We don't have much to work with, and I'll admit, I can bake a mean cookie or anything else that doesn't need to look fancy. But when it comes to presentation, that's not really my thing. But I do my best, carefully squeezing icing from the small tip of the bottle onto my cookie. I glance over at Logan every now and then, but he always catches me and frowns, covering his cookie up.

"All right, finished." He proudly looks down at his masterpiece just as I finish my own. "All right, my love, who is the winner?"

I glance at Logan's and can't stop the snort from my nose. Mine might not belong in a famous bakery, but his … it's downright awful. He attempted to put on eyes and a smile, but they ran into each other, making his gingerbread look creepy.

"Daddy … I fink you did good. But I like Maci's better." She reaches over, patting her dad's arm. "Sorry, Daddy."

His mouth hangs open. "Little traitor, you are." He looks over at mine, waving his hand toward it. "What's so good about that?"

"It's pretty," Amelia says matter-of-factly.

I shrug, giving him a cocky grin. Picking it up, I take a bite, basically chipping my tooth in the process. "Yum." I cringe. "So … delicious."

"Daddy, can I decorate these?" Amelia says, pointing to the other two cookies in front of her dad.

"You go right ahead," he says, pushing them toward her. "I don't know if my teeth can take eating all three."

She looks hurt, her rosy lips poking out. "You have to eat them, Daddy. I'm going to decorate them for you."

"Oh." He bobs his head up and down. "I mean, I guess I've got room for a few more." He winks at his daughter, making her face light up. Then, he looks at me, dropping his voice to hardly a mutter. "Just might need dentures after this—that's all."

"Hey, doesn't that come with the whole hockey-player lifestyle?" I say, pushing the rest of my cookie away from me. "Missing teeth and all that?"

"Uh, I hope not, as far as I'm concerned." His face contorts. "Some of the guys on the team have lost a tooth, sure. But I bought the most protective mouthguard I could find."

Once Amelia finishes decorating the cookies, she proudly slides them to her dad. Even though I know he has no interest in eating them, he does it for her—and he does it with a smile.

"Yum," he says, stuffing the last half in his mouth. "So good. Compliments to the decorator." He gives her a cheesy thumbs-up. "Whoever it was, they really knew how to work that icing bottle."

"Daddy!" She giggles. "It was me. I did it."

"What?" His expression grows serious, and his eyes widen. "You're kidding me. The entire time you've been on earth, you've been an expert cookie decorator?" He tosses his head back. "Geesh, love. You were really holding out on me."

Everything about Logan Sterns and his daughter is adorable. It's also novel-worthy, in my opinion. He's like the single dads you dream about; they sound so good on paper, but you don't actually think they are out there.

Oh, but they are. Something I've learned from being around these two.

"Whatcha want to do next, Amy?" I ask, gathering the now-empty paper plates and napkins with my hands and tossing them into the trash can next to our table. "I hear there's a fun game where you get to zap these things called humbugs with a laser. What do you say? Want to go show your dad how it's done?"

She's up and grabbing both of our hands before I even have time to realize it. "Yes! Let's go!" she squeals in excitement.

The three of us walk toward the next attraction, and then he scoops her up and puts her on his shoulders.

I look over at him, narrowing my eyes. "Don't worry, Sterns. I'll take it easy on you. Being a loser two times in one day might be bad for your ego."

"Laser games are my specialty," he coos, his tone coming off much more flirtatious than I'm sure he meant it to. "It's on."

As I look at him with Amelia on his shoulders, I notice something. The pain I feel on a daily basis—the one that is always in my chest and in the back of my brain, reminding me of my grief—well, I haven't felt it today. And I realize I don't feel it nearly as much when I'm around Amelia and Logan Sterns.