Page 26 of The Dating Charade

Jett turned to see Sarah in her doorway, swiftly tightening her robe. Her striped pajama pants and socks peeked out from underneath.

She gave a wry smile. “Need I ask?”

Jett swung his body around for Sarah to see Dakota’s tear-streaked face. He practically yelled over the crying. “Sarah, meet my beautiful niece, Dakota.”

Sarah took a step toward them. “Why, hello there, Dakota.” She touched the girl’s back lightly before covering one of Dakota’s cold, red hands with one of her own. Sarah looked up into Jett’s eyes. “Why are you outside?”

“I’m thinking through my options.”

“Want to skip the hypothermia and think through your options in my place?” She pushed the door open with her free hand. “I make a mean hot cocoa. Straight from the packet and everything.”

It was two hours to midnight, the kid was three years old, and the last thing he had a feeling his niece needed was forty grams of sugar. Nevertheless, he was also fairly certain the ear-deafening wail she’d so blessedly provided for every neighbor in the complex had all been performed with a single intake of breath. These were desperate times. “Absolutely.”

Inside the apartment, tears immediately stopped, wails ceased, and Dakota peeled herself off Jett—more than that, she hopped down and skipped toward a chair at the breakfast table. He could be replaced easily.

“So, what are you going to do?”

After listening to his explanation and preparing everyone’s cocoa, Sarah leaned against the kitchen wall and cradled a mug in her hands.

“I’m not sure how long Trina’s staying, but no matter what, the kid needs a bed. Right?” He looked at Sarah with uncertainty. Of all the topics he could throw out a sentence or two about at a dinner party, babies were not one of them.

“No, you shouldn’t leave the baby in the car seat overnight. That’s like leaving them in cars when you go into the supermarket.”

His brow lifted. “And that . . . is definitely bad.”

“And on that note, let’s just be glad they aren’t yours.”

“Kidding.”

Sarah popped her hip off the wall, setting her mug on the counter with resolution. “You just stay here. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

And sure enough, forty-three minutes later, Sarah sent him home with some sort of portable bed contraption from a mother of three two buildings over and a trash bag full of formula, three different kinds of bottles (“for if the baby gets particular” Sarah stated), a pack of newborn diapers, two packs of wipes, and a handful of newborn-sized clothes.

An hour after that, the twins lay on a sleeping bag on the living room floor. Jett had managed to set up the foul bed contraption and had gingerly begun to transfer his newest nephew to it.

Which prompted the tiny blue eyes to open. And the newborn shrieks to begin.

Two hours after that, with the kitchen covered in bags of baby items, formula dust spilled on counters, an unusually fat diaper lying open faced on the carpet, and three dirty bottles lying in the sink (turned out TJ was particular), Jett abandoned the portable bed, and all eight pounds of the little guy settled upon Jett’s chest. Jett leaned back against the recliner, wearily rubbing his eyes.

He couldn’t fathom how Trina did it.

Truly. Some people said that as a means of expressing a compliment at someone’s hard work, but in this case, he meant it in the deepest sense.

It was a real miracle these kids were alive.

Then, impossible to his own ears, he heard the faint ding of his cell phone, the text to Cassie and his hope for a reply having been forgotten what seemed a lifetime ago. Carefully, inch by inch, he reached for his back pocket. The clock read 1:43 a.m.

Backup date? You’ve clearly forgotten where you live, son. The closest decent backup date would live two hours away. Better start getting used to me.

9

Cassie

She couldn’t let this little, tiny, totally all-encompassing thing like harboring three girls stop her from at least trying to have the man of her dreams. Even if it meant she was breaking all sorts of social communication rules by returning a text well after midnight.

Cassie’s heart felt like Thumper from the old Bambi movie had moved in and taken residence. Then again, texting Jett wasn’t entirely to blame for that; she’d felt on the tip of a stroke for hours.

Four hours ago she’d shuffled clumsily through a conversation with Rachel about where the girls would be placed, and eventually the girls moved from Rachel’s car to hers. Three hours ago she’d foraged through her own totally unprepared pantry for some sort of hot meal to soothe the four-year-old’s incessant crying. But Kennedy cried through the offer of elbow noodles and butter, quinoa and black beans, and scrambled eggs. She cried through the offer of chicken noodle soup. She cried through the offer of five different types of cheese.