Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)(95)

“Maybe,” Josephine answered, finally. “Not yet. But maybe someday.”

“I don’t know a damn thing about kids,” he warned her.

Josephine opened her mouth, closed it. “People usually don’t know, until they have one. Not really.” She very clearly kicked her friend under the table. “Right, Tallulah?”

The aspiring marine biologist choked on her wine, but recovered fast. “She’s right. You have to have one to find out if you actually want one. It’s pretty fucked. Unless your mother had one of your siblings late in life, like mine did, and you helped raise them.” She rubbed her hands together. “That’s how I know I want ’em. Bring me that child!”

Wells had the very distinct urge to witness Josephine around a young kid and he had no idea where it was coming from. “I’ll ask them if they’re hungry.”

Josephine slumped, as if relieved to be done with his line of questioning. And he was done with it. For now. He’d never been remotely serious about a woman, the way he was with Josephine. It stood to reason that he should know her vision for the future. Obviously, she wanted to turn the Golden Tee into a premier destination in Palm Beach for golf, but beyond that . . . what did she want? A house? Did she want a split-level or more of a ranch style?

Unbelievable. He knew nothing.

When Wells reached Burgess, he briefly clapped a hand down on the man’s gargantuan shoulder. “Hey, man. You made it.”

Burgess turned halfway. Dipped his chin. “That’s right. You better not suck tomorrow.”

“Dad!” The little girl punched her father in the leg. “Normal people say hi?”

The hockey player grunted. “This is Lissa. She’s eleven.”

“Hi, Lissa who is eleven.” Wells stuck his hand out for a shake. To his surprise, she didn’t hesitate to take his hand and squeeze it firmly. “Do you eat? Food?”

“No, she eats tree bark,” Burgess deadpanned. “Of course, she eats food.”

“Look, I’ve had an afternoon. All right? I’m lucky to be alive right now.” Wells jerked his thumb at the restaurant, his ridiculous heart skipping when Josephine waved. “We’re having dinner over there. Me, Josephine, and her friend Tallulah. You’re welcome to join. They’ve got a lot of things that are braised on the menu. That’s all the information I have to report.”

“Do they have chicken fingers?” asked Lissa.

Shit, that sounded good. “I don’t know. But if they do, I’m fucking ordering them.”

Burgess’s left eye twitched. “Watch the language, Whitaker.”

Lissa doubled over giggling.

Wells stared in stunned silence.

Holy shit. He’d made a child laugh.

Wells turned and made eye contact with Josephine, pointing at Lissa.

She’s laughing at me, he mouthed.

Josephine sent him a double thumbs-up.

“We’ll check in and come join you,” Burgess said, already walking toward the attendant who was waving him over from behind the checkin desk. “Come on, Lissa.”

Wells went back to the restaurant and sat down in his chair, feeling more than a little smug. “Pretty sure I was born to be a father.”

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

“I’m as impressed as you are, ladies.”

A few minutes later, Burgess and Lissa entered the restaurant, the hockey player required to duck to make it beneath the doorframe without smacking his head. Lissa looked embarrassed just to be alive, hugging her elbows and hiding behind her fall of blond hair as she wove her way toward the table and sat down, expelling a breath.

Wanting to keep his Cool Adult streak going, Wells picked up the breadbasket and dropped it in front of the eleven-year-old. Zero movement at the table. Why was nobody speaking? Wells traded a look with Josephine, who tipped her glass subtly at the hockey player . . . who was staring at Tallulah like she’d just arrived on a cloud, wreathed in sunbeams.

“You want to take a seat, B-man?” Wells asked, nudging a chair out with his toe.

Which just happened to be the seat beside Tallulah.

“I . . . yeah. Uh.” Burgess made no move to sit.

Thankfully, Josephine set down her glass and sprang into action, because she was perfect. “Burgess, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Josephine.”

“My girlfriend,” Wells added, leaning forward. “And equal partner.”

“Yeah, I saw a clip of the now-famous press conference.” Burgess shook Josephine’s hand. “You’re the one.”

A wrinkle formed between her brows. “The one what?”

“My one.” Wells frowned at her. “Get on the same page, belle.”

Josephine stared.

“And I’m Tallulah,” blurted the other woman, leaning forward, while very clearly kicking Josephine under the table. Two, three, four times. “Nice to meet you, Burgess.” When she got no response, she tilted her head at the eleven-year-old. “What’s your name?”

“Lissa.”

Tallulah reached out and gave her a fist bump. “Hey, Lissa.”

Burgess finally sat down across from his daughter, very careful not to brush any part of himself against Tallulah. “Do you want me to see if they have a placemat you can color?”