“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?”
“Dad, I don’t color placemats anymore,” she whispered, blushing furiously.
The man known as Sir Savage hung his head slightly, appearing to mentally berate himself. This was the first time that Wells had ever seen the athlete with his child—and there was no comparing the two sides of the man. Usually, he was dry-humored and relaxed. Right now, he appeared to be at a total loss. “Let’s get those chicken fingers, right?” Wells said, not sure if he was helping. “But if anyone dips them in anything other than ranch, they can go sit somewhere else.”
Lissa giggled again.
Wells gave Josephine a pointed look. See?
“I’m having the veggie burger. One of the hazards of studying animals for a living is I feel too guilty eating them. I can’t chew without thinking ‘poor George’！”
“What kinds of animals?” Lissa asked in a mumble, fiddling with the sugar packets in the center of the table.
“Emperor penguins, most recently. I love cold-weather animals.”
“Like . . . polar bears?” ventured Lissa.
Tallulah beamed. “Yes!”
That got a smile out of the kid.