“For the love of God, some of us are actually trying to work,” Jess snapped.

She’d been in a shit mood all day but wasn’t giving anyone a clue as to why. My second appointment had canceled on me, and I’d planted myself at her desk since.

What could I say? Apparently, being pushy was just in my nature.

“Real easy to get rid of me,” I pointed out.

“I’m having a shitty day. Can’t you just leave it alone?”

No, I wasn’t sure I could. Tracy said I was a fixer. I was pretty sure I just wasn’t a jackass who’d let people in my life suffer through shit without trying to help.

At least I knew well enough not to ask her if it was that time of the month.

I didn’t get a chance to keep pressing her because the door opened and she smiled in a way that wasn’t entirely her hostess bullshit. Turning, I saw Sketch coming in with his almost-three-year-old daughter, Evangeline, in his arm, and his eight-year-old, Emmy, holding his hand. It was a familiar sight. What was different about it this time was Owen on his other side, holding onto his pant leg.

It’d been a week and a half since Kate had been in, and I was already looking forward to her appointment to come back. I hadn’t seen her in that time. I’d given it a few days before going into Sugar’s Dream, just in case she needed the time without me showing up. When I finally did go in again, she hadn’t been working. I knew there’d been a party at the Disciples’ clubhouse, but I’d been at Mom’s for a “family dinner” she’d insisted on mostly as a way to guilt Tracy into the same room as her so she could continue her pestering about the boyfriend.

Owen being here with Sketch had my interest all kinds of piqued.

“Jess!” Emmy greeted, running in and around the desk to get to her. Her blonde curls flew out behind her, as did the fluffy pink skirt she had on. Sketch might have been a tattooed-head-to-toe biker, but his daughter was all princess.

It was still too early to tell what way Evangeline was going to go. She seemed shy, like her mother, but there was still a whole lot of time for her to shake that. For the time, she was ducking her little face into her dad’s chest, hiding behind her similar mass of blonde curls.

Both his girls took after their mother in looks, and Sketch was the first to say how thrilled he was about it. We’d see if that feeling lasted when they got older.

Emmy was already talking a mile a minute about the new dress Jess had gotten her for her birthday a couple months ago and how much she loved it. Meanwhile, Jess—who no longer looked like she wanted to strangle someone—was listening animatedly.

“Babysitting duty, huh?” I asked.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to have his girls in here, or a couple other kids of his club brothers. Though, that was usually just if he was checking in. I knew he had appointments that day.

“Ash was watching Owen today, but she’s feeling like shit. I decided to bring them here for a while to give her a break. The girls will be good here with me until later, and Kate’s going to swing by to get Owen in a bit when she’s done at the bakery.”

And just like that, my day got brighter.

“I can watch them for a while,” I offered. “My next appointment bailed, so I’ve got nothing until six.”

Sketch bobbed Eva on his arm. “This one needs her nap, so I’m going to put her down on the couch in my office. Emmy’s probably got another hour or more of attaching herself to Jess.” We both looked down at Owen, who was preoccupied looking around the room. That just left him.

I knelt down, and his eyes swung my way. I’d noticed before how much he looked like Daz, which probably meant he was the spitting image of his dad, too. Still, I could see hints of Kate in him. He had her nose.

“What’s up, little man?”

“Hi, Liam.”

I was surprised he knew my name right off. I’d met all the kids, played around with them a few times at the clubhouse, but I wasn’t a fixture.

“Do you like to paint?”

His eyes lit up and he nodded quickly.

“Come on, let’s go make a mess.” I offered my hand and he put his in it.

Sketch jerked his chin in thanks as I led Owen to the back of the shop. Back here, Carson—the shop’s previous owner—had made a studio for us to use for whatever other kinds of art we were into. Sketch had made a couple changes to make part of the space kid-friendly.

Owen’s eyes moved all over the space, taking in the canvases that were left out drying, the supplies packed in everywhere they could fit.

“Wow.”

“Pretty cool, huh? Do you like art?”

His face scrunched up. “Lucas said art was for girls.”

Well, Lucas sounded like a little dipshit to me.

“Who’s Lucas?”

“He was in my kindergarten.”

“Are you friends?”

Owen considered that, and I wondered if he thought it was a trap. Maybe they were teaching that “all your classmates are your friends” stuff.

“No.”

“Good. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Do I look like a girl?” Owen shook his head hard enough I worried he’d hurt himself. “Does your Uncle Sketch?” All the kids around the club referred to the brothers as their “uncles.”

“Nope.”

“Nope is right. Art is cool.”

“Cool,” he echoed, eyes wide on me like he was absorbing every word.

Shit, he was cute.

“You wanna be cool and make some art?”

“Yeah!” His little arms shot up in a cheer.

I held out my hand for him to high-five, and he laid one on me full force.

“All right, let’s do it.”

I fished a t-shirt out of a box for the kids to use as smocks and helped him pull it on. It covered him nearly to his feet, but I helped him take his shoes off, too, just in case. All the paints for the kids washed off skin no problem. Shoes might be a different story.

By the time I had some paper up on a mini-easel for him, I was glad I’d nixed the shoes. In a matter of minutes, Owen had paint everywhere. There were streaks of color on the paper, the easel, the floor, both his feet, all over his arms, and a few on his face. There was even a big old glob of blue in his hair.

I might not be fully cut out for babysitting duty.

Owen was laughing. A lot. Too much, seeing as he flailed around as he did, flinging water all over the place while I tried to wash some of the paint mess off of him at the sink.

“Hold still, buddy,” I pleaded as I tried to wipe him down with a soapy paper towel.

“It tickles!”

It would have to, the way he was reacting. If his mom wasn’t going to be here any minute now to see the mess I’d let him make of himself, I’d just give in and let the kid be crazy. However, I was still trying to get on Kate’s good side. I’d have watched Owen and enjoyed it either way, but I was way more inclined to return him clean because of that fact.

“I thought this was supposed to be washable,” I muttered, rubbing at the paint smears, but not scrubbing. I didn’t want to rub too hard.

“It is, but they usually have to soak and then use a washcloth that scrubs a bit more.” I heard.

“Mommy!” Owen cried right after.

Damn it. So much for impressing her with my childcare skills. All those years of watching Tracy and Connor were not paying off.

Time to go for broke. “I’m sorry.”

She was smiling, though. Probably because Owen was there, and he always did that for her, but I’d take it.

“Don’t be. He likes to make a mess,” she said, coming over and leaning down to kiss Owen. “Were you good for Liam?” she asked him.

“Yes!” he replied, no hesitation at all.

She glanced up at me, looking for the truth. I nodded. He was. Messy and hyper, but good. When I told him it was time to stop and clean up, he got right to it.

She smiled wider, right at me. Fuck, seeing that was like a fist in the solar plexus. She fucking glowed when she smiled.

“Do you have all your stuff?” she asked him.

“We need my paintings.”

Yeah, no way his papers that were all under several layers of paint were ready to move yet. I had some concern that they might not ever be.

“They’ve still got to dry. How about we leave those here, and your mom can get them another time?”

He looked at me as I spoke with a serious expression, and I thought this was going to be one of those situations where reason meant nothing to a kid. But that wasn’t Owen. He just smiled and agreed.

Kate grabbed a couple paper towels and started drying Owen’s arms a bit. As she did, she gave a sidelong glance at me before saying, “Thank you for watching him. I’m sorry you got roped into this. I’d have come and brought him to the bakery.”

“I volunteered,” I admitted. “I was just going to be sitting around. Instead, I got to paint with this cool little dude. Right?” I asked the last of Owen, holding my hand out for him.

“Right!” He slapped me another enthusiastic high-five.

She smiled, and that would have made it worth it even if watching Owen had been a burden.

“How’s your side healing up?”

“Good,” she said, tossing the paper towels that were now a bit tie-dyed by the lingering paint on Owen. “It finally stopped itching.”

“Can I take a look? Make sure we’re good to go for the second session.”

She didn’t hesitate to lift her shirt on the one side. I knelt down a bit to get a good look and felt a rush of pride. It was only the line work, but it looked fucking fantastic. Better yet, it was healing like a dream.

“We can definitely work with this. It’s healing perfectly.”

“That’s great. I can’t wait to see the finished thing,” she replied, and the excitement was palpable in her words.

Christ, tattooing an awesome piece on a beautiful woman that really appreciated it.

Talk about a way to make a guy feel good.

“Just a couple more days, gypsy.”

“Right.”

I was taking a selfish minute to look my fill of her anyway since I couldn’t seem to get enough.

“Liam?” Jess called, coming around the corner.

“Yeah?”

“Your next appointment is here early, whenever you want to get started,” she announced.

“Got it. Thanks.”

She smiled at Kate and Owen before asking, “You have a good time painting?”

“It was awesome!”

“Well, all right.” With that, she hustled back out, probably still watching Emmy up front.

Kate offered her hand out to Owen, who took it by rote. “Well, we should get going then. Can you say thank you to Liam for painting with you?”

“Thank you!”

“Anytime, bud.” I looked up to Kate after I said it, making sure she understood the offer there.

She gave a slight nod, noncommittal but acknowledging. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Later, gypsy.”