If there’s one thing I learned from years of babysitting as a teen, it’s that it’s a rare girl who can resist a makeup party. Tomboys, princesses, Star Wars nerds, dollhouse geeks, girls who rock out on drums, or girls who prefer quality time with books, they’re all helpless against the temptation of an open cosmetic bag and an invitation to experiment on the canvas of the human face.

Chloe, who is already an accomplished artist, far more adept with pens, paints, and pastels at seven then I’ll ever be at any age, is especially susceptible to the lure of powders, creams, and anything with sparkles in it.

“Oh, yes, Laura,” she murmurs, a wicked grin curving her pink lips. “You’re going to love this. You’re really going to love it, I promise.”

“I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to me.” I return her smile, though I have no doubt she’s doing something awful to my face.

Chloe is going through a dark period in her artistic journey. A combination of tension with the teachers at her new school, nannies and babysitters who keep bailing without notice, and a disastrous trip to the waterfront to feed what turned out to be ninja attack seagulls has clouded her formerly cheery outlook on life. Gone are the cartoons of dragon princesses and happy frogs she used to love to draw—any excuse to use green and pink, her favorite colors, together—and in their place are disturbing portraits of murderous seagulls, goblins squatting beneath bridges, and a hissing cartoon creature of Chloe’s own creation that she calls the Angry Garfbark.

It doesn’t take a psych degree to figure out the child is not in her happy place.

If she were my kid, I would have pulled her out of that snotty private school the first week and told them to go fuck themselves if they aren’t capable of seeing that Chloe is an incredible person worth taking the time to meet halfway. Not every child is going to respond to the same teaching style. Chloe needs time to daydream, draw, and be alone with her thoughts. Forcing her to engage with a group of twenty other kids all day long is exhausting for a serious introvert.

The past few times I’ve watched her for Brendan—after yet another nanny or babysitter called in sick at the last minute—Chloe has barely spoken a word for the first hour. She simply slouches in the overstuffed chair in the corner of my office, listlessly drawing the same cartoon animals over and over again.

She’s exhausted from being shoved into a mold where she doesn’t fit, and damn if I don’t feel for the kid.

But I know better than to try to talk to Brendan again about my concerns. He appreciates my help with Chloe, but he’s convinced the posh school is what’s best for his daughter and that my opinion isn’t worth listening to.

After all, I’m just a friend he fucked one weekend, not someone who matters…

“Don’t move your face.” Chloe presses a tiny finger between my eyebrows, rubbing back and forth until I relax the furrow there. “You’re going to make me mess up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I take a deep breath and force Chloe’s dad from my thoughts.

I’ve been doing my best to keep my relationship with her separate from my often-strained relationship with Brendan, but it’s not easy. Especially when I spend hours looking into sparkly blue eyes that are a mirror of her father’s. She’s a beautiful kid, as well as clever, sweet, and every bit as stubborn as her old man.

“How’s your week going so far?” I ask, moving my lips as little as possible, in an effort to keep Chloe’s canvas calm. “Pierce giving you any more trouble?”

“Yes!” Chloe’s eyes suddenly go wide. “He’s the worst! He showed everyone his butt yesterday!”

“What? Why did he do that?”

“He didn’t want the girls to play soccer with the boys, so he pulled down his pants and showed his butt. It’s called mooning, Seraphina said.”

I nod sympathetically. “It is. But I didn’t realize first graders were big into mooning each other.”

“They’re not. Just Pierce because he wanted us to run away. And we did, but it didn’t matter. It was already too late. Once you’ve seen someone’s butt, that’s it. It’s stuck in your brain forever.”

“I hear you,” I mumble. I’ve got my share of butts I would like to forget for various reasons—including her father’s strong, sexy ass and how perfect it looked while he was walking away from me—but at least I didn’t start collecting those mental images until I was a teenager. “So what happened after recess? Did Pierce get in trouble?”

Chloe shrugs as she exchanges the purple pencil for silver liquid eyeliner with sparkles—at least she’s still into sparkles, giving me hope all is not gloom and doom between her little ears. “I don’t know. He got sent to the counselor’s office, so maybe. But he was back in class by snack time so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

I frown. “Well, if it happens again, tell me, and I’ll mention it to your dad. That’s not the kind of thing that should happen more than once.”

Chloe clucks her tongue. “Stop frowning. You’re going to make this look crazy.”

“I think you’re responsible for the crazy. What are you doing to my face?”

She grins mysteriously. “You’ll see. Now be still.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

Her grin becomes a giggle. “Yes. Dad. And Aunt Dee. And you. But you’re bossy, too, so you can’t complain.”

“Oh, yeah?” My fingers dance across her ribs, making her laugh harder. “Is that how it works?”

“Yes,” she gasps, squirming. “Now be good, Laura, or you’re going to have to go for a time out!”

“Heck, no, I won’t go!” I shout, giggling with her. A minute later, we’re after each other’s ribs—a mutually ticklish spot—and laughing so hard, we don’t realize we’re being observed until a sharp knock on the doorframe pulls our focus.

As soon as Chloe sees who’s here, her face lights up. “Daddy!” A second later she’s across the room, leaping into Brendan’s arms.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He hugs her tight, the love that softens his features making my heart twist. There’s just something about seeing this big, tough man melt for his baby. It guts me every time, no matter how well I brace myself for the impact of seeing Brendan vulnerable, the way he was with me for those few short nights.

I swallow hard, banishing all soft, not-purely-friendly thoughts from my head before it’s too late. I’ve just managed to get my feeling-fest under control when Brendan meets my gaze over Chloe’s shoulder. His expression is pleasant, but guarded now, careful in a way I wish we didn’t have to be careful with each other. “Hey, how was your afternoon?”

“Good,” I say. “Chloe was an angel. As usual.”

Chloe giggles wickedly in response, making both Brendan and I laugh. For a moment, his eyes dance into mine, and my heart does another aching, gravity-and-logic-defying flip.

I break eye contact, clearing my throat as I motion toward the floor near my desk. “Her backpack is right there, but I took her lunchbox down to the break room to wash it out. It’s on the drying rack near the sink.”

“I had an apple juice spill.” Chloe pats Brendan’s damp hair with a wrinkled nose. “Is this shower or sweat?”

“Shower, princess.” He crosses the room, setting Chloe down near her bag. “I know how you feel about sweaty hair.”

“Good.” Chloe grabs her backpack and blows me a kiss. “Bye, Laura. See you next week.”

“Bye, babes,” I say with a smile. “Have a great long weekend. Eat lots of turkey and sweet potatoes for me.”

“And pie,” Chloe adds, giving me a thumbs-up as she takes Brendan’s hand. “Come on, Daddy, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Me, too,” Brendan says, not moving. “But I need to talk to Laura. Can you do me a favor and go grab your lunchbox, and I’ll meet you in the break room in five minutes?”

Chloe hesitates for a moment, gaze narrowing on his face. “You’re not going to talk about me, are you? Because if you are, I want to be here, too.”

Brendan smiles, but it’s a more strained grin than I’m used to seeing when he’s around his daughter. “No, I’m not going to talk about you. It’s boring grownup stuff. Just give me five, okay? Then we’ll get Thai food on the way home.”

“Yay, summer rolls and veggie curry!” Chloe cheers before lunging forward to give me a big hug.

I hug her back, wondering if the hugs of a small person you adore ever get old—I’m thinking not. A second later, she’s out the door, her pink high-tops slapping on the tile as she hurries toward the break room.

And then the Brendan-and-Laura-alone awkwardness descends with a heavy thud, the way it has since that weekend four months ago when I hinted that I wouldn’t mind having feelings for Brendan if he would let me.

God, if only I could go back in time and suck those words back into my mouth, maybe I wouldn’t feel so humiliated every time I’m alone with this man.