Caught Up (Windy City Series)

My body jumps as the front door unlocks, the whisk in my hand clattering around the metal bowl when I drop it.

I lost track of time. Apparently, I’ve been in the kitchen for hours, ever since I put Max to bed, but the time flew as I got lost somewhere between the butter, sugar, and flour. Kai’s kitchen is a disaster. I fully intended to clean up by the time he got home, but that sure as shit won’t be happening now. I watch on the monitor as he checks on his sleeping son before leaving the bedroom, headed straight for me.

I wonder how pissed he’s going to be. I bet he’ll get all red in the face, furrowed brows with wide icy eyes. Flustered Kai is my favorite, and I seem to do a wonderful job of pulling that side out of him.

But I’d enjoy this moment a whole lot more if I wasn’t so flustered myself.

Nothing is working. I’ve attempted four new recipes tonight and they’ve all been hopeless disasters. The groceries I had delivered? They’re gone, besides the ones I purchased to stock Kai’s lacking pantry and fridge. Not even a stunning, state-of-the-art kitchen can bring out my creativity. My last hope is the crème fraiche cheesecake I’ve been working on, but even that is feeling bleak.

“What the hell happened?” Kai’s voice drips with panic.

Turning, I attempt to wipe off some of the flour from my apron but it’s no use. I’m covered. “How’d your game go?”

“It was fine.” Kai doesn’t make eye contact with me; instead, his attention continues to wander over his disaster of a kitchen.

The long exhale that leaves me blows a strand of hair from in front of my eyes, but it falls right back onto my face. “I suck at my job.”

He pauses his confused perusal, his face softening. “Well, my son is alive and you haven’t burnt the house down . . . yet. I’d say you’re doing okay.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, but no. Not this job. Not watching Max, but my real job. I suck at it.”

Just then, the oven’s timer beeps. Using the dish towel thrown over my shoulder, I pull out the cookie sheet to find my garnish burnt to a crisp.

“Fuck my life. This is supposed to be a black sesame crumb.”

“Looks like you nailed it. It’s definitely black.”

My eyes narrow at the giant baseball player who looks far too good leaning a shoulder on the fridge and watching me.

“It’s not even the main dessert. It’s just a garnish. I can’t even get the garnish right. What is wrong with me?” I toss the cookie sheet onto the counter.

I’m not a crier. I don’t get attached enough to cry, but I had an attachment forming to what I thought was going to be the recipe to pull me out of my rut. Head falling back, I close my eyes, attempting to swallow down my disappointment.

That is, until I feel two long arms, corded with muscles, swallow me whole in a hug. My eyes pop open to find a gray T-shirt pulled taut over a chest that my face is buried in.

“You’re okay,” he says, soothingly. It’s spoken in a way he might say those words to his son if he fell and bumped his head. It’s gentle and steady, and works far too well on my chaotic brain.

I melt into him, my arms sliding around his lean waist. “You smell good.”

His chest rumbles against my cheek. “I showered after the game this time.”

“Does that mean you trust me with your son?”

“Don’t ask me that, Montgomery. You’re in a fragile state, and I’d have to lie to you so I don’t feel bad.”

“Kai?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you hugging me?”

He exhales, my body moving against his with the movement. “I don’t know. You seemed like you needed one. I’ve been told I’m a fixer so I guess it was instinct.”

He might be onto something because I have a feeling if there were something that could fix me, it’d be the deep timbre of his voice accompanied by his stable hold.

“What’s going on?” he gently asks, rubbing a hand over my bare back.

“I’m a joke. No one is going to hire me again. They’re going to pull me from the cover, all because I can’t make a goddamn garnish for a goat milk fromage blanc which is basically just a garnish in and of itself. I can’t even make a garnish for the garnish! I hadn’t even gotten to the cheesecake yet.”

He pauses, clearly lost for words. When he finally finds them, he hits me with, “Well, if we’re being candid here, who the hell wants goat cheese as a dessert anyway?”

I chuckle into his chest. “It’s so hot that you somewhat understood that.”

“Want to explain to me why the tattooed nanny without a filter is speaking like she owns a Michelin star restaurant?”

Pulling away from his hold, I instantly miss the reassurance. With just that simple hug, I understand a bit of what it is about Kai that my dad likes so much. He’s solid. He’s stable.

“Sorry.” I gesture to his shirt that’s now as covered in flour as I am. “I don’t own a Michelin star restaurant, but I do help kitchens earn them.”

Behind his glasses, I can see the confusion.

“I’m hired out as a contract employee. Chefs hire me for three months at a time to come into their kitchens and fix their dessert programs, typically in hopes of earning a star. Some chefs are excellent at both their dinner and dessert menus, and some just don’t have the knack for the sweets. That’s where I come in.”

“So, Miami . . .”

“I was working in a kitchen there, but I kept fucking everything up. I decided to take the summer off to get ready for my next project. It’s my biggest one yet.”

“And what is this cover you’re so worried about?”

“The cover of Food & Wine magazine. And I’m assuming the headline will read something to the effect of”—I gesture in front of me, as if I were spelling it out—“Miller Montgomery. Can’t bake for shit.”

He nods in understanding. “It’s catchy. I think it’ll sell well.”

A bit of my internal frustration leaves me with the laugh that bubbles from my lips. Like a shot to the chest, the realization hits me that I could potentially like Kai. Especially if he keeps acting all charming and supportive instead of being overbearing about his kid.

“Well, if it counts for anything, I’m thoroughly impressed.”

“Oh good.” I drop my shoulders. “I’ll expect an excerpt from you in my interview. ‘Baseball pitcher from Chicago wonders who the hell would want goat cheese as a dessert, but is impressed nonetheless.’ ”

“Texas, actually.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m from Texas. Austin, to be specific.”

It’s something so small. Such a minuscule fact in the grand scheme of it all, but hearing Kai willingly share information beyond his son’s favorite snack or sleep routine holds a weight I didn’t expect.

“Country boy, huh?”

The mental picture of him in Wranglers, much in the way he wears his baseball pants, is doing all sorts of things to my imagination.

“Miller.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re sexualizing me in your mind right now, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

The corner of his lips tick.

“Your parents, are they still in Texas?”

He begins to gather the dishes I made a mess of, completely ignoring my question. “Why don’t you head out. I’ll clean this up. I don’t want Monty to chew my ass out tomorrow at practice because you woke him when you got home too late. Thanks for your help tonight. I hope Max was okay for you.”

“He was an angel. I truly have no idea where he inherited that from.”

Kai’s back vibrates, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction of hearing his laugh.

“And so you know, I’m not staying at my dad’s.”

Standing by the sink, Kai’s eyes dart to mine over his shoulder.

“I’m staying in my van in his parking garage.”

“Downtown?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

A disbelieving laugh escapes me. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not staying in a garage in downtown Chicago, Miller. You can stay in my guest room.”

“No thanks.”

“Miller.” His tone bites. “Do not fight me on this.”

I roll my eyes. “You might be a dad, but you’re not mine.”

“Do you need me to call yours so he can tell you how out of your goddamn mind you are?”

“Really, Kai? You’re going to call my dad and tell on me? I’m a little too old for that, don’t you think?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe, then yes. You’re being ridiculous. Stay in my guest room or sleep on his couch. Why would you live in your fucking car?”

Because it keeps me detached. It’s my own space, one with wheels that can take me far away from anything or anyone. My career isn’t conducive to relationships. I love my dad, but I refuse to get attached to having him so close. He needs me to stay away so he can live the life he was always meant to live before I came along.

Kai pulls his hands out from the sink, drying them on a towel. “You going to tell me what this is all about?”

“No.”

“Cool.” He nods his head. “Good talk.”

The tension from our argument begins to dissipate when a smile creeps across my lips.

“Don’t make me laugh right now. I’m annoyed with you.” He points an accusatory finger at me. “I have plenty of space in my side yard. If you’re so hell-bent on living out of your car, will you park there at least? I have water and electrical hookups, and then I’d know—”

“Okay.”

His brows shoot up, surprised I’d give in so fast, I guess. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He exhales a long breath, turning back to the sink. “And just so you know, the only reason I care about this is because it’d be really hard to get a new nanny this late in the season. It has absolutely nothing to do with you as a person. I just want to make that clear.”

That smile I was trying to hide is fully exposed now. “Charming.”

“Now help me clean up from the tornado that came through my kitchen while you tell me more about this job you suck at so badly.”

Using the nearest dish towel, I wind it back, whipping it against his ass.

“Nice try, Miller. But it’s all muscle. I didn’t feel a thing.”

Taking the space next to him, I dry as he washes, and I don’t point out that he has a perfectly good dishwasher two feet away because I like having an excuse to stay. He listens intently as I ramble about my job, asking detailed follow-up questions, and it’s then I realize he’s doing exactly what I asked him to do.

He’s getting to know me.

I already accepted that I was staying for the summer, but as we stand in his kitchen, cleaning together, it feels like the moment that Kai has accepted I’m staying too.

My dad’s smile beams under his baseball hat as he drives us to the airport. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him in a while, reaffirming I made the right decision to spend my summer near him.

I’ve been parked outside of Kai’s place for a week now, but I head to my dad’s each morning so we can share breakfast together. It’s enough of a compromise for him since I’m not staying at his apartment.

“This is nice,” he says. “It feels like the old days when you were a little girl and you’d come to practice with me and hang out in the dugout.”

“Because you bribed me with ice cream.”

“It was worth the investment.” He peeks over at me, his brown eyes wistful as if he were reliving my entire childhood. “Missed you, Millie.”

I squeeze his shoulder. “Missed you too, Dad.”

My phone dings in my lap with another unsaved number. To be candid, most numbers in my phone are unsaved and unknown. What’s the point? I don’t stay in one place long enough to save them.

Unknown: Are you and Monty on the way?

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: Really, Miller? You’ve been watching my son for a week and you haven’t saved my number in your phone yet?

Me: Gonna need you to narrow it down a bit more. Could be anyone, really.

Unknown: I’m the guy who looks devastating in his baseball pants. Your words, texted to me last night. Scroll up in your messages.

Me: . . .

Unknown: I’m the guy you’re mooching water and electricity from.

Me: Baseball Daddy?

Unknown: You on your way?

Me: Yes, pulling into the lot now.

Unknown: Good. And Miller?

Me: Yeah?

Unknown: Save my number in your phone. You’re stuck with me for a bit.

“What are you so smiley about?” My dad laughs.

I quickly flip my phone over to hide the screen in my lap. “What?”

His brown eyes glint, a knowing smile trying to erupt on his lips, but I ignore him, hopping out of the car outside the private airport terminal at O’Hare International airport.

The plane is surrounded by line-crew putting away baggage, team travel coordinators checking off the manifest, and photographers taking pictures for the team’s social media.

And right there at the base of the aircraft stairs are Kai and Max.

Kai is rocking the backwards hat today, painfully handsome in a tee and shorts that cut above his knees. It’s the first time I’ve seen his legs and I’m not sure what I was expecting, or if I was expecting anything really, but they’re thick, cut, and corded.

Didn’t know a man’s calves could be hot, but here we are.

And he’s got . . . Is that a thigh tattoo peeking out past the hem of his shorts? Who would’ve thought stick-up-his-ass Kai had some ink?

My dad stays back to talk to one of the pilots. A line-guy takes my luggage for me, and Max essentially hurls himself at me as soon as I’m close enough.

“There’s my guy,” I laugh. “Missed you, Bug.”

He giggles, his chubby hands roaming over my face, gently touching my septum ring. I pretend to bite his finger and his laugh explodes, falling into my shoulder before he begins to trace the ink there. I’ve quickly learned it’s his favorite thing to do while I’m holding him.

I find Kai leaning against the stairwell, hands in his pockets and watching us. “Hi.”

His blue eyes are soft. “Hi.”

My dad steps up, joining us. “Hey, Ace.”

Kai clears his throat, standing straight. “Monty,” he says, with a hand in his and his arm thrown over his back.

Icy eyes dart to me from behind his glasses while he hugs my dad.

“You waited for me to board, honey?” My dad pats his cheeks with a palm. “So sweet of you.”

“You wish, old man. I was waiting for your daughter so my teammates don’t eat her alive when she gets to the back of the plane.”

My dad turns to me. “You don’t want to sit up front with the coaching staff?”

“So I can watch you go over game film all flight? No. I’m good.”

“Fine.” Throwing an arm over my shoulders, he kisses the top of my head. “Have fun, Millie. See you in Houston.”

“You’re not going to warn her about the boys?” Kai asks as my dad starts up the stairs. “Tell her to stay away from them?”

I roll my eyes at the pitcher.

“Have you met my kid? I should’ve warned the boys about her. She can take care of herself.”

With that, my dad takes the stairs and boards the plane.

“You hear that?” I ask. “I can take care of myself.”

Kai takes my tote bag, which is full of my favorite cookbooks, sliding it down my arm and carrying it for me as I carry his son. “I just don’t want any of them to mess with you, Millie.”

I hold a single finger up. “You’re not allowed to use that name.”

Over the past week, I’ve gotten him to crack a few smiles, but he doesn’t showcase one right now. He simply nods towards the aircraft stairs with a bit of concern etched on his features.

I have no idea why he’s being so weird. Kai should know by now that I have no problem looking out for myself. It’s just a few baseball boys. What’s the big deal?

“Hot Nanny alert!” one of them calls as soon as I step on board.

From the back half of the plane, where the players sit, twenty-five pairs of eyes peek out into the aisle or over the seat in front of them, wide and excited smiles.

Oh.

Still holding Max, I pause right there in the aisle for everyone to see me. “This is what you’re worried about?” I ask Kai over my shoulder.

“Literal children.”

I hold my hand up in a small wave to the back of the plane. “Miller,” I say, introducing myself. “Hot Nanny works too.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Kai says, loud enough for the entire team to hear him.

We make our way down the airplane aisle, passing my dad, who is simply shaking his head at me, but he’s got a smile plastered on his mouth.

The seats up front are taken by every man that works for the team, until . . . Is that a woman?

She looks tiny in this airplane seat, decked out in black leggings, running shoes, and a team issued quarter-zip. Her hair is the prettiest shade of auburn, falling around her elbows, but I can’t see what her face looks like because it’s buried in her phone at the moment.

She’s staring at a photo of a hand? A ring? I’m not sure.

“Hi,” I say, stopping at her seat, and pulling her attention to me. “I’m Miller.”

Holding out my hand that isn’t holding Max, she cautiously shakes it, looking around in confusion.

“I’m glad I’m not the only woman here,” I continue as Kai waits patiently behind me. “What’s your name?”

She’s skeptical, her freckled cheeks tinted rose. “Kennedy. I’m one of the athletic trainers.”

“Kennedy,” I repeat. “I’m looking forward to painting each other’s toes, syncing cycles. You know, all the stuff we girls like to do.”

“Jesus,” Kai exhales behind me.

Kennedy finally cracks a smile that’s accompanied by a small laugh. “Yeah,” she says. “Looking forward to it.”

I nod towards her phone. “Pretty ring.”

Her smile falls. “It is.”

And with that, Kai ushers me to the back of the plane.

Past the exit row, heads follow me as I pass each of them, attention bouncing from me to Max to their teammate.

“Was that you I heard, Isaiah?” Kai asks from behind me when we reach his brother’s seat.

Isaiah wears a naughty smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Her name is Miller,” he scolds. “Start using it.”

“Miller,” Isaiah says, dragging out my name and patting the seat next to him. “Saved you a seat.”

“So did I!” The man across the aisle from him jumps in, eagerly sitting up. “I’m Cody. First baseman.” He holds his hand out and I shake it.

“Sorry, Miller,” another guy says, sliding into the seat next to Cody. “This spot is taken. I’m Travis, by the way. Catcher.”

“Trav!” Cody pushes him. “Get out of here.”

“Looks like you’re sitting with me.” Isaiah pats the empty seat next to him again for me to sit.

Wordlessly, Kai slides a large hand around my waist, pulling me into a row behind them all. “You’re with me, Montgomery.”

I like the way that sounds far too much. Almost as much as I’m enjoying the way his arm feels heavy and possessive around my waist.

“Fine. Then I get Max.” Isaiah holds his hands out for his nephew, who essentially catapults his body to get to him. “Am I your favorite person ever?”

Max giggles, showcasing his baby teeth.

Cody slips into the aisle. “Maxie! I thought I was your favorite.”

“Bug!” another player calls out. “I missed you!”

The team surrounds Isaiah’s seat, entirely entranced by Kai’s son, and I couldn’t be happier to see how much these guys love him.

It’s an odd situation, having a baby travel with a team of professional athletes. The hours are tough, the road can be an escape for some guys, and I know the organization has changed a lot of the travel schedule to cater to the Rhodeses. In a short time, I feel oddly protective of that little guy, and seeing this team fawn over him instantly does something to my chest.

The back of the airplane is clearly for Max. A crib is anchored into the floor with black-out curtains pushed against the fuselage, ready to pull around him while he sleeps. And he even has his own play area on the opposite side of the aisle.

The Warriors really did go all out to make this work.

“This is our spot.” Kai gestures to the row behind his brother, one side empty, the other with a carrier strapped into the aisle seat. “Max is pretty good about sleeping on the flights. If it’s a day flight, this is his play area.” Kai motions to the empty spot across from the crib. “Don’t feel like you need to hang out with him on the plane. I’ll be with him and if I need to go over film with the coaches or something like that, Isaiah can watch him.”

“But I like watching him.”

Kai’s attention darts to me. “Okay. I just don’t want to burn you out on him.”

“I don’t feel that way at all. I like spending time with him.”

Kai doesn’t say anything, simply looks at me with a softness I’ve only seen him wear around his son. “Okay.”

“Please take your seats. The boarding door is closing.” The flight attendant’s voice booms over the PA system.

Isaiah goes to hand his nephew over, but Kai motions to the carpeted aisle floor.

“Put him on his feet. Let’s see if he wants to get some steps in.” Kai gets down on his haunches and holds out his hands, hoping Max will take his first steps in order to reach him.

Instead, Max grips the armrest as if his life depended on it before falling back. It’s clearly his naptime, because Max isn’t much of a crier, but as soon as he hits the ground, he begins to wail.

“All right, Bug,” Kai says, picking him up to soothe him. “We’ll get it next time.”

He bounces him, rubbing his back until Max sucks in enough air to calm himself down. It only takes a few minutes, and once the crying stops, Kai gets him strapped in his carrier for takeoff before sliding into the empty seat beside it. I take the free row opposite them with a perfect view to watch the baseball player smile down at his kid, Max looking equally in love, staring up at his dad with tired and teary eyes.

Kai brings his son’s hand to his lips, peppering kisses on his palm, finally pulling a sweet giggle from the typically happy boy.

I’ve never thought about having kids before, but I’d be shocked to find a woman whose ovaries aren’t doing all sorts of cartwheels watching Kai Rhodes know exactly what to do to make his son feel better.