“I’ll do it,” I say.
“What?” Ford furrows his brow. “No. Absolutely not—”
“Yes! Please, daddy, let Miss Eva be the coach.” Bryce is swinging her legs with such enthusiasm now they’re hitting the table, making our plates jump and the silverware clatter.
“Stop that, please,” Ford says.
She doesn’t listen. “Please please please say yes. Please. Miss Eva and I are best friends.”
My heart melts a little. Conversely making my resolve harden. No idea how I’m going to squeeze this in. But how much of a commitment can coaching a team of four-year-olds be? My head fills with images of Bryce and her cute little friends trotting through a sunny field after a ball. They’ll eat orange slices for a snack and make the other parents and I shake our heads at their extreme cuteness.
I mean, what better way to get involved in Bryce’s life? It will be a great bonding experience. Something I can teach her, the way I’m teaching her how to cook during our pizza nights.
“Stop,” Ford repeats. But it takes him reaching for his daughter’s legs and physically restraining them for her to finally stop kicking the table.
“Please!” She claps her hands.
I clap mine. “Please! Honestly, Ford. I’d love to.”
“Eva.” Ford lets out a breath. Catches it. “I’m telling you—this is not something you want to sign up for. Maybe if you want to be the team’s biggest cheerleader, we can make that happen. But I can’t let you do this. Not with everything else you have going on, your deadline especially.” He reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “Trust me on this. Have you met any parents recently? People are crazy these days, E. How about you come to a couple games first? Then you can check it out, and maybe sign up to coach next year. Right, Bryce?”
“Wrong,” Bryce says. “Please.”
“I insist,” I say, trading a smile with Bryce. “It will be fun.”
Ford cuts me a wide-eyed glance. “No it won’t. Really, Eva. Weren’t you just telling me how you were going to catch up on some cookbook stuff tomorrow? See your sister, maybe sleep in? You look tired, baby.”
I wave him away, even as I feel a tug of apprehension in my gut. “I’ll get up a little earlier and knock out the recipe before the game. And I’m not supposed to see Alex until dinner—we nabbed a reservation at The Pearl at seven thirty. Leaves me plenty of time.”
Ford does that thing again where he lets out the breath and catches it. This time he presses his tongue to the back of his teeth.
“This is way too much, Eva.”
I grab his hand. “Need I remind you of everything y’all have done for me? Let me return the favor. Plus, it gives me an excuse to hang out with this cutie.” I wink at Bryce. She tries to wink back, squeezing both her eyes shut.
She’s so damn cute.
I turn back to Ford. He looks at me for a beat. Then another.
“At least let me help, then,” he says. “I can be the assistant coach. The provider of snacks. The David Beckham soccer dad you’d like to you-know-what. Or something.”
I grab my glass of wine and shake my head. “Yes to the David Beckham dad. No to the help. You’ve already got enough dad duties going on. Let me handle this. I can handle it, okay?”
He tilts his head.
“I can handle it,” I repeat.
Another pause.
“If you say so,” he says at last. “You can be the coach under one condition. You’ll let me know if it gets overwhelming, all right? If that’s the case, we’ll find someone else to take over.”
“We got it.” I look at Bryce. “Right?”
She beams at me. “Right, Miss Eva.”
I’m beaming, too. How perfect is this? I get to jump in with both feet, as Julia suggested, doing something I’m already familiar with. I love teaching—one of the many reasons I’m still kicking around the idea of hosting cooking classes—I love being outside, and I am totally falling in love with this little girl.
Which is why I’m surprised to see a slight crease in Ford’s forehead. Yes, his eyes are soft and warm. A warmth that invades my chest and drips down of my ribcage, making me feel like I’m on the verge of a giggle. But he almost looks…concerned.
Worried.
Which is the opposite of how I want him to feel. I’m taking this on so he doesn’t have to. Not only do I want to be the best damn stepmom to Bryce. I also want to be the best co-parent to Ford.
I reach for his hand. Lower my voice a little. “I’m in. That’s what I’m trying to show you here—that I’m one hundred percent committed to you and to Bryce. Let me help out.”
“And let me tell you you don’t need to help to show you’re committed. You’re here, aren’t you? I mean, Christ, you put together a homemade pizza bar after working all day. Working all week, and under deadline at that. Seriously, Eva. You don’t have to do all this.”