her favorite parenting discoveries. It didn’t matter if it was cold out, and she ended up drenched by the end of the bath. The fun was the mundane activity. Warm water, loads of fragrant suds, and a smiling and contented baby—happy Zen.
Once the baby was scrub-a-dub-dubbed and dressed for outdoors, it took no time to wriggle into yoga pants and a sunflower T-shirt topped with an oversized hoodie.
She no longer bothered to style her hair—infants don’t care what you look like—so her daily routine consisted of clean skin, moisturizer with sunscreen, and toothpaste. At this point, everything else was a luxury.
The three-in-one travel system she invested several hundred dollars in was a modern-day marvel capable of converting to a carriage or a stroller. It came with some really impressive shocks to cushion baby’s ride. Right now, with Ari being so little, she preferred the carriage option—when the baby was a little older, they’d give the upright stroller a test run.
“I think we’re all set,” she told Ari and wheeled the carriage outside. While working out some last-minute adjustments, a car pulled to the end of the driveway, and someone got out. Shielding her eyes, she squinted but gave up. Reaching for her sunglasses in the front pouch of her hoodie, she slid them on and boldly studied the man dragging a rolling suitcase in his wake. He tickled her people-watching habit. It was the way he held himself and walked. She sensed confidence—it was evident in his swagger. It reminded her of Arnie.
“Okay,” she murmured to her co-pilot. “This guy is interesting. He’s not a worker bee, and judging by his scuffed suitcase, he isn’t a stranger to travel. What do you think, sweetie? Hmm?”
Ari gurgled happily, blew bubbles, and smiled. She was a champion bubble producer and was so good at it the symbol of a bubble should be a part of her personal insignia.
She slowly pushed the carriage along the drive as the intriguing stranger walked toward them on the other driveway. As he got closer, she got a better overall impression.
He was older, maybe sixty or so, and he had a distinct boomer vibe evidenced by a well-worn denim jacket and silver hair pulled into a ponytail. All he needed was a Grateful Dead insignia on his jacket, and the look would be culturally complete.
Summer smiled to herself. When the older man was close enough to be friendly, he returned her smile and nodded.
“Mornin’,” he greeted politely. “Beautiful day, eh?”
Did she imagine Bono singing “Beautiful Day” in her head? Yes. Totally.
Slowing her roll until they were across from each other on separate driveways, she stopped and acknowledged the stranger.
“Good morning to you too, and yes, it’s another glorious day in the neighborhood.”
“Out for a walk, I see,” he said with a big, friendly smile. “A bit chilly, though. Brr.” He chortled with a shivering pantomime.
She liked the man immensely.
Gesturing toward the house under renovation, she asked, “Are you with Stan?”
His smile became bigger. “As a matter of fact, yes, I am!” He held his hand out. “Silent investor,” he told her in a dry tone brimming with amusement. “I’m Ned, by the way.”
“Summer,” she replied. Nodding at the rolling suitcase, she pried just to see what he said. “I take it you’re a traveling man?”
He threw his head back and barked with laughter. To her surprise, Ari squirmed as if she wanted to see who was so amused.
Before she could inquire what he found so funny, the front door of the renovation house flung open with a bang, and Stan came running out wearing a panicked look. He moved so fast he was with them in seconds.
“Hey,” he stammered. “Everything, uh, copacetic?” he asked Ned with panic evident in his voice.
She found his behavior odd.
Ned winked and thumped Stan on the back. “It’s all good, son. I was just introducing myself to Summer and explaining my silent investor status.”
“Stan!” She pushed the sunglasses onto her head and chortled. “Wait up. Ned is your father?” She playfully smacked her forehead and grinned. “Duh. This explains why he seems so familiar.”
The two men exchanged looks. Stan appeared relieved and lost his panicked vibe.
“Does your dad check up on you, Summer?” Stan asked teasingly. “Moneybags McGee wants firsthand updates on how his money is spent.”
“I wish,” she responded. “My dad passed almost six years ago. But my brother?” She snorted a giggle. “He checks up constantly.”
Ned sobered and took one of her hands. He squeezed it gently, and in a