Model Behavior

by Carter, M. E.

  Chapter 10

  Carrie

  Stroking Calypso’s hair, I now understand why people have kids. This is really nice, having her snuggled up against me, looking like a peaceful little angel. It took a whole lot of obnoxious bouncing around for her to get to this point, but the sugar crash more than made up for it.

  “How’d you get into wildlife rescue, anyway?”

  I look up at Matthew, whose relaxing in the chair across from us, feet propped up on the table. He looks tired from the day, and yet very alert to our conversation.

  “Well,” I begin, thinking back on my childhood. “I grew up in New Jersey.”

  “Ah, I thought I detected a small accent,” he says, his eyes seemingly twinkling.

  “It’s not much but it’s there. I tend to pick up whatever accent is prominent wherever I go. It’s like a chameleon-effect thing.”

  Matthew chuckles. “So when you finally get to Australia, you’re going to come back sounding like Crocodile Dundee.”

  I smile that he’s so sure I’ll ever make it on my bucket list trip. “Quite possibly.”

  “Anyway, you were saying?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I settle into the couch more, continuing to stroke Calypso’s hair. “We lived kind of in a woodsy area. It wasn’t uncommon to see all kinds of critters, especially at night. I don’t remember when it began but I was always rescuing baby animals. It used to drive my mother bonkers.”

  “I take it she’s not an animal person?”

  “Oh no.” I shake my head vehemently. “Not at all. She allowed me to do it, but there was no way she would help. I will give her a little bit of credit though. She did allow me to use the garage as a raccoon shelter for a little while.”

  Matthew’s eyes bug out of his head. “A raccoon shelter.”

  I laugh lightly. People are always so afraid of raccoons but really they’re my favorite. “Oh yeah, I love raccoons. They have the personalities of dogs with the mannerisms of cats. They’re fun.”

  “They’re dumpster divers.”

  “Only when they’re hungry,” I say with a shrug. “And they’re actually really clean. If they have the means to do it, they always wash their food before eating it. But they’re also really inquisitive.”

  “You mean destructive.”

  “My mom would agree with you on that. They did a number on the garage.” I laugh at the memory of us pulling the built-in wood cabinets away from the wall and discovering they had ripped a hole in the sheetrock and made a nest. And that was just one part of the damage they did. It took months for me to clean it all up. Needless to say, the garage was off limits for my rehab efforts from that point on.

  Matthew shifts in his chair, drawing my attention back to him. I try not to notice how his jeans pull in all the right places but, come on. I’m tired. I’m stuffed. And I’ve laughed all night long. A little attraction is normal at this point, right?

  “That explains the career. How did the blogging come about?”

  I shrug. “Hobby. I like romance. I like stories. I like the idea of fate and pushing through problems for your one and only. It keeps me grounded in a weird way while keeping me from settling for what I don’t want.” Suddenly feeling uncomfortable with how much I’m sharing; I act quickly to turn the tables. “What about you? Financial advising? How did that happen?”

  “Family business.” He begins absentmindedly picking at the label of his beer. “The pay is steady, I don’t mind the work, and as long as I don’t take advantage of the obvious nepotism, it’s almost impossible to get fired.”

  “And the modeling?”

  “A dare.”

  I didn’t see that answer coming. “Really?”

  He nods, a grin on his face. “A buddy of mine in college dared me to try out when this agency was scouting on our campus. I’m pretty sure he was trying to set me up for some humiliation. It sort of backfired on him.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “I can see that.”

  The conversation lulls and we sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. It’s odd because I should feel like I’m imposing, but I don’t. I feel like I’m right where I’m meant to be.

  Gesturing to his daughter, Matthew says, “I should feel bad that I beat her so many times at checkers, but I don’t. This was too much fun.”

  A small smile graces my lips because he’s right. I haven’t done a game night in I don’t know how long. I had almost forgotten the appeal.

  “Next time, I will crush you with Scrabble,” I tease quietly, not wanting to ruin this moment.

  “Oh you will, huh?” Matthew puts his beer bottle down on the side table and stretches his long legs out on the floor. He doesn’t look like a model in this moment. He looks like a normal, everyday guy. Still hot. But much more approachable. “I’ll have you know my English teachers always complimented me on my vocabulary.”

  I blow out an unimpressed breath through my lips. “Knowing what a word means for a state test is different than knowing how to use the letters “x” and “q” to maximize your points. Besides, your English teachers were just impressed that such a hot guy knew how to spell.”

  His very hot eyebrow quirks on his very hot forehead. Who knew a forehead could be sexy? But his is. Even making playful expressions, there are no lines or wrinkles there. If I move my eyebrows, I have so many lines you could wash clothes on my face.

  What a coincidence. He has washboard abs. I have a washboard forehead. It’s a match made in Maytag heaven.

  “I’m not afraid,” he says. Suddenly, the air changes in the room. It’s gone from light and fun to sultry. Or it might be steam coming from the dishwasher. Either way, we hold each other’s gazes for a few seconds too long before realizing what we’re doing and looking away. Clearing his throat, Matthew adds, “But, I should put her to bed.”

  Standing, he stretches his arms over his head before leaning down to scoop up Calypso. He gets close, but then stands back up.

  “Problem?” I ask, because he’s clearly thinking through how to do this.

  “It’s just…” He cocks his head, looking at us from a different angle. “She’s so high up on your lap and draped across you. She’s such a light sleeper, if I try to turn her around she’s gonna wake up and that never goes well.”

  Looking down at our position, I see what he’s talking about. “Hmm. Let me see if I can…” Slowly scooting my butt down the couch, I try to get my body underneath Calypso more. “Maybe if I can… hang on,” I grunt and keep moving. Matthew seems to figure out what I’m doing and moves spare arms and legs out of my way. I have no idea how Calypso has more than two each, but I swear kids turn into rubber octopuses when they sleep.

  Finally, Calypso is completely draped over me, her head on my shoulder, but I’ve somehow ended up squatting on the floor. I’m no stranger to lifting heavy creatures—Golden Retrievers are a popular breed and they aren’t small—but there is no way I can power lift my way to a standing position.

  Looking up at Matthew, I gesture to my predicament. “Can you um… give me a little help here?”

  “Oh! Yes!” He hops into action and somehow maneuvers himself until he’s standing behind me. In one smooth movement, he bends down and lifts me up from under my arms.

  Wow. He’s strong. And sexy. That’s the first time a man has held me that close in at least a couple years so it’s having more of an effect on me than it should. Clearly I need to get out more if picking me up off the floor makes me swoon.

  Matthew is still moving his arms around to try and figure out how to get Calypso off me. It’s cute, but unnecessary.

  “Matthew,” I whisper yell and blow some of Calypso’s hair out of my face. “Just show me where her room is. It’ll be faster.”

  “Right. Yes.”

  It’s kind of cute how he’s not sure what to do in a situation like this. It’s as if he’s never had a woman around his kid before. Now that I think about it, that kind of makes sense. He’s a super huge flirt at all the boo
k events we’ve been at together, but I’ve never heard him talk about a girlfriend. And he’s never posted pictures of a woman except his mother, not that I’ve been paying attention.

  Fine. I pay attention. It’s called research. I am a blogger, after all. It’s kind of my job to know what’s going on with the much sought-after models and authors. Matthew happens to be much sought after and not just by talented authors whose covers he graces. Readers practically worship him. And his live videos.

  But he was also uncomfortable when Calypso invited me over and kept trying to get out of it. It never occurred to me that he doesn’t like introducing women to his daughter. I’m not sure if I should feel flattered that he’s allowing me to follow him down the hall to her bedroom, or embarrassed that Calypso and I have pushed him into an evening that made him uncomfortable.

  Oh well. If he was really concerned he’d have stopped me by now, right?

  Matthew pushes the bedroom door open, and I feel like I’ve died and gone to fairy-land heaven. This room is everything little Carrie’s heart would have desired if she knew such magic existed. The full-sized bed is covered in fluffy pink and purple blankets and pillows. A huge set of fairy wings is attached to one wall with a full-length mirror right in the middle so you always know how beautiful you are, no matter what you’re wearing. And what appears to be small twinkly lights are dangling from the ceiling. When you look closer, though, they’re tiny little fairies that light up instead of a nightlight. Suddenly, I want to redecorate my room so it can look like this one. I’m still a kid at heart. It wouldn’t be weird at all.

  Well, until Luke attacked one of the fairies and ended up dangling from the ceiling himself. That might not go over well.

  Working in tandem, I wait for Matthew to pull the blankets down before laying Calypso on her bed. I have to be strategic about this, though. If she’s a light sleeper, the alternate pressure will wake her up. So instead of just plopping her down and tucking her in, I sort of lay on top of her until I feel her entire body go lax. Then I slowly, carefully pull my body away, simultaneously pulling the blankets up to try and offset my movements.

  When I’m finally free of her grip without so much as a groan of protest out of her, I turn around ready to fist pump the air at my victory. But Matthew is standing there, a strange look on his face.

  “What?”

  “It’s just…” He looks back and forth between me and Calypso a couple times. “That’s the move I have to use to keep her asleep. How’d you know to do it?”

  Pointing at myself, I make sure to keep whispering. “Light sleeper. My mom used to use it on me. Worked like a charm until I was about nine, so you only have a few years left to maximize it. You’ve been warned.”

  We creep out of the room, Matthew shutting the door soundlessly behind us. Waving me down the hall, I follow him back into the open concept living area where it’s safe to make noise again.

  “Those fairy wings are awesome,” I say, blinking my eyes as they adjust to the light. “You have an amazing eye for decorating. Her room is so cool.”

  He saunters over to the coffee table and begins picking up the game. “I wish I could take credit for any of that, but it’s all her mother’s doing.”

  She has a mother?

  It’s weird how my brain completely bypassed that part of their lives. Obviously Calypso has a mother. It’s not like Matthew could have made her without one. Still, it feels weird thinking about some woman out there having a relationship with this little girl. It feels weird knowing that woman has a relationship with Matthew. I’ll just ignore all the reasons why that is.

  I want to ask about her, I really do. But I’m trying to be polite. One dinner he was forced into doesn’t make us friends. It makes us tricked into dinner by a child. I don’t really feel it’s my place to ask. Even though I really, really want to. Oh, what the hell.

  “Well then I stand corrected. Her mom has got a real knack for design.”

  Matthew doesn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil or even mind the conversation. “She’s a real creative type. Very artsy.”

  “Oh. So, um… does she do interior design for a living or something?”

  I’m pushing for information. I know I am. And I’m pretty sure that smirk means he knows it too. “Is that your sly way of asking if she’s still around?”

  Busted.

  I roll my eyes playfully, not as much annoyed as trying to not feel embarrassed by my curiosity. “You can’t blame me for wondering. It’s not like I know a ton of single dads out there who have custody of their kids.”

  “There are more of us than you think.”

  “No doubt. I just don’t know any of them, I guess,” I say with a shrug. “It just had me wondering. But you don’t have to tell me anything. I know it’s not my business.”

  His eyes flicker toward the kitchen, and I’m sure he’s looking at the time. While one of our trio is tucked into bed, it’s not too late and I’m not ready for the night to end.

  “How about some coffee?” he asks.

  “Do you have any tea?”

  Smiling, he nods and walks to the kitchen to fill a kettle. It’s not one of those Americanized ones you find at Target. This is a heavy-duty thing that he probably ordered online from some British company to make sure it was the best of the best.

  Setting the kettle on the burner, he turns to the cabinets where he begins gathering various teas and cups onto a tray. Wow. This is the fanciest tea I think I’ve ever had. I wonder if he’ll present me with some crumpets too.

  “I didn’t know Calypso was coming into my life until she was already here.”

  His admission stuns me so much, my eyebrows shoot up, giving me that washboard forehead again. If he keeps this up, I’m going to need some Botox and fast.

  “You didn’t?”

  He shakes his head and leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he tells me the story. His body language isn’t lost on me, and it makes me wonder if he’s in a sort of self-protection mode. Maybe from what he thinks will be my judgement. Makes sense. I have been sort of a judgmental bitch to him.

  “I met Calypso’s mom at a club. She was this amazing dancer so of course all the men gravitated to her. But for whatever reason she wanted to dance with me that night.”

  I scoff. “Because you’re hot. How many times do I need to tell you that?”

  He smiles at my outburst but doesn’t respond. “Anyway, you know how it goes. We had a one-night stand, didn’t exchange numbers, and I never heard from her again.” Actually, I don’t know how that goes, being that I’ve never had a one-night stand, but I’ll take his word for it. “Close to a year later, she tracked me down somehow, probably from the few gigs I had started booking at that point, and she showed up on my parents’ doorstep with a six-week-old baby.”

  I gasp. “Oh man. I bet that caused some drama.”

  “You have no idea. My mother was at the grocery store, and when she came home I was holding a screaming newborn. I can’t even tell you how much my mother lectured me about being a twenty-three-year-old single dad. She got over it, but yeah. It was rough.”

  “Wait, single dad? So she just left Calypso with you?”

  He nods and turns to check on the kettle which is starting to make some noises. “She says she tried really hard to be a good mom, and I believe her. But she was eighteen years old… and…”

  “Holy shit, she was eighteen?” I exclaim. “You’re a dirty old man!”

  Matthew looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which I may have. “I was twenty-two when I slept with her. It’s not a huge age difference.”

  “No, but it seems like a huge life experience difference,” I blurt out as I lean back, hands on the counter. “At twenty-two you’ve been through college and can drink and stuff. At eighteen, you’re just… not even really adulting yet.”

  He licks his lips and I can tell he’s amused by my thoughts. “Well, in my defense, I didn’t know she was eighteen until I got a copy
of Calypso’s birth certificate.”

  “The pigtails and lollipop weren’t a giveaway?”

  Matthew chuckles and pulls his phone out of his pocket, clicking open an app. He scrolls for a second before turning it to face me. “Here. This is Delilah.”

  “Delilah? I assume she’s the one who named Calypso?”

  “Yep.”

  “Makes so much more sense now.” I take the phone from him and stare at the picture of a beautiful brunette with a tiny little baby. “Is this Calypso?”

  “When she was just a week old.”

  “Okay, you win.” I hand him the phone back. “No way I would have guessed she was eighteen. My first guess would have been twenty-five at least.”

  He clicks his phone off and puts it in his back pocket. “Me too. But anyway, Delilah tried to be a good mom but she was so young and had a lot of dreams. Dreams she couldn’t keep up with as long as she had a kid. From what I gather, as soon as her doctor cleared her for normal activity post-partum, she realized pretty quick that a baby was going to create a lot of inconvenience in her life.”

  “So she just dropped Calypso off and left?”

  He bobbles his head back and forth. “It’s not as simple as that, but sort of. For the first year, she didn’t come around at all. I filed for full custody and as soon as the DNA test was processed, I had it. Mostly because she never came to a hearing.”

  “DNA test? You didn’t know she was yours?”

  “Oh, I knew,” he says with a smile. “She looked identical to some of my mom’s baby pictures. It was more a formality, so all our ducks were in a row for court. But I guess it was about a year after that when Delilah called to check on the baby. She was really sad about everything she’d missed out on.”

  My heart sinks. “Please tell me she didn’t file for custody.”

  “Nope. I think she’s always known she would do Calypso more harm by trying to force herself into the role of full-time parent, and it’s more emotionally balanced to spend some good quality time with her when she’s here.”