“Not really.”
“I’m fucking roasting. Watch her for a second, okay? I have to take off my sweater.”
“Okay.” I made sure she stayed on the couch while Nate whipped off his sweater and tossed it aside. Beneath it he wore a white undershirt that hugged his muscular arms and chest. I let myself look for a moment, then refocused on Paisley, who was definitely working up to a big fuss. Getting to my feet, I scooped her up. “Let’s feed you, huh? Does that sound good?”
To Nate, I said, “Grab one of those bottles and the can of formula from the bag. I’ll show you how to feed her.”
“Okay.” He looked up at me from his seat on the couch. “Thank you. For being here. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come back.”
“It’s okay. You’ve gotten me out of a jam plenty of times.”
“This is more than a jam, Emme. And I was a total dick to you earlier.” He stood up. He stood close. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
Oh, God. I could smell him, and the combination of man and baby smell does things to the body of a woman my age. Things that make the blood run faster, the heart beat quicker, and the ovaries send confusing signals to various other parts of the female anatomy. Parts that harden and tingle. Parts that flutter and whoosh. Parts that swell and pulse. For a moment, all I wanted in the universe was for him to touch me. Kiss me. Want me.
Was I going insane?
Paisley began to cry. I took a step back and headed for the kitchen. “Come on. She’s hungry.”
It took Nate much longer than it would’ve taken me to make a bottle for her, and she cried the whole time he carefully measured and poured and added water and mixed it up, but I wanted him to do it on his own.
“Not too tight,” I warned him as he screwed on the cap, “or she won’t be able to get anything out.”
He immediately started loosening it.
“But not too loose, either, or it’ll drip all over the place.”
He grunted and tightened it a little before handing it to me.
I shook my head. “You have to warm it first,” I told him. “No, no, no, not in there,” I said as he popped the microwave door open. “Run the hot water on the tap and hold the bottle under it.”
He looked at me blankly. “How will I know when it’s warm?”
I shrugged. “You guess. Try 30 seconds, shake it up a little, and see if she takes it.”
Nate did as I asked, but after shaking it, he held it out to me. “I don’t know how,” he said.
I took the bottle from him, and asked him to follow me into the living room, where I sat down on the couch. “Hey, see if there’s a bib in the bag. You know what that is?”
“I think so.” He dug around in the bag until he found one, and managed to get it snapped behind her neck while I held her. In doing so, the back of his hand accidentally brushed against my breast. “Sorry,” he said, his cheeks going a little red.
“It’s okay. Now sit.” But my stupid nipple was tingling.
He hesitated, but eventually lowered himself to the couch, and I transferred the baby to his muscular arms. It was the first time he’d held her that way, and she looked so small against his chest. I wondered if he felt any tug of paternal affection, or if he was still too stunned to feel anything at all.
“Hold her with her head in your left elbow so you can feed her with your right hand,” I advised. When she was situated, I handed him the bottle. “Here you go. Tip it up gently at first in case the nipple is too fast.”
He looked at me curiously. “There’s such a thing as a fast nipple?”
“Only the rubber kind. Don’t get excited.”
For the first time since we’d discovered Paisley in the hall, he actually smiled. It didn’t last long, though, because he was so nervous about feeding her. But she sucked eagerly at the bottle and made contented little noises as she drank.
“Is this right? Am I doing it right?” he asked.
“You’re doing great. We’ll let her drink a couple ounces and then you can burp her.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
I grinned. “You’ll be fine.”
And he was—sort of.
He managed to balance her on his knee, her stomach braced on one hand as he rubbed her back to encourage a burp, exactly like I showed him. He learned how to hold her against his chest, her head over one shoulder, as he walked around the room patting her back. He even talked to her a little bit as he moved around the room. “Sorry I’m not much good at this stuff, Paisley. Maybe I’ll get better.”
When she finally let out a pretty good-sized belch, he looked over at me, shocked. “Was that her?”
I nodded from where I sat on the couch. “Yep. Good job. Want to see if she’ll take the last ounce?”
“Okay.”
But she wouldn’t, and Nate was frustrated. “She’s not eating it. Why won’t she eat it? What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said from beside him. “Babies don’t always finish the entire bottle.”
He set it aside and looked down at her for a moment. Her eyes were open and locked on his. “Do you think she’s cute?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Her hair is funny. Like an old man’s.”
I laughed. “It will grow.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever held a baby before. If I did…it was a long time ago.” He spoke quietly, and Paisley seemed enthralled by the sound of his voice.
“I think she likes you.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
I poked his shoulder, and watched them taking each other in, both father and daughter wide-eyed and amazed. It was so sweet, my throat started to tighten. I could sense the bond taking hold and felt in my gut Nate would grow to love her.
Suddenly Paisley’s face turned very red, and she gave a little grunt.
“What’s she doing? Why is her face that color?” Nate sounded alarmed. “Is she choking?”
I smiled. “She’s fine.”
“But what’s with—” He stopped talking and sniffed. “Jesus fucking Christ, what is that smell?”
“It’s baby poop,” I said, laughing.
“It can’t be. There’s no way.” He inhaled, and his handsome features contorted. “Oh my God, that’s so bad. How can something so tiny create such a disgusting stench? We should change her.” He stood up and looked around. “Where’s the bag?”
“You don’t want to change her yet, Nate. Trust me. She’s not done.”
He looked down at me, aghast. “How long will it go on?”
I shrugged. “A few minutes, maybe.”
“Oh my God.” His eyes closed. “I don’t think I can stand it.”
“You can put her in the car seat if you want.” I reached out. “Or I can hold her.”
“No.” He straightened his shoulders and sat down again. “No, I can take it.”
“Very alpha male of you.”
He nudged my leg with his. “Thanks.”
But his confidence was shattered when he went to change her dirty diaper. He must have gone through fifty wipes and she still wasn’t clean, he got poop all over her pajamas, and she screamed the whole time. Finally, I took over, but even when she was clean and dry and wearing a new onesie and sleeper, she refused to calm down.
I tried the pacing and bouncing while Nate threw her clothing in the washer, sealed the wet and dirty diapers in plastic grocery bags, and took them down to the trash bins in the basement. She still hadn’t calmed down by the time he got back, so we turned off all the lights and tried the pacifier (she refused it), another bottle (hell no, she didn’t want that), running the vacuum cleaner (did the trick on a couple of kids I used to sit, but Paisley wasn’t having it), and even swinging her side to side in her car seat—but nothing worked. Nothing.
The hours crawled by.
“My God, what’s wrong with her? Why won’t she go to sleep?” Nate asked, taking Paisley from me and placing her up over his shoulder. “
It’s going on three in the morning. Even an alpha male needs sleep.”
“She’s got colic, I guess.”
“What the fuck is colic?”
“It’s when a baby cries for hours on end with no reason, usually at night.”
“What do you do for it?”
“Nothing.”
“No, I refuse to accept that. There must be a solution.”
God, he was such a guy, thinking every problem could be solved. “Sometimes motion helps. I wish we had a stroller,” I said over the wailing. I was worn out too, and desperate for sleep, but I didn’t want to leave him like this.
Our eyes met in the dark. “I’ve got a bar cart. Would that work?”
“Let’s try it. But let’s see if she’ll eat first.”
Nate held her while I prepared the bottle, then I fed and burped her while Nate cleared his Art Deco chrome bar cart of decanters, an ice bucket, glasses, coasters and some other random barware. We placed her car seat on top of the cart, strapped her in, and Nate held it in place as I pushed. It took some maneuvering to turn corners, but we managed to wheel her around the living room, circle the kitchen island, loop around the couch. Eventually, it worked.
“Oh my God,” Nate whispered. “It’s a miracle. She’s asleep.”
“For now, anyway.” I knew from experience an eight-week-old wasn’t going to sleep long. Stifling a yawn, I said, “Keep her in the seat, okay? You can take her up to your room or sleep on the couch.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” His voice was panicked.
“I have to get some sleep, Nate. I’m exhausted.”
“I know, but…don’t leave,” he whispered frantically. “I still need you. Please.”
I was nearly asleep on my feet, but hearing him say those four words did something to me. Usually it was the other way around with us—me needing him. And as bad as I felt for Nate tonight, I sort of liked the role reversal. When had any man ever needed me, unless it was to plan his wedding?
“Okay,” I agreed. “But we both need to sleep while she does.” I figured I’d crash on the couch, so I was surprised at his next words.
“Come upstairs.”
It was ridiculous, but my heart tripped a little quicker.
Don’t make this into something it’s not, Emme. He doesn’t want to be alone with the baby. It has nothing to do with you and him. “Okay. You bring the car seat up—carefully.”
You’d have thought the seat was made of blown glass, he was so gentle with it on the trek up the stairs. I’d never been in Nate’s bedroom before, but it was laid out like mine—sleeping area, walk-through closet, master bath on the other side. I was a little surprised the decor was so normal, no mirrors or restraints or sex swings hanging from the ceiling. Just plain white bedding, unadorned brick walls, a bed, and nightstand.
“You can use the bathroom first,” he said softly, setting the car seat on the floor next to the king-sized bed and switching on his bedside lamp. “There are spare toothbrushes in the second drawer down.”
“Thanks.” I walked through his closet—it smelled like him—to the bathroom and shut the door softly behind me. I turned on the light, scorching my retinas since we’d been in the dark for hours, and frowning at my bloodshot eyes and smudged mascara. After using the bathroom and washing my hands and face, I located a spare toothbrush (refusing to think about why he had a stash of them), and brushed my teeth. Normally, I’d have been more curious about what else I’d find in his bathroom, but I was too tired to even snoop in his cabinets.
When I came out, Nate stood at the foot of the bed holding out something folded and white. “You can sleep in this if you want.”
“Okay, thanks.” I noticed he’d traded his jeans for a pair of loose black pajama pants, but he’d kept his T-shirt on.
While he was in the bathroom, I slipped out of my jeans and sweater and quickly pulled the cotton T-shirt he’d given me over my head, keeping my bra on. The shirt was big and comfortable, but a sniff of the collar disappointed me, because it smelled like fabric softener and not him.
Don’t be fucking weird. Just get in bed.
It looked like Nate slept on the left side of the bed, so I quickly turned back the covers on the right, scrambled beneath them, and pulled them up to my chin.
A moment later, the bathroom door opened. Nate came into the room and went around to the other side of the bed, moving Paisley a little closer to it. He removed his wrist watch and turned off the lamp, but then he hesitated. “Would you rather I slept downstairs?”
“No,” I said. Then I couldn’t resist a joke. “Despite your reputation, I don’t think you’re going to try anything.”
He climbed into bed. “In this particular case, you’re right. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
When both of us were under the covers, Nate on his back, me on my side, facing him, he whispered, “I still can’t believe this.”
“I can’t either. It’s so huge.”
“That’s what she said,” he whispered a moment later.
Despite my exhaustion, I giggled. He might be a dad, but he was still a guy.
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He was quiet for a minute, and I was nearly asleep before he spoke again. “Emme.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
I opened my eyes. He was still on his back, arms at his sides above the covers. Automatically, I reached out, placing my hand on his bicep. “I know.”
He looked at me. “Thanks for staying.”
“You’re welcome.”
I fell asleep with my hand on him.
Four
Nate
My body was begging my brain to shut down, but even with my eyes closed, my muscles relaxed, and the room dark and silent, my mind refused to quiet.
I had a daughter.
My life would never be the same.
As the shock wore off and reality set in, I felt more and more panicked. What if Rachel didn’t come back? What would I do? Alpha masculinity aside, how was I going to reconcile the person I had been, a person I liked and enjoyed being, with being a father to this child? Was it even possible? And what about work? The gym? My social life? Travel? I had plans, for fuck’s sake. Goals. A bucket list. I wanted to run with the bulls and climb Kilimanjaro and skydive over Dubai. I couldn’t do any of that with a baby strapped to my back.
And I had no idea how to be a dad.
I thought about my own father, who’d died three years ago of heart disease, but who had retreated from the family long before, so long ago that I’d barely registered the loss. But I had never blamed him for his distance, nor my mother for her nervous frailty. It was another loss, an earlier, unthinkable tragedy, that had done us all in. It was that loss that was responsible for who we became—an absent alcoholic, and agoraphobic hypochondriac, and a divorce lawyer with an iron cage around his heart. I had made up my mind long ago that love was something to be feared. Avoided. And if necessary, sabotaged.
Otherwise it would destroy you.
The problem wasn’t love itself. The problem was allowing yourself to care for someone so deeply that the loss of them cut you deep to the bone, so deep you lost a piece of yourself. And that piece was your trust in God, your faith in the universe, your belief that if you wished hard enough and prayed long enough and loved fiercely enough, it would save a life. It would save your family. It would save you.
So you had to be vigilant if you wanted to protect yourself. And I was. I did. I had hardened my heart to the point where nothing and nobody could get to me. I’d never fallen in love. I’d never been tempted to get married. And I’d certainly never planned on being a father. I know some guys who think spreading their seed is the ultimate act of manhood, but fuck that. As far as I was concerned, my seed could stay in the vault where it belonged. Maybe I’d get a vasectomy after this; that is, if having a baby didn’t ruin my sex life forever.
I looked over at Emme.
Her breathing was deep and slow. She’d rolled over and was facing the other direction, but her long hair was trailing over toward my pillow. It smelled so fucking good—like cake or something. Every now and again, she mumbled something that I couldn’t make out, but it almost made me smile. Ten bucks says she’s arguing with me, even in her sleep. Thank God she’d agreed to stay here tonight—I’d never wanted a woman to spend the night so badly, and there wasn’t even sex involved.
And it was fucking surreal to think that Rachel and I had created a life during our marathon, whiskey-fueled sexcapade last year. Part of me still couldn’t believe it. What were the odds? Weren’t condoms like ninety-nine percent effective when used properly? How had I fucked that up? Was the condom defective? Or did I have some sort of bionic sperm that was able to penetrate latex? For a moment, I felt kind of proud of my herculean swimmers, but the feeling quickly vanished when I remembered the end result.
Speaking of which, she hadn’t made any noise in a while.
My heart started to pound and I immediately checked to see that she was breathing. She was perfectly fine, but something in me couldn’t believe I hadn’t fucked up yet. How the hell did people do this? Were you supposed to just go to sleep and trust you’d wake up if your baby needed something? What if you were a sound sleeper? I wasn’t, not particularly, but what if I was? And how could she be comfortable in that thing, all strapped in that way? I’d have unbuckled her, except then I would’ve been scared about her falling out somehow. So far, parenting seemed to me like nothing but worry, panic, doubt, and guilt. Why the fuck would anyone choose this? I certainly hadn’t. And I didn’t want it.
But like Emme said, what I wanted no longer mattered.
“Everything okay?” Emme whispered behind me.
I turned to see her propped up on one elbow. “Yeah. Just checking on her.”
She put her head down again and lay facing me. “What a good dad.”
I rolled to face her too, bunching my pillow beneath my head. “I have no fucking idea how to be a good dad.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight, Nate. Give yourself some time.”
One and Only Boxed Set Page 5
