Falling for Jordan

by Liz Durano

  By the time I return to the apartment, Addison and Piper are in the living room. The little baby gym, the rocker, and the stuffed toys have come out from their hiding places and now surround Piper who's gurgling happily as Addison gives her tummy kisses. Damn, I'd be gurgling, too, if she did that but I remind myself that right now, there's a sink that needs unclogging and I'm here to do the job. I'm really here to impress her which means that whatever I do, I cannot fail.

  It would have taken me half an hour to fix her sink but I take my time, grinning as I sneak glances at Addison singing baby versions of pop songs. I decide then that besides Sonny and Cher's I Got You, Babe, her versions of Beyonce's Single Ladies and Prince's Kiss are my new favorites, Addison's hand movements, belly kisses, and Piper's laughter all timed perfectly with the songs. As I turn on the hot water faucet and watch the water drain without any clogs, I feel her standing next to me with Piper in her arms.

  “Wow! You fixed it,” she says, smiling. “Thank you, Jordan.”

  “You're welcome,” I reply, watching her sway side to side as Piper watches me. My breath hitches at the sight of them, mother and daughter, and my throat tightens. I clear my throat. “Anyway, while I'm here, why don't I do a walk-through and see if anything needs fixing?”

  She makes a face. “You just might regret that. I bought this place thinking I'd have time to renovate it but never got around to it.”

  “I’m here so might as well take advantage of it,” I say as I dry my hands. Has she just forgotten I spent a year building schools by hand?

  “You might regret it. I just may have a list of things that need to get done.”

  “Bring it on, baby.”

  And so she does, and I couldn't be happier doing something that's second nature to me: fixing things. I've always been into working with my hands. Maybe it's from growing up as a contractor's son and working during the summers while my friends went on vacation. I learned to build cabinets with Dan Hill and Winston Lane, two of Dad’s colleagues who taught me everything I know when it comes to building custom furniture. Even my sister, Caitlin, wasn't exempt. She learned to get our apartments ready to rent the moment the previous tenants left. She cleaned the rooms and bathrooms while I painted and did the repairs. We didn't mind it. Having grown up poor, Mom and Dad never wanted their children to want for anything but that didn’t mean everything got served to us on a silver platter. We still had to learn the value of work.

  At least, Addison doesn't have much on her list. Either that or she's holding out on the bigger jobs and I don't blame her. Just a few things like tightening the hinges on the closet door, replacing the light bulbs in the recessed lighting fixtures and a few things she didn't have the tools to tackle, like caulking around the sink and bathtub. Though I'd have to come back to do the caulking as I don't make it a habit of carrying the tools to do the job, I finish an hour later. By the time I wash up and put my tools away, Addison is in the nursery dressing Piper.

  “I’m taking her out for a bit. Want to come along and hang out?” Addison asks as she lifts Piper from the dressing table.

  “I’d love to.”

  Ten minutes later, Addison, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, is pushing the stroller on the sidewalk while I walk next to her. Piper, who had been fussing in the apartment just before we left, is quiet. I wonder if it's part of Addison's routine to take her out at this time.

  “I take her for walks every day when the weather is nice,” she says. “It can get really boring in the apartment.”

  “Is that why you went back to work early?”

  “Kinda,” she replies, although she doesn’t look at me when she answers. She simply pushes the stroller forward and keeps her gaze straight ahead. We head to the High Line and find an empty bench next to some high grass plants near 18th Street. It's the perfect day to be out; the sun is shining and there's a light breeze and here I am, sitting next to Addison and Piper.

  “Would you like to hold her?” Addison asks and I look at her, surprised. But I nod and she hands Piper to me before plopping a hat over her head to shield her from the sun.

  Suddenly I’m speechless. Piper studies me for a few seconds and I wonder if she's debating whether or not to cry but she smiles instead—gums and all.

  “Hey there, little lady,” I murmur as I turn her around so she’s facing the pathway. Everything seems perfect in the world as I carry her that I can barely breathe. As I lower my face to kiss the top of her head, I feel something stirring deep inside my chest and it takes me by surprise.

  For the first time in my life, I feel a sense of completeness… and vulnerability.

  Chapter Eight

  Twenty minutes later, Piper starts to fuss. “I think she’s hungry. Would you like to feed her?” I pull the cooler from underneath the stroller and take out a bottle of pumped breast milk I’d taken out of the freezer before we left.

  “I’d love to,” Jordan says as I hand him the bottle. As he feeds Piper, he looks like a man in love as he gazes down at her. I never realized just how hot a man looks as he holds his daughter in his arms and now that I have, I want to see more of it. As he smiles at her, I vow to track down every squeaky hinge and crack in the apartment so I can have an excuse to have him come over more often.

  After Jordan finishes feeding and burping Piper like a pro, he sets her into the stroller and we head back to the apartment. It doesn’t take long for Piper to fall asleep and we slow our pace, checking out the items in the store displays along the way. It’s a different feeling taking the same routes I used to take alone, but now with Jordan. I’m calmer, definitely more relaxed. There’s no desire to take a quick loop around the block and then hurry back like I always do.

  Except for the High Line and the museum simply because they’re only a few blocks from my apartment, I’ve never really explored the area on my own. Running a private practice and being on call never left me much time to relax or hang out with friends.

  As we walk past a cafe known for their burgers, Jordan stops before the entrance. “Do you have time to get a bite to eat?”

  “I do.”

  Five minutes later, we’re seated on the patio ordering burgers and fries with the stroller next to our table. Jordan excuses himself to go wash up in the men’s room and as he walks away from the table, I make a note of how well his jeans showcase his ass.

  Still, no matter how things are going, I can’t help but feel anxious. Who do I tell first? Ma or Dad? Definitely my mother; how the hell is she supposed to break the news to her friends to whom she’s constantly bragged about her perfect daughter, the one who aced everything she put her mind into?

  So, my perfect daughter, Addison… turns out, she didn’t go to a sperm bank after all. She had a one-night stand and got pregnant.

  Yep, that’s going to go over really well for her. I can just see it.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” Jordan says when he gets back to the table. I didn’t even hear him sit down.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he says. “So what were thinking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  He reaches for my hands and I look up at him, startled. How can someone do that, send a jolt through me that settles right at the pit of my belly and make all the butterflies come to life?

  “I know it’s a year too late for me to say this but I really had a wonderful time the night we met,” he says. “I wanted so badly to call you the next morning… even after you told me it was a one-time thing and I shouldn’t call you.”

  I chuckle. “You know how those one-time deals go. There’s no money-back guarantee.”

  “I did get the most beautiful daughter in the process,” he says, letting go of my hand when the server arrives with our orders. “Did you always want to be a doctor?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think so?” He looks at me quizzically. “What did you like to do when you were younger?”

  “I don’t know. My toys were all educatio
nal and my mom made sure I was busy taking classes to do anything fun. Ballet, jazz, piano. And that’s in addition to tutoring. Everything that, according to my mother,” I say, pointing to my temple, “would maintain my genius IQ.”

  “What about your dad? Was that what he wanted for you, too?”

  His question gives me pause and I take a deep breath, then sigh. Is this why I am granting Jordan so much access? Because I don’t want a repeat of the past? “My dad’s more laid back. He introduced me to story books.”

  Jordan’s voice softens as he continues. “What kind of books?”

  “Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, for one. The Little Prince, and the Wind in the Willows.”

  “Excellent choices.”

  “Yeah, they were and I still have them,” I reply. “What about you? What did you play with when you were a little boy?” But even as I ask the question, I can barely imagine the man in front of me as a little boy. His bulging biceps are distracting, and then there’s his smile, wide jaw, and those green eyes.

  “I was never into schoolwork or studying. I loved learning about how things were made and I liked building things.”

  “Were you a jock, too?” I ask, pointing to his biceps.

  “Kinda. I was on the football team but I never considered going to college for some type of brainy degree.”

  “Why not?”

  “I always thought I’d work for the family business. O’Halloran Builders. I went to get my Associates degree and that was it,” he replies. “Then I started working with my Dad, and that’s what I’ve been doing since. Well, except for taking one year off to work with that nonprofit and travel parts of the world I’d never have been. Up until then, I’d never really traveled outside the country. Have you?”

  “No, all I’ve done is study and work toward my degree, and then work some more.” Suddenly I realize I’m sounding pathetic. I chuckle. “Wow, come to think of it, I think I need a life.”

  “You have a life, Addy. It just depends on how you live it,” he says.

  Too bad it’s easier said than done, I almost say out loud but I don’t. Instead I dive into my cheeseburger and pretend I’m not just in lust with Jordan O’Halloran, but I’m falling for him, too.

  Inside the apartment, Jordan folds the stroller and stores it behind the door while I lay Piper in her crib. As I switch on the monitors, he comes in and we watch her sleep for a few moments.

  “How long does she usually nap?” he asks.

  I glance at the plastic starlight clock on the wall. “About another hour and then she stays up till about seven or eight.”

  “I don’t mean tonight, but if you ever need any help, just holler,” he murmurs. “I want to do whatever I can to help or give you a break.”

  “I will,” I reply as we step out of the nursery. When we get to the door, he stops and faces me.

  “Thanks for allowing me to spend the day with you and Piper. I really had a wonderful time.”

  “Thanks for picking up the diapers and wet wipes—and for fixing my sink and everything else.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replies. “If there’s anything else that needs my attention, just let me know.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  I bring my index finger to my lips. “Does this count?”

  He smiles. “Yes, it counts.”

  “I think it’s broken,” I murmur playfully.

  “How broken is it?’

  “It hasn’t had any attention in a while.”

  “It had some a few hours ago,” he says.

  “That was hours ago, and really, it was barely a checkup.”

  “I agree,” he says, nodding. “Would you like me to fix it? Check it out maybe? Make sure it still works.”

  “That would be nice,” I whisper, giggling as Jordan lowers his head and kisses me, his mouth teasing my lips open as his hands cradle my face. It’s a soft kiss, warm and perfect and I can smell the scent of him mingling with his cologne, of ocean mist and pure man, biceps and hard chest and as my fingers rest on the front of his shirt, that amazing six pack.

  Minutes later, with his mouth giving mine a thorough checkup that makes me weak in the knees, I let my fingers run along his chest and up over his shoulders to trace the muscles beneath his shirt. Jordan’s hand slips under my blouse, tracing the dip along the small of my back and sending a jolt of electricity through me that settles between my legs.

  “Wow.”

  He pulls away slightly, his mouth against my lips. “Is that a good wow or a bad wow?”

  “Definitely a good one. Are you done checking?”

  He thinks for a few moments. “Not yet. I need to go in one more time to be sure everything’s in working order.”

  Jordan kisses me again, and this time my knees almost buckle beneath me. The butterflies in my belly are fluttering like crazy and all blood feels like it’s rushing between my legs, leaving my brain and replacing all rational thought with memories of how he made love to me that night. His hands, his mouth, his eyes, his gorgeous body.

  I take a few steps back, stopping when I feel the wall behind me. Jordan tastes of spearmint and vanilla. Or is it almond? I can’t tell anymore, not when my body’s sensations are going crazy and I just want one thing, Jordan O’Halloran in my bed with not a stitch of clothing on.

  Suddenly there are voices on the other side of the door and we step away, startled. Before I can say something else, a key slips into the lock, the door opens, and my parents walk in.

  Chapter Nine

  I’m too stunned to move, just as they are when they walk in and freeze, Ma’s eyes widening when she sees Jordan.

  What the hell are they doing here? They’re supposed to be at the church hall enjoying my cousin’s confirmation celebration. Or home, relaxing.

  Dad is carrying a toolbox and Ma has rectangular foil containers in her arms. I don't need to know what's inside them. They're still dressed in their Sunday best.

  Jordan breaks the silence by introducing himself, first to Ma and then Dad. Ma continues to stare at Jordan even when she starts to speak.

  "Dee, there was so much food from the confirmation so we thought we'd drop some over for you. And Dad brought his tools so he can fix the sink."

  “Guys, you didn't have to do that,” I say, taking the containers from Ma. "It's fixed."

  "It is?" Dad asks, surprised. "I hope you didn't pay anyone extra to come on a Sunday."

  “She didn't have to. I fixed it this morning,” Jordan says.

  “What was your name again?” Ma asks.

  “Jordan O'Halloran.” They all shake hands although Ma still looks stunned and Dad looks... amused.

  “So are you the plumber?” Dad asks.

  “You're too handsome to be a plumber,” Mom says.

  “He's not a plumber. He’s a friend,” I reply. “And he was just leaving.”

  “Oh, no! He can’t leave. Not yet,” Ma exclaims as she pulls Jordan toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? We brought food from the confirmation. Pancit. Have you tried pancit? Filipino noodles with pork and some veggies. You're not vegetarian, are you?”

  “No, ma'am.”

  “He was just leaving, Ma. Really. And we just ate,” I say but they don't hear me. Ma beckons for me to bring the food over while Dad grins knowingly as he sets his toolbox on the floor next to Jordan’s.

  As I place the containers on the dining table and retreat to the living room to pick up Piper's toys from the floor, Ma pulls up a chair for Jordan to sit down. “Sit! Sit!”

  “Ma,” I plead. She doesn't have to yell at Jordan to sit down but she's excited. She's only ever known Kevin.

  “Too late for that, kid,” Dad tells me, grinning from ear to ear as he watches me, his hands in his trouser pockets.

  “Did you honestly come here to fix the sink, Dad?” I whisper as Ma disappears into the kitchen and emerges with plates and silverware.

  He nods. “Your mom said
it was clogged after we left yesterday and she hasn't stopped nagging at me to come by and fix it.”

  “You didn't have to come over on a Sunday. It’s your day off.”

  “You're right, but I’m actually glad that we did.” Dad looks at me curiously. “Is there something you haven't told us, Peanut?”

  “He's a friend, Dad. He came over to drop off some diapers and fix the sink.”

  Dad's eyebrow goes up again. “Diapers?”

  I glare at him. I know I'm sounding defensive but I can't help it. “Let me go and rescue him from Ma.”

  Dad chuckles. “Oh, I don't think he needs any saving, Peanut. He looks quite happy.”

  And he’s right. Ma has succeeded in serving Jordan pancit and a few pieces of fried Filipino egg rolls called lumpia, complete with the sweet and sour dip. There's even a square slice of maja blanca, a dessert made of coconut milk, condensed milk and whole sweet kernel corn.

  “Salamat,” he says when Ma returns and sits next to him.

  “Dee, he knows how to speak Filipino,” Ma says excitedly from the living room.

  “Ka-unti lang, po,” Jordan says. A little bit. He even says it complete with the word, pö, a form of respect.

  I glare at him. Seriously? You mean he can actually speak something more fluently than I can even though I do understand a little bit? Ma had never believed in the importance of teaching me her language. She simply wanted me to fit in.

  Next to me, Dad chuckles. “I think your mom is very impressed. Are you sure you're not keeping secrets from us, Peanut?”

  I roll my eyes. “Dad, stop.”

  “You're blushing.”

  “Shut up, Dad,” I mutter as Dad chuckles again.