9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Weston
“ F a-fa,” Carter says as he presses his greasy hands together to signal that he wants more.
“French fry,” Caroline repeats as she leans forward to hand him another one of her Chick-fil-A waffle fries.
I can’t help but watch the way my son sits happily on her lap as she smooths the hair out of his face like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I tried to put him in a high chair, but Carter wasn’t having it. He kept twisting and reaching for her, fussing in a way that left me no choice but to hand him over.
At first, Caroline looked like she’d just been handed a live grenade. She tensed up immediately, holding him awkwardly, like one wrong move might cause him to explode. She furrowed her brow like she was analyzing a complicated problem as she tried to properly position him, and it was painfully obvious that she was out of her comfort zone.
But then something shifted. After a few minutes, Caroline started to become more confident. I could see her begin to visibly relax and enjoy the meal with him, and it made my heart ache in a way that I wasn’t expecting.
I don’t often think about what it’s like for him to grow up without a mom. I assumed that the interactions with his grandmother and daycare teachers would be enough to quench that lack of maternal presence in our home. But now I’m starting to wonder if they’re not—if maybe he needs more.
Now that my life feels like less of a whirlwind, and I finally have my feet back under me, I know that I should probably start thinking about dating again. The problem is that I feel like a completely different person than I was a year ago, and the surface-level relationships that I used to have aren’t going to work for me anymore. I need something real. Something raw and honest. Something like the relationship that I’ve always had with Caroline.
She glances up and cocks her head because I’m staring at her like a creep. “What?”
Her tone isn’t as snippy as usual. It’s softer, almost generous, like she’s beginning to warm to me after being stuck in an enclosed space together for several hours. And even though I know now that she’s only here because her brother conned her into it, I have to admit that it feels good to have someone else around—someone who can lighten my load.
“Thank you.”
I think I’ve said those two words more in the past twelve months than I ever have in my life. But the thing is, you don’t realize how much you need other people until you have to raise a child alone.
From the surgical department chair who worked with me to create a schedule that fit my childcare needs, to my parents who have truly helped me through my lowest lows, I’m genuinely thankful for everyone who has gotten me through the last year and helped restore a sense of normalcy to my life.
And now that includes Caroline.
Very quickly into our drive, I realized that I was out of my mind to think I could have ever made this trip alone. Carter had a ton of energy after his nap, and the hits just kept coming—he needed to be entertained, then he needed a snack, then he started sobbing and needed to be soothed. It was constant. And if Caroline hadn’t been driving, we wouldn’t have made it more than an hour before we had to turn back around.
“Thank you for what?” The edges of Caroline’s full lips twitch as she shifts my son in her lap.“Not slamming the door in your face? Or not leaving you in Atlanta?”
“All of it,” I answer.
We stopped a little while ago to clean him up and grab dinner, which was probably for the best because I could tell that Caroline was running on fumes. She always has something to say—at least to me—but she was uncharacteristically silent on the drive. When we pulled off the road, she finally let it slip that she needed more caffeine because she was up all night studying and didn’t get much sleep.
I offered to drive the rest of the way, but she brushed me off again, so I’ll need to figure out an alternative method of convincing her. The only problem is, I know she’s not going to go down without a fight.
Caroline brushes a crumb off my son’s cheek.
“You’re welcome . . .” she replies hesitantly, almost like she doesn’t believe the sincerity behind my words. “But just know that if you keep calling me ‘ princess ,’ I’m going to leave you on the side of the road.”
An unrestrained chuckle comes out of my mouth. I don’t know what it says about me that I enjoy getting under her skin, but I’m glad to know that the nickname still affects her the same way that it used to.
“Oh?” I quirk my brow, unable to help myself from poking the bear. “That book you were listening to in the car made it sound like you would enjoy the princess treatment, though.”
Caroline’s cheeks flame, but I continue.
“How many times do you think she came? Four? Five? We could turn it back on and find out.”
A smirk tugs at my lips because Caroline receiving the princess treatment has been on my mind all afternoon. Even after what happened between us that first summer at the lake, I haven’t allowed myself to think of her that way. We’re ten years apart in age, and she’s my friend’s sister—it could never work between us.
But something fundamentally shifted in my brain today. I didn’t look at her and see all of the reasons I should stay away. I looked at her and saw all of the reasons I should lean in—all of the reasons I should convince her that I’m so much more than the guy I used to be.
So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Caroline shoots me a daggered glare. “She came more times than any woman would with you.”
I have to bite back what I really want to say because it would only get me in trouble . . . or abandoned in a fast-food parking lot.
“Ready to go?”I ask, praying that I don’t have a boner as I get up from our table—I wasn’t lying when I joked that it’s hot when she’s mad.
Caroline ignores me and looks down at my son.
“Your dad is the worst,” she coos, playfully tapping her finger on his nose. “Next time you do a poopy, let’s make sure you do it in his shoey.”
I snort and reach for him. “You do know that he’s a baby, not a dog. Right?”
She rolls her eyes as she hands him over to me. “You do know that you’re a dad, not a Daddy. Right?”
I have no idea what the difference is between the two, but I can tell that she intended it to be an insult, so I decide to play along. Once I have Carter settled on my hip, I lean in so that she can’t get up without pushing me out of the way.
My voice lowers as Caroline’s dark blue eyes meet mine. “Why don’t you teach me how to be one, then?”
Her breath catches, and her lips part slightly as something entirely too tempting simmers between us for a second too long.
If I knew that she had any interest in me, I might be tempted to make a move. To steal a kiss. But she’s made it clear that she doesn’t feel anything other than disgust toward me . . . for now.
“Wes—”
Caroline’s tone is softer than normal, less assured, like she either felt the same shift I did, or she’s just too exhausted to banter like usual. I remind myself it’s probably the latter and step back, shaking off the ridiculous thoughts that just flew through my mind.
“I’m going to get him settled in the car,” I say, grabbing her keys from the table before she can argue with me. “Mind grabbing us a few bottles of water?”
While I do need an excuse to distract her, my request isn’t entirely without merit.
When we left the house this afternoon, I had a strange feeling that I was forgetting something, and it turns out I was—a jug of purified water to mix Carter’s formula. It would probably be fine to transition to cow’s milk since his first birthday is only a month away, but there’s no way in hell I’m messing with that today. I’ve learned the hard way that nothing ever goes as smoothly as you think it’s going to when you have a baby, just like this road trip.
Caroline looks at me suspiciously, but she doesn’t push back. She just sighs and stands, muttering something under her breath about me being annoying.
I grin because she has no idea how annoyed she’s about to be when she meets us at the car and finds me in the driver’s seat.
I reach into my pocket and grab my wallet so that I can pay for the water, but Caroline stands and bats my hand away, looking offended by my gesture. “I can afford it, dumbass.”
“Such a potty mouth,” I tease, giving her my best look of mock disapproval. “Don’t make me gag you, princess.”
Her face pinches in frustration, and I briefly wonder if she’s going to throw the remnants of her meal at me like old times. But I don’t stick around to find out—I hightail it out of the restaurant before she can make a decision.