Chapter 6 Piper
PIPER
As the sun beats down on the back porch the following afternoon, I’m curled up in one of the oversized Adirondack chairs under the shade of the pergola with a thick paperback balanced on my knees. Ellie’s been down for her nap for about twenty minutes, and the afternoon is quiet.
Well, except for the rhythmic thwack of an axe hitting wood near the edge of the property.
I try to focus on the page in front of me.
It’s a particularly gruesome scene in the true-crime inspired thriller where the detective discovers the third victim, but my brain keeps drifting.
Iris’s selection for this month’s book club meeting is freaking me out, especially up here in the middle of nowhere.
I mean, yes, technically I’m not alone anymore, but still.
I grab my phone and pull up the book club group chat.
Me: I want to formally lodge a complaint. This book is terrifying, and I’m reading it in a remote cabin in the woods. Can we go back to Taylor’s smutty romances? Those made me uncomfortable in a fun way.
The responses come fast.
Taylor: That’s what you get for running away to the wilderness by yourself!
Molly: Seriously, Pip. You picked the worst possible reading environment.
Avah: Maybe don’t answer the door if anyone shows up asking to use your phone.
Iris: In my defense, I warned you the story borders on horror. It’s SUPPOSED to be unsettling.
Sloane: Next month we’re reading a cozy mystery. Promise.
The familiar back-and-forth with Sadie’s book club friends—my friends now, too—has me smiling despite the creep factor of the novel.
But Taylor’s comment about running away makes me wince a little.
Even though she meant it playfully, the words sting.
Because that’s exactly what I did, isn’t it?
I ran away from Skylark. From my empty house. From Bradley’s smug face.
From my imploded life.
Me: There’s a difference between running away and strategically regrouping.
Avah: Is there though?
I type out a response, delete it, try again. But nothing feels right, and suddenly I don’t want to keep joking about it. I toss my phone onto the side table and pick up the book again, determined to push through at least one more chapter.
But before I get my eyes on the next word, I make the mistake of glancing up.
Felix is at the woodpile about fifty yards away, and he’s decided to go shirt optional in the summer heat.
His skin is bronzed and glistening with sweat as he swings the axe overhead.
The movement is fluid and powerful, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing as the blade comes down with a satisfying crack, splitting the log cleanly in two.
Sweet baby Jesus in a manger.
His tattoos—a geometric pattern that wraps around his left shoulder and down his bicep and lower arm—seem to move with each swing.
It’s like watching a very attractive, very muscular Viking doing manual labor, and my brain short-circuits like it’s taken in too much data.
Too much Felix Barlowe, that’s for sure.
He tosses the split pieces aside, grabs another log, and positions it on the stump. The motion makes his abs contract, and as I try to figure out if he’s got a six or an eight pack, my mouth goes dry.
Get it together, I silently command my hormones. I should be reading about serial killers, not ogling Felix Barlowe like he’s a Lumbersnack Monthly centerfold. My ovaries pay no attention, staging a full-scale revolt.
He pauses to wipe his forearm across his forehead and glances up to catch me staring. Even from here, I can see his smirk.
Shit.
I immediately drop my eyes back to the book, my face burning hot enough to fry an egg. Maybe if I focus really hard on the murder scene, I can pretend the last thirty seconds didn’t happen.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sadie.
Sadie: Hey, when are you coming home? How are you feeling? Do you need me to come up there?
A knot of emotion tangles in my chest as I stare at the message.
Part of me wants to say yes and have my big sister come rescue me from this increasingly complicated situation.
But that’s part of my problem. I keep letting Sadie rescue me.
From raising me after Mom died, to taking care of Max when I couldn’t, to transferring the house to me and helping me get a job at the hospital when I moved back to Skylark.
I’m twenty-three years old and I’ve never actually stood on my own two feet.
Me: I’m good. The altitude is helping clear my head. I’ll head back in a week or so.
I hate lying to Sadie, but I can’t keep expecting her to save me. I’m a grown-ass woman who’s going to have my own child to take care of soon. I shouldn’t need rescuing.
Sadie: You sure? I can take a day and drive up. We could hike or just hang out. I miss you.
The offer is tempting because Sadie is good at taking care of people, me especially. But not with Felix here. Not with this whole situation I haven’t fully explained to anyone yet. Besides, I want to figure out how to save myself.
Me: I’m fine. Enjoying the peace and quiet. I’ll call you in a couple days.
I add a heart emoji, but guilt sits heavy in my stomach. What am I supposed to say? Actually, Felix Barlowe is here with an adorable toddler and we’re playing house and I’m kind of falling for him while pregnant with his secret baby?
Yeah, that would go over well.
The doorbell rings, echoing from the front of the house. I glance at the baby monitor on the side table to make sure Ellie’s still sleeping, then head inside. That sweet girl could typically sleep through a punk concert, but I don’t want to chance her nap being interrupted.
Through the front window, I see a delivery truck in the driveway. A guy in a brown uniform is standing on the porch next to three massive boxes.
I open the door. “Can I help you?”
“Delivery for Piper Hart.” He glances at the scanner he’s holding. “I need a signature.”
“I didn’t order anything.”
He shrugs. “Your name’s in the system.”
I lean closer to look at the first box, and my heart does that stupid flutter thing I should be used to by now. There’s a picture on the side of a miniature kitchen set, complete with toy appliances, plastic food, and tiny pots and pans. It’s pink and white and absolutely adorable.
Realization dawns. Felix ordered this for Ellie, and he put it under my name so his wouldn’t be recognized.
“Where do you want them?” the delivery guy asks.
“Um, just inside the door is fine.” I sign his scanner in a daze while he makes quick work of hauling the boxes into the entryway.
“Have a good one,” he says, then heads back to his truck.
Standing here staring at the boxes, I’d bet money this play kitchen costs more than my monthly rent in Kansas City used to. Why does my heart melt at this tangible proof that Felix is thinking about Ellie’s happiness and making her feel at home?
“She loves being in the kitchen.”
I jump about a foot in the air and whirl around to find Felix standing behind me.
Praise the Lord for small favors, he’s wearing a shirt.
After all, I’m only human. His hair is damp like he dunked his head under the outdoor spigot, and I can’t seem to wipe the image of him swinging that axe from my brain.
Right along with a vision of him swinging me over his shoulder and carrying me…
For the love of all that is holy, can I stop fantasizing about my baby daddy for a hot second?
“I thought she’d like one her size,” he continues, moving closer to examine the boxes. “I paid for rush delivery.”
“She’ll love it,” I say, my voice hoarse.
Am I a total idiot with this nanny arrangement?
It was supposed to give me a better handle on how Felix might be as a dad, not make me feel things I have no business feeling.
Now he’s being thoughtful and sweet and unexpectedly fatherly, and it’s doing dangerous things to my carefully constructed emotional walls.
My awareness of how close he’s standing, his T-shirt clinging to his still-damp chest, and his eyes dropping to my mouth makes the air feel thick. All I want to do right now is step closer, get sweaty with him and ignore the walls between us or knock them down.
“I’m going to shower,” he says after a moment, his voice rougher than normal. “Then I’ll put this together. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Okay.” The word comes out breathy, like I’ve just summited a fourteener.
He holds my gaze for another heartbeat, and the connection I didn’t expect to feel for him crackles between us. Then he heads for the stairs, and I’m left standing in the entryway with three boxes and a heart that’s beating way too fast.
I need something to do with my hands, so I decide to tackle the basket of Ellie’s clean laundry that’s sitting on top of the dryer. I’m folding tiny leggings and miniature T-shirts when the monitor lights up and I hear the soft babbling that means she’s transitioning out of sleep.
I turn for the door, then hear Felix’s voice. “Hey, munchkin. Did you have a good nap?”
Ellie’s response is garbled but enthusiastic, and his answering laughter rumbles through me.
“Let’s get you changed. We’ve got a surprise downstairs.”
“Prise?” Ellie’s voice is excited.
“Yep. But first, diaper change. Not your favorite, I know. But Uncle Fee’s getting pretty good, aren’t I?”
It feels like I’m eavesdropping on an intimate moment. But I can’t seem to make myself turn off the monitor or stop listening to Felix’s patient, playful tone as he talks Ellie through getting changed, or her delighted giggles when he apparently makes a funny face.
This is the Felix no one else sees. Not the cocky NFL star or the charming flirt or the guy who trades barbs with me at every family gathering. This is the man underneath all that armor. And he’s so much better than he thinks he is.
By the time they make it downstairs, I’ve finished the laundry and composed myself. Mostly.
Felix has Ellie on his hip, and she’s pointing at the boxes with wide eyes. “Big box!”