Chapter Twelve #2
“We’ve already established that I don’t cook, but even I want to chop something in here.”
He shot me a smile at that.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He placed the car seat on a small table near the windows and Tuna came rushing over to poke at her feet, dragging a little giggling sound out of her.
“That’s new,” Owen said, shooting Adelaide a soft smile that made my heart feel all melted.
“It is. She probably won’t really start laughing for another month or so, but she is definitely doing little giggles already.”
“Those laughs are gonna be worth the wait.”
“I know. I’m so ready for them. Oh! I left dessert in the car. I’ll be right back.”
“We’ll be here,” he said, waving toward Adelaide and her best friend, Tuna.
I made my way back through the house, glancing at the books on the shelves and finding a combination of interior design and handyman-type books, classic fiction, and a few modern thrillers.
I couldn’t help but picture Owen on the couch at night after work, Tuna resting with his head on his leg, as he thumbed through a novel.
It was an unexpectedly intriguing image that I wanted to linger on, so I quickly made my way back outside.
I took a few deep breaths, reminding myself not to get wrapped up in the fantasy of him.
But some part of me knew it was probably a little too late for that.
Besides, a fantasy wasn’t a bad thing. So long as I didn’t try to act on it.
I grabbed the pastry box and took a leisurely walk back to the house, taking the time to really soak it all in.
Inside, I heard Owen soft-talking to Adelaide, making that gooey sensation start again.
But it intensified when I walked into the kitchen to find he’d pulled her out of her pumpkin seat and had her cradled in his arm.
She looked up at him with those big baby eyes, blowing little spit bubbles, her mouth opening and closing like she was trying to talk back to him.
I said nothing, just stood there and absorbed the picture and the sensations associated with it.
“So this was what it was like,” I thought, “to see your baby being loved by a father figure.”
Except, of course, Owen wasn’t Adelaide’s father. Unfortunately for her. For both of us. Because there wasn’t any possibility that Owen would have walked away from her, washed his hands of the life he’d made.
“She was fussing,” Owen said, making me jump as he turned and caught me watching. “I didn’t want her to get too worked up.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice small.
“You okay?” Owen asked, head cocking to the side as he looked at me.
I shook off my negative thoughts and plastered on a smile. “Yeah. I hope you like cannoli or brownies. They felt like the safest bet.”
“Love them both.”
“Want me to take her?”
“I’ve got her for a minute. Do you want to get yourself a drink? I’ve got coffee—decaf too—or tea. And there is water, soda, and iced tea in the fridge.”
“Thanks,” I said, walking over to the coffee maker. He was a purist—he had a drip coffee machine, no lattes, no single serve. A pot had to be made.
“Everything is in the cabinet right above it.”
I was aware of Owen bringing Adelaide over toward the window to show her the stained glass as I put the filter and decaf grounds into it and set the pot to brew.
“Are you having a cup? Fair warning, it’s decaf.”
“Yeah, I’ll have a cup.”
The mugs were on the shelf next to the filters and grounds—solid stoneware fifteen-ounce mugs in a speckled white with a two-inch-wide terracotta stripe on the bottom.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“I have this set saved,” I admitted.
“Because they come with pasta bowls on top of cereal ones?” he asked with a smile.
“That’s exactly why.”
“I use them all the time. They’re a better size for salads too.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“They’re as good quality as the reviews say. But they can be a pain to fit in the dishwasher if your shelf doesn’t go up a bit.”
“Good to know,” I said, going into the fridge for the cream and pouring some into each of our cups. I found the sugar canister on the counter and added that as well.
“Want to check out the yard while we wait?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
I followed him to the back door, waiting until he let an excited Tuna out first, then stepping onto the back deck.
“Oh, this is nice. Do you sit out here drinking your coffee all the time? Or is it hard to choose between the front porch and this?”
“Porch for sunrise, deck for sunset,” he told me.
“That makes perfect sense. This yard feels so private.”
“That was the plan. Wanted it to be a bit of an oasis.”
It was that.
He didn’t have as much property as I did, but his felt much more cozy with its stained stockade fence, abundance of mature trees, and lush green grass.
Tuna appreciated the space too, darting around the yard with the zoomies as we watched and laughed.
“Is that the brisket I smell?” I asked, my stomach rumbling.
“It is. Been in about five and a half hours. So it’s almost ready. But it will only keep getting better as I work on the sides.”
“Do you need any help?”
“I don’t. You can just relax.” He glanced down at Adelaide, who did a big yawn, seemingly soothed by his voice. I couldn’t blame her. “There’s a crib up in one of the guest rooms if you need somewhere to put her down.”
“You have a crib?”
“It’s a family heirloom,” he told me. “And since I have siblings and friends with babies, I thought it made sense to put it in a room. Better than one of those playard things. Everything is clean. I put a fresh crib sheet on this morning.”
“That was really thoughtful. Thank you,” I said, moving over to take Adelaide. Owen was unbearably gentle as he set her in my arms. And I’m not proud to admit that a little desire stirred as his arms brushed mine. “Go ahead and take a tour while I get working on the potatoes and asparagus.”
“Permission to snoop?” I asked, shooting him a smirk. “I’ll take it.”
I turned and walked back into the house, wandering through the lower level, finding a family room off to the side of the kitchen, then a back staircase leading up.
On the second floor, there were two guest bedrooms that shared a center bath. Inside one bedroom were twin beds. And in the other was the crib, a changing table, a glider, and another twin bed.
“This is so nice,” I told Adelaide as I checked out the crib that I imagined had once been where Owen slept as a baby.
There was something about the room that made my chest ache.
Not because it was particularly beautiful. It wasn’t decorated like a nursery. There were no pastel animals on the wall or carefully coordinated blankets. It was simply a guest room that happened to be prepared for a baby if one needed it.
But that almost made it worse.
It told me something about Owen.
He thought ahead and planned accordingly.
He noticed what people might need. He had apparently looked at this room and decided that if his siblings or friends came over with a baby, they shouldn’t have to figure out where to put them.
Or need to cart around a clumsy, inconvenient playard.
So he kept a crib. Put on fresh sheets. Added a changing table and a glider to cover all the bases.
All of it just sat waiting for whoever might need it.
I looked down at Adelaide.
She had no idea how unusual it was to have a place waiting for her in a house that wasn’t hers. Or how much the sight of it affected me.
I could imagine her here too easily.
Not just sleeping in the crib, either. Crawling across the floor while Tuna followed behind her. Sitting on the rug with a ridiculous pile of toys. Owen carrying her downstairs when she woke from a nap, her little head tucked against his shoulder.
I shut that thought down before it could get any further.
This was Owen’s guest room.
I was his client.
And tonight was dinner.
That was all.
I made my way to the glider, sitting down, and rocking and singing to the overtired Adelaide until she was dead weight in my hands.
I waited a few more minutes, glancing out the window to where I spotted a birdhouse in the tree, a mama bird coming over to feed her grumpy-faced babies.
Tuna’s nails clicked down the hall then came into the room, tail wagging, and sprawling down beside the glider.
On the floor below, I could hear Owen moving around in the kitchen.
I could sit here just like this a thousand days and never get sick of it.
I looked around the room again, suddenly aware of how domestic this all felt.
A home with a place for people to stay. A crib with a baby. A dog asleep in the hallway. Dinner cooking downstairs. Coffee waiting in the kitchen.
It was alarming how quickly my mind wanted to turn a handful of small, perfectly innocent details into something much larger.
I had spent months building a life around the idea that I didn’t need anyone. And I didn’t. But sitting in another man’s house, listening to him cook for me, my daughter asleep in my arms, all I could think about was how easy it could be to belong there.
That was the part that scared me.
Not wanting Owen.
Wanting this.
Wanting the life I had told myself I didn’t need.
And that was terrifying.