Chapter 8
Ruth
It almost feels like Tucker’s flirting with me for real, and I’m feeling a little flustered, which is bad news. I need to remember this is all a show, get with it, and play my part.
The problem—one of many—is, I’m not a great flirt. I never have been. I’m not sexy or seductive or good at charming men.
If I had the time to be amused—and if my future didn’t depend on it—I would probably find my current situation hilarious.
No one is less equipped for this task than me.
But somehow, I have to at least seem romantically interested in and connected to the man standing so close, all I’d have to do to feel the front of his body against mine is take a deep breath.
So that’s what I do. Pulling in enough air to expand my lungs and bring my breasts to his chest, I attempt a flirtatious smile. “It’s my hair, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Definitely.” But Tucker isn’t looking at my ‘memorable’ hair. His eyes are locked on the spot where our bodies connect.
Basically, he’s staring at my tits.
I can’t really blame him. I shoved them against him without warning.
Also, they’re glorious.
Pregnancy did some not so fun things to my body, but it also took my original B cups to a full D. On the days when I’m feeling a little depressed over stretch marks and cellulite, I try to look on the bright side. The bright side being my newly majestic boobs.
“You think maybe we should hug or something?” Now that I’m here, I probably shouldn’t waste the proximity. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to work up the nerve to be this close to Tucker again.
“Yup. Yeah. Definitely.” He’s still staring. “I can do that.”
He doesn’t move, though. And after the way he acted over putting his arm around me, I’m going to guess it’s because my general permission might not be enough for him to feel comfortable just touching me.
So I decide it’s up to me, and close the remaining distance—the few inches gap from my tits to my tummy—wrapping both arms around his back. I’m not a super tall person, so I can’t put my head over his shoulder. The only option is to rest my cheek against his chest, putting it right over his heart.
Then I stand there.
I’m about to pat him on the back, because I’m not sure what else to do, when Tucker’s arms come around me. Solid and strong and warm, they pull me even closer. One hand comes to cradle the back of my head, tucking it tight to his pec as he leans down, resting his chin against my crown.
This is… Actually kind of nice.
I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me like this. It might have been since before my mother died, which is kind of depressing.
It’s also kind of sad, and my throat ends up achy and tight.
I press my face tighter to Tucker’s shirt, squeezing my eyes shut, because there’s no freaking way I’m going to cry right now.
I’m not interested in having that conversation with this guy.
Tucker Bradshaw might be way nicer than I expected.
He might be a goofball who is actually kinda good with kids.
He might even be a consent king. He’s still not the kind of man a woman shares her feelings with.
To be honest, I’m not convinced any of them are.
I don’t know how long we’ve been standing here, but probably beyond the point of Tucker trying to figure out why in the heck I haven’t let him go. I finally feel like I’m under control, and am just about to step back, when his doorbell rings. The sound makes me tense up immediately.
“Relax.” His voice is low and soft. “It’s probably just a delivery.”
I hope to God it’s that. With my luck, his mom magically figured out what’s going on and flew back from wherever she was to confront us. I’ve never watched Deidre Bradshaw’s shows or read through any of her magazines or cookbooks, but everybody knows who she is.
And who she is, is a little scary. Not because she seems mean, but because she’s so successful. She’s built an empire I can’t even begin to fathom. I have no doubt a woman capable of doing all that is more than capable of seeing right through me.
I take a deep breath, stepping back to put some distance between Tucker and me, and go to find my daughter while he answers the door.
I always keep an ear out, so I know she’s close by and hasn’t done anything terrible.
But instead of making a beeline for her toys in the great room like I thought she would, she’s actually moved to the front of the house, wandering her way through the formal dining room and living room.
I’ve just reached where she’s inspecting an artful array of expensive-looking decor arranged on the living room coffee table when I hear a feminine voice and consider shitting my pants.
I quickly scoop up my daughter, looking for a spot that will keep us hidden.
But I’m too slow.
Before I can escape, the visitor steps into view, her eyes widening when she notices me.
“Oh.” Her gaze moves from me to Tucker. “I didn’t know you had company.”
It’s actually not difficult to narrow down who this is. The twin babies wrapped tightly against her sides are a pretty big giveaway.
Tucker closes the door, stepping in beside the pretty blonde watching me with a curious expression on her face. “Mariah, this is Ruth and her daughter Birdie.” He focuses on me. “Ruthless, this is my sister-in-law, Mariah.”
Mariah smiles warmly at me while giving Tucker a gentle elbow to the ribs. “I’m going to guess Ruthless isn’t your given name.”
Her gentle teasing of Tucker and the sweet tone of her voice make me relax a little. “It’s just Ruth.” I manage to grab my daughter’s hand the second before she crams a pointer finger up my nose, gently moving it away from my face. “Her given name is Bernadette, but I call her Birdie.”
“Oh my gosh, I love that name.” Mariah comes toward me, a hand cradling each baby’s butt. “How old is she?”
“Almost sixteen months.” I glance down, remembering she’s dressed in one of Tucker’s T-shirts. Embarrassment heats my face. “She got bubble juice all over her outfit, so it’s in the washer.”
Mariah laughs, scooting a little closer as my daughter zeros in on the babies she’s carrying. “She is freaking adorable.” A dimple flashes in her cheek. “I love her curly hair.”
“Me too, but it is a little bit of a challenge to tame.” I automatically reach up to smooth down the chaotic clumps. “Mostly because it’s normally got applesauce or yogurt smeared in it.”
“She’s just trying to keep it moisturized.” Mariah angles her body so Birdie can see her babies’ faces a little better, twisting one way then the other as she introduces them. “This is Marybeth and Mitchell.”
Birdie points the finger she just tried to shove up my nostril at the infants. “Beebees.”
“That’s right.” Mariah beams at my daughter. “Aren’t you a smart girl.”
“She’s a terror.” I know my daughter’s independent and undaunted temperament will serve her well one day, but man is it rough on me.
“Good.” Mariah leans closer, whispering like she’s telling my toddler a secret. “Stay that way.”
Tucker laughs from where he’s standing, watching the whole interaction. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” He gives me a wink. “It’s genetic.”
I scoff, forgetting for a second that I’m supposed to be trying to convince the woman next to me of our coupledom. “You better watch out,” I tease him back. “I’ll unleash her in your kitchen and it’ll be way more than bubble juice all over your floor.”
Tucker laughs louder, his head tipping back at my threat. “I already told you, there is nothing in this house she’s going to hurt.” He meets my eyes. “It’s all fixable.”
Mariah is back to looking between us, like she can’t quite figure out what’s going on.
Which is good, because I don’t necessarily want her doing that just yet. I know my current ability to convince her I’m anything more than a random woman who showed up on Tucker’s doorstep is slim to none. Hoping for a diversion, I turn the conversation toward her. “How old are the twins?”
“We are just about three months in.” She blows out a long sigh. “And I’m freaking tired.”
“I bet. It was hard only having one. I can’t imagine what two would be like.
” I probably would have combusted. Birdie was super colicky when she was a baby, and I spent the majority of my nights pacing from one side of my apartment to the other, bouncing her as we both cried.
It was the first time I felt like I was failing as a mother.
Little did I know it wasn’t even close to being the last.
“It’s not so bad when Titus is home, but on the days he goes into work, it can get overwhelming.
” She turns to Tucker. “Especially when your mom’s not around.
Speaking of which…” A sly smile works on her face.
“That’s why we're here. I heard you stayed home today and thought maybe you wouldn’t mind watching them so I can take a quick shower? ”
The way Tucker’s face lights up makes my belly do weird things. It’s like this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Of course I’ll watch them.” His hands are up, fingers wiggling. “Give me those babies.”
I watch, honestly a little terrified, as Mariah passes both infants off to him, working their small bodies free of the stretchy wrap twisted around her upper half before tucking them into the crook of his arms. I have to fight the urge to go take one, because I can’t really imagine he’s comfortable juggling two infants.
But it becomes clear pretty quickly this isn’t Tucker’s first time balancing both babies.
Mariah unwinds the carrier, tossing it to the plush loveseat occupying one wall of the living room.
“I just fed them, they both have fresh diapers, and I swear it will only take me like fifteen minutes.” She runs out the door, returning less than a minute later with a bag slung over one shoulder.
She blows Tucker a kiss as she aims for the stairs. “You’re the best, Tuck.”
“I know.” His eyes are glued to his niece and nephew.
“That’s why I’m your favorite uncle, isn’t it?
” His big body slowly bounces and sways as he makes faces at the infants even though they both seem half-asleep.
“I can’t wait till you guys are bigger and can run around and make messes.
” His voice is soft. Sweet. “I’m gonna sneak you into Uncle Trevor’s house and let you ruin everything.
” His eyes lift to where I stand, zeroing in on my daughter.
“Maybe Birdie can give you a few pointers.”
“I’m sure your family will love hearing that my daughter is corrupting your niece and nephew.
” The daughter in question starts to wiggle, and against my better judgment, I set her down.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem intent on destruction, and instead goes for Tucker, grabbing onto his jeans like she can climb her way up to get a better look at the babies.
He leans to peer down at where she stands at his feet, lifting his brows. “Do you want to help me take care of the babies?”
I appreciate that he doesn’t talk to her like a baby. I didn’t realize how many people babble in weirdly high-pitched tones when they speak to little kids until I had one of my own. Now it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard to me.
Birdie immediately nods, bouncing up and down so her whole body is confirming that yes, she does in fact want to get her hands on those teeny tiny, precious and very breakable little people.
“I don’t know if that’s a great idea.” I think of the way she tried to shove her finger up my nose and the not so gentle way she chucks toys across the apartment. “Maybe we should—”
“It’ll be okay.” Tucker tips his head toward the great room. “I bet with two of us in charge, we can keep things perfectly under control.”
I’m not sure the two of us should be in charge of anything.
I’ve heard quite a lot about how Tucker lives his life, and I’m willing to admit my own choices haven’t been much better.
We’re probably the last people anyone should rely on to keep things perfectly under control.
But my daughter seems so excited, I find myself following Tucker into the great room.
He lowers to the sofa, and Birdie quickly scrambles up right next to him, scooting as close as possibly to peer at Marybeth and Mitchell. I reach them just as one chubby hand raises, momentum building as it aims for Marybeth’s face.
Tucker whistles, the sound sharp enough to startle not only my daughter, but also me. His expression is stern but not angry as he shakes his head. “You have to be gentle.”
Birdie babbles something that sounds slightly like she’s repeating the word gentle. The movement of her hand slows, carefully coming to rest right across Marybeth’s nose and mouth.
I sit down next to her, doing my best not to bounce the couch too much. I don’t want to risk someone getting stabbed in the eyeball. Reaching out to shift the position of Birdie’s palm, I help her bring it to rest on the top of the baby’s head. “Not on the face.”
Birdie’s eyes come to me, and she seems to absorb what I say before turning back to softly pat Marybeth’s bald head. After a few careful touches, she repeats the process on Mitchell, eyes moving to Tucker like she’s checking for approval.
He nods, smiling. “Good job.”
Birdie grins, her whole face scrunching up with joy.
Then she jabs her finger up Tucker’s nose.
Unable to fend off the attack—because, babies—he ends up whipping his head back and away from the offending appendage as his eyes start to water.
“Bernadette Grace.” I catch her wrist before she can go in for a second poke, pulling it away as Tucker sneezes. “We have talked about this. You cannot stick your finger up other people’s noses.”
She bats her blue eyes at me, looking sweet and innocent, like I don’t know all her secrets. Her pointer aims at Mitchell. “Beebee’s nose?”
“No. Babies are people. You can’t stick your finger up their noses either.
” I’m starting to worry she thinks there’s something interesting up there.
It’s the only explanation for her fascination with nostrils.
“No fingers in noses.” I reconsider, deciding I probably need to elaborate. “Or anywhere else.”
Tucker’s eyes fix on my face, one brow angling as a smirk twists his lips. “Does that rule apply to everyone?”