The sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps signals that our alone time is officially over.
“Morninggggg, Baby Daddy.” A froggy, pseudo-whining voice says. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Carina. A cabinet opens and slams shut. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your room last night. Hope the couch didn’t suck.”
“Slept like a dream,” I say, giving Lucia her last bites before chucking the container in the trash and rinsing the spoon in the sink.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rossi lumbers into the kitchen in her pink satin robe, her hair a tangled mess. “Is everyone hanging out without me? In my own house?”
“Thought I’d let you sleep in,” I say.
Rossi keeps a careful distance, planting herself at the opposite end of the kitchen island.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Rossi says.
“Oh my god!” Carina shrieks and Rossi clutches at her robe.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“The guy from last night.” Carina slides her phone toward Rossi. “He texted when I was passed out. Look at this—he posted a picture from the restaurant and he asked if I was still coming. And then he texted me ten times before he finally left. He says he was running late and he couldn’t tell me because his phone died. He had to borrow a charger from the bartender. By the time he could text me, I’d already left. I wonder if he was there the whole time?”
Rossi folds her arms. “Do you believe him?”
Biting her lip, Carina says, “I want to? I don’t know. I need to talk to him again. See if he’s full of you know what.”
Within seconds, Rossi’s kid sister flits around the kitchen, gathering her phone, purse, and keys before locating her shoes by the back door.
“I’ll see you chickens on Monday,” she says, stopping briefly to kiss Lucia on top of the head. “This little chicky too.”
With that, she’s gone.
Arrived on a breeze, left on one too.
Rossi makes her way to the high chair, pulling up the seat beside Lucia before leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Good morning, sweet girl,” she says in a tone fit for a Disney princess.
“I fed her some yogurt … not sure what else she eats for breakfast … or if that’s enough …” I say.
“I can’t believe I didn’t hear her this morning …”
“You slept pretty hard,” I say, adding, “Must’ve needed it.”
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
“Just say thank you.” I give her a wink. I get the sense she’s not used to asking for help. She’d mentioned before that it “takes a village” and that she’s got friendly neighbors and parents a phone call away, but other than her sister helping out, this woman does it all.
Crossing her legs, her attention migrates from Lucia to me. “Last night was … fun.”
“To say the least.”
Her lips inch into a two-second flash of a smile. “But I think we got a little carried away. For Lucia’s sake—and for the sake of making sure these next few weeks go smoothly—I think we should promise each other it won’t happen again.”
Frowning, I stay quiet. I’m not in the habit of making promises I can’t keep.
Rossi Bianco is the perfect woman. She’s all curves and honesty, tender and selfless, independent, successful, and down to earth.
The mother of my child …
“So you didn’t enjoy it?” I ask.
“Of course I did.” She rights her posture, tucking her robe tighter as if it could possibly keep me from undressing her with my eyes.
I’ve seen what lies beneath all of that and it’s fucking magnificent.
“Good, that’s all that matters,” I say. “Go grab a shower, I’ve got this.”
“What? What are you doing now? What is this?”
“I’m taking care of you.” I wipe Lucia’s mouth with the corner of her terrycloth bib.
“Why?”
“Because someone should. And as long as I’m here, that someone should be me.”
She tries to speak again, but I silence her with the swipe of my hand before pointing toward the hall.
“I don’t want to see you for at least an hour,” I tease.
Without a word she rises from the chair, pours a cup of coffee, and shuffles out of sight. Only three seconds later, she pops her head around the corner and says, “You should probably change her diaper. And maybe give her some mashed banana.”
Chuckling, I wave her away. “I’ve got this.”
Can’t say I’ve ever changed a diaper before, but that’s what Google is for.
Not like it’s rocket science.
“I can do it really quick if you’d—”
“—go,” I cut her off.
Her pretty lips lift up at the side as her blue eyes flash in the morning sun. Our gazes hold for an endless second, as if we’re each attempting to capture this image for the rest of our days, and then she’s gone.
I honestly don’t know what’s happening between us, but I’ve never felt more at ease—or at home—with anyone in my entire life.