Chapter 5

“Where are you off to so early?”

Halfway down the stairs I pause, glancing up at my neighbor bent over the railing. A loose ponytail corrals her black curls as she scrutinizes me. Her lips hug the red handle of a toothbrush.

“Erica, are you spying on me?”

“Nope,” she mumbles around foam. “Just keeping an eye on things.” Her gaze flits between me and the door across the hall from her apartment.

“Dougly at it again?”

Erica holds up a finger before dashing back into her apartment. Doug Mann, her new sixty-something playboy neighbor with orangish hair plugs—that elicit a cringe every time I see him—possesses a hidden sex appeal that we can’t figure out. And his nose … let’s just say it should have its own zip code. Since he moved in a month ago, he’s had a steady trail of women pass through his revolving door. Young women. Pretty women. Hookers? We’re not sure. It seems like the only plausible explanation for the old and ugly (Dougly) man (Mann) entertaining that many women.

“Two. There were two of them willingly following him into his place when I got home last night around eleven.” Erica hoists her backpack on her shoulder as she scuttles down the stairs toward me.

“Ew …” I wrinkle my nose and swallow the bile crawling up my throat. “Maybe he’s rich.”

“I don’t think rich people live in this building.”

Our footsteps echo in sync as we approach the main floor. “You’re a cardiologist and you live here.”

“Second year resident. Dirt poor. Buried in school loans. I’m not rich. Nor do I have a ridiculously hot boyfriend who rides a Harley.”

Musings of Griffin and his overabundance of hotness elicit something between a chuckle and a dreamy sigh.

“In fact…” her blue Saab parked behind my car beeps when she unlocks it “…I’m quite certain I’m the only one in the building not getting any.”

“But you’re saving lives.” I hop off the curb, riding my Griffin high.

She tosses her backpack in her car and leans on the top of the open door. “When your inked god is in your bed, do you wish you were saving lives instead of …” Her eyebrows waggle.

I open my door. “Are you asking me if I’d rather have sex with Griffin or save the world?”

“Yes.”

“No brainer. Griff all the way.”

Erica shoots me the bird and slips into her car. “You never said what has you out and about so early.” Her head pokes back out before she shuts the door.

“I got a callback for a nanny job. So I’m off to meet the baby today.”

“Oh, good luck!”

*

My teeth chatter, fed by a bad case of nerves. Nate’s sister-in-law, Rachael, called me Friday to set up a time to meet Morgan. Her father, this familiar stranger, resides in my head, entangled in my thoughts and dreams. Hours of online research led me to repeated dead ends. He’s listed under the university website. I found his wife’s obituary. The county assessor’s website gave me the value of his home—with a dizzying seven-digit value.

My gut tells me to proceed with caution. Especially when I know I’m of sound mind. Nate has to be the crazy one. After all, he, too, is a patient of Dr. Greyson’s. The poor guy’s wife died. Maybe he’s had a breakdown. Memory loss or something like that.

My knuckles rap three times on the rich wooden door, hard enough to be heard but hopefully soft enough to not wake a sleeping baby.

“Swayze?”

My gaze lands on the swaddled baby hidden in the white blanket dotted with pink bunnies. A tiny patch of dark hair peeks out from the top. The woman holding the baby looks like a statue. Why do people get so stiff the moment they pick up a baby? Her earthy-toned eyes blink. Okay, she’s alive. A constipated smile creeps up her face, marring her natural beauty accented by strands of chestnut silk sweeping along her chin in a reverse bob.

“Yes,” I say with muted enthusiasm. If I scare her, she could crack and send the baby tumbling to the floor.

“Come in.” She grimaces at the baby without moving the ridged cradle of her arms.

If the baby wakes, the world will end. That much I can deduce from this situation.

“I’m Rachael,” she mouths. Good thing I can read lips. Not really, but her exaggerated jaw flapping makes it easy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I fight off a giggle. Babies also turn perfectly-put-together humans into buffoons.

Slipping off my shoes, I browse around for any signs of Nate. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too. And thank you for the callback. This must be Morgan?” I refrain from saying the obvious “she’s so tiny.” But she really is tiny, even for a one-month-old.

Rachael’s back stiffens on a silent gasp. I spoke beyond a whisper and the world may end.

An exhale tiptoes past her parted lips once she realizes babies don’t require complete silence to sleep. “Yes…” Rachael watches Morgan “…she’s being lazy this morning.” She tests a few more words. Morgan doesn’t flinch. “Only took half her bottle before drifting back to sleep.”

When her wonder-filled gaze meets mine, I lift my brows a fraction. Wow! Did she just now realize it’s okay to talk in front of a sleeping baby? Poor girl. And by girl I mean young lady because I’m certain she’s older than I am, at least by five or so years, but younger than Nate.

I follow her to the living room filled with oversized leather furniture and a wall of curtain-framed windows overlooking dense woods. There’s a newborn living here. Where is the baby swing sitting in a corner? Or the dark wicker basket of diapers and other baby essentials that should be on the wooden coffee table? Toys. Why are there no toys that Morgan is too young to play with but they can’t resist trying to entertain her with them anyway?

No blankets.

No tiny baby hats.

No knitted booties from a grandma or great aunt.

“Would you like to hold her?”

I lift up my hands. “Mind if I wash my hands real quick?”

Rachael’s smile grows a fraction like I passed the first test, but I honestly don’t think it’s a test. That would require more knowledge of babies and a confidence she doesn’t possess.

“Do you have kids?” I ask, washing my hands at the kitchen sink, but I think I know the answer.

“No. Never been married. I don’t even have a boyfriend. But I’m getting a crash course in motherhood.” Her smile dissipates as her brow tightens.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Rachael smiles as if she feels the need to make a quick recovery. Her sister died a month ago. I don’t think forced smiles are necessary yet.

“We’re doing well.” She hands Morgan to me.

I bring her up on my shoulder. She burps, let’s out a squeaky cry, and falls right back to sleep.

“Wow. She never burps for me.”

I sit in the rocking chair, and Rachael sits on the love seat, tucking her legs underneath her.

“Burped babies are happy babies.” I nestle my nose into the blanket and take a hit of that new baby smell.

“You have siblings?” she asks.

“No. I did a lot of babysitting in high school and took on summer jobs as a nanny during college. What about you? Any other siblings?”

“An older brother in Washington. But he’s not married either. Our mom died a few years ago, but our dad lives here in Madison. When Jenna died, I was the only one who stepped up to help Nathaniel, aside from his mom. But she’s had some health issues, so we don’t like to ask her for too much help. And Nathaniel doesn’t have any siblings, so …”

“So you’re all figuring this out as you go because no one has any real baby experience.”

She chuckles a bit. “Pretty much. I was supposed to start grad school this fall, but I’m going to take a year off to help with Morgan. Nathaniel works long hours, so that’s why he needs you. He insists I find a life beyond Morgan. But …” Rachael traps her bottom lip between her teeth and focuses on Morgan in my arms. “I feel guilty handing her off to anyone else. Jenna wouldn’t have wanted that. No offense.” Her nose wrinkles when she glances up at me.

“None taken. But I’m a little confused. You asked me here to meet Morgan. I assumed you’re still making a final decision, but you just said Nate-Nathaniel needs me …”

“He does. He just doesn’t know it. You’re the best fit. The youngest, but most experienced. And watching you with her confirms it, but Nathaniel’s a little uneasy about …”

I know where this is going. She doesn’t have to say it. “I recognized him from pictures. I get it. Our first meeting was weird. Totally my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything until I figured out the connection.” I shrug. “It was no big deal. But I understand how it might have freaked him out at first. This is his child. He should be skeptical to a fault.”

“Well, after a slightly heated argument last week, he agreed to let me hire you if I still felt all ‘gung-ho’ after meeting you. Honestly, I don’t think he knows what he wants other than …”

We share a painful look. His wife. Nate wants his wife back.

“I want the job, so don’t take this the wrong way. Were the other applicants so bad that I looked that good just from my résumé?”

“Not bad, just old. I’m not trying to discriminate, I just wanted someone younger but experienced. Taking care of a baby can be an exhausting job. So the job is yours if you want it. I can send the contract home with you today to look over.”

I pull in a deep breath, suffocated by the sterile air.

No lavender candles.

No sugar cookies baking in the oven.

No baby powder lingering in the air.

Morgan starts to fuss, so I stand and walk around with a gentle bounce to my step. Below the TV mounted to the wall is a fireplace mantle holding framed pictures. I recognize Nate’s parents; they’re on the beach holding on to their big floppy hats so they don’t blow away. There’s one of Nathaniel and Jenna on their wedding day at the doors to a cathedral, rose petals floating around the happy couple as they make their escape. I haven’t seen that smile from Nate in a long time. Maybe it died with his wife.

With each step around the room, my heart cracks a little deeper. There are no pictures of Morgan. There should be the classic hospital mugshot that only the parents can love and one with Nate. Why hasn’t anyone taken a picture of him asleep on the sofa with Morgan nestled into his chest, the official daddy and baby first date picture?

It’s a cricket kind of silence in the house, only without any crickets. At least a few chirps would be some sign of life.

No TV murmuring in the background.

No music or soft static from a white noise machine.

No little wind-up toys playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

It’s almost too painful to be here, but I can’t walk away. This house—this family—needs two paddles and a jolt of life put back into it.

“When do I start?” She should question my taking the job before reviewing the contract or negotiating my wage. But she doesn’t.

“Tomorrow too soon?”

“Tomorrow is perfect as long as everything looks agreeable in the contract. I’ll read it over when I get home and message you. I don’t anticipate any issues.”

We small talk for another hour while I give Morgan a bottle and change her diaper.

“You’re good at that. It takes Nathaniel and me forever to do that.” Rachael’s eyes illuminate with wonder like I just demonstrated levitation.

It’s a diaper change and three snaps on a onesie. This poor child may be doomed if a twenty-one-year-old stranger is the foremost expert on her.

*

“Tell me about your day, Swayz.”

Griffin nods to the upside-down five-gallon bucket a few feet to his right. It’s where I like to perch when he’s doing his thing in his anal-retentively organized garage. Shiny red tool chests and pegboards of more tools and cords line the wall on either side of his workbench. Behind me, his Harley hides under a custom cover, flaunting its reserved parking spot while his black truck weathers the seasons parked in the drive beneath a canopy of mature oak trees on both sides.

“I want a baby.”

He raises an eyebrow at me as he works on his neighbor’s motorcycle. I love his two-bedroom house and one-car garage that he uses for side jobs like this. It’s in the middle of an older neighborhood with lots of trees and houses that have character, not the cookie-cutter homes in the newer neighborhoods. The fact that it’s two blocks from his parents’ house is also a lovable trait.

He’s close to his family. Sometimes I envy his life. It’s not glamorous, but it’s rich in the really good stuff that I feel like I missed out on during my parents’ quest to discover something brilliant in me.

“Before I put my foot in my mouth or you put yours in my balls, can you clarify if this is an announcement or a request?”

I scrape the worn bottoms of my flip-flops along the gray-speckled sealant on his garage floor and wiggle my toes. My blue nail polish has seen better days.

“I got the nanny job. I start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s right. You went to meet the baby this morning … Morgan, right?” His socket clicks in quick succession.

I find that sound mixed with the hum of the fan hanging in the corner quite soothing. Watching Griff work on bikes has become my favorite pastime. He’s magical with his hands. Heat spreads along my skin, settling between my legs, just thinking of his strong, capable hands.

“I love you, Grocery Store Guy.”

He stops his motions and looks at me with those sable eyes that won me over at our first grocery store encounter. I’ve stopped pinching myself and settled into the fact that he sees something in me that I don’t see in myself. We’ve “loved” many things about each other: his tattoos, my birthmark, his body, my hair, his fingers, my mouth. But neither one of us has used “you” without the “r” after the word love.

“You’re pregnant.”

I grin, not offended one bit by his assumption. “If I were?”

His gaze flits over my face. If I were pregnant, I might fear the thoughts rolling around in his beautiful head. But I’m not, so my thoughts revel in the anticipation of his next words.

“I’d have to design a sidecar to accommodate a car seat.”

“And that’s why I love you.”

He drops the socket and walks on his knees to me, keeping his sweaty body and greasy hands a few inches from touching me. I happen to love him in any state. Every inch of my body would welcome his touch, even if it left a few smudges.

“Did I get one past the gate?” He rubs his nose against mine then nips at my lower lip. He smells like grease, sweat, and spearmint from his favorite xylitol gum. It’s not a marketable combination, but it’s my addiction.

“No.” I giggle. “It’s a thing. When women hold babies and get a whiff of that newborn smell, our ovaries go into overdrive.”

“So, you’re not pregnant, but you want to be?” His eyes shift from my face to my neck then slowly ease down my body, doing all the things I know his hands and mouth want to do.

“No,” I say a little breathy. I know that look of his and so does my body.

“But you said…” his gaze makes a quick return to mine “…you love me.”

“I do. But I love you because you ask me about my day—every day. And you remember everything I tell you. And you’re observant. You know my favorite flower because you know the scent of my favorite lotion. You know the size of my clothes because you’ve peeled them from my body so many times. You hand me a tissue five seconds before I cry during a sad scene in a movie, but you never actually look at me. You just … know.”

He shrugs, staring at me so intently a shiver snakes along my spine. “It’s because …” His teeth dig into his lower lip.

“That’s my point.” I grin and lean toward him, teasing his lips with mine until he rewards me with a smile.

“It’s because I love you,” he whispers over my mouth.

“Thank you…” I kiss him once “…for remembering Morgan’s name.” I kiss him again—longer, deeper—as my fingers flick open the button to his jeans.

“Baby,” he mumbles, “my hands are greasy.”

I ease down his zipper. “Then put them in your back pockets. I don’t need your help with this.”

He moans into my mouth as my hand slides inside his boxers, and like the good boy he is, he stuffs his hands into his back pockets. I love his body too, and the way his deep hums of pleasure vibrate my lips each time I stroke him.

“Swayz …” He tears his mouth from mine and tips his chin down, watching me stroke him. “Fuck, baby …” His abs tighten on each labored breath.

“Mom said you’d buy raffle tickets for my show choir fundraiser.”

Griffin and I both snap our heads toward his sister, Chloe, standing at the front of the garage. His back is to her, hiding my hand wrapped around his cock. We have a terrible habit of tuning out the rest of the world when we’re together. It might have been a good idea to shut the garage door before expressing my recent declaration of love.

“What are you guys up to?” She fans herself with a big white envelope.

Griffin turns back to me. “Let go of my dick and go buy some raffle tickets,” he whispers.

I’m not sure why I’m still holding it. Frozen in shock, I guess. “K.” I give him a toothy grin as I release him and stand. “Of course we’ll buy raffle tickets.” I step past Griffin leaving him to tuck the goods back into his jeans.

Chloe’s fifteen, a sophomore, and I think she’s still a virgin, but I’m not sure. Regardless, there are some things she never needs to see, and my hand stroking her brother’s cock is at the top of that list.

“Great! How many?” She opens the envelope.

“Uh … ten?”

“They’re ten dollars apiece.”

“Maybe three?” I give her a wrinkled-nose grin.

“Thanks, Swayze. How many for you, Griff?” Chloe rubs her lips together, mischief alight in her brown eyes as she bats her dark hair away from her face but loses her battle with the evening breeze.

The clicking of the socket wrench starts again. “Swayze said three.”

“She did. But how many are you buying. You two aren’t married, so you can’t make joint purchases yet.”

She’s good. I like his sisters. Hell, I like his whole family. They paint happily ever after using all the colors of the rainbow.

“I’ll take one.”

“Five it is, Griff. Thanks! You’re my most favorite brother ever.” She tears off eight raffle tickets.

Griffin tips his chin up from behind the bike and raises a single eyebrow until it brushes the edge of his orange and black bandana. I take the tickets and slip them into the back pocket of my denim shorts.

“Wallet?” I smirk at him.

He sighs and stands holding up his greasy hands. “Front right pocket.”

With my back to Chloe, I slide my hand into his pocket grazing his lingering erection. His lips twitch as he eyes me with promises of things that will happen when we are alone again. Heat spreads through my body, converging deep in my belly.

I pull out his money clip and count out eighty dollars. “Mind loaning me thirty dollars to buy raffle tickets from my boyfriend’s sister?” Batting my eyelashes, I glance up at him, trapping my lower lip between my teeth.

“I’ll let you work it off.” His gaze leaves no question as to how I will be working this off.

“I’m not five. Your innuendos are weirding me out. Just hand over the money before I mini-vomit.”

I giggle because she’s only six years younger than I am, but there’s this invisible wall between adolescence and adulthood that makes six years feel like thirty. In a few more years, that gap will be indistinguishable. However, for now, we’re the gross adults and she’s the innocent child who we’re weirding out. How innocent? I don’t know. Cheerleaders and football players get the bad rap for parties and sex. In my experience, more sex happens in the band room than any other place in school.

“Here. What’s the prize?” I hand Chloe the money.

“Caribbean cruise.”

“Really?” My head jerks back.

“No. Not really. A subscription to the Madison Symphony Orchestra.”

“Fucking great,” Griffin mumbles from behind the bike.

“Language, Griff.” I roll my eyes.

Chloe laughs. “I’m familiar with the word. He’s said it more than once around me. Anyway…” she stuffs the money into the envelope “…thanks again. I’ll see ya around.”

“Bye.” I give her a wave when she makes one last glance over her shoulder while walking down the driveway. “I love your sisters.” With a content sigh, I plop back down on the bucket.

“Kinda takes away from the specialness of you declaring your love to me. Don’t you think?”

“I assumed you and your family are a package deal. If I love one of you, I have to love all of you.”

“Well, I sure as hell love all of you. Now, tell me more. Are you going to like watching after this Morgan?”

Perfect. He’s so damn perfect.

“I think so. The hours are good. She’s tiny and precious beyond words. It’s a pretty cool house. The sister-in-law, Rachael, is really nice, but she has no experience with babies. It’s a little weird that the twenty-one-year-old nanny has the most experience of anyone, but I think it may be true.”

“And the dad?”

“Nate, er … Nathaniel is troubled. But he lost his wife, and now he’s trying to work, grieve, and raise a baby—his first baby. I think that earns him a pass for any psychological issues he might have. There’s a reason they say it takes a village to raise a child. His village is quite small. So … yeah, they need me.”

“Sophie has a dance recital this weekend.”

“It’s on my calendar.”

“And the motorcycle rally in August?”

“I’ll ask for that time off. I’m not sure how my ass will feel after that long on the back of your bike, but I’m in. Even though your biker buddies look at me kinda …” Like lunchmeat dripping with mayo.

“Like you’re beautiful?” he says it so matter-of-factly.

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” I twist my lips to hide my grin.