“Done,” I tell him with a smile. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you more, sweetheart. Tell Mack I said hello.”
“Will do. Bye.” The moment he bids farewell, I end the call and slip my phone in my back pocket. I’m already moving to the stairs and heading back to Mack’s bedroom.
When he didn’t come back down earlier, I quietly slipped upstairs to look for them. I found Mack passed out on top of his duvet, with Oliver sawing logs in the bassinet beside the king-sized bed. I didn’t enter the room but was able to take a few minutes to glance around and see how Mack has been living for the last few years. Obviously well, considering he owns a decent-sized home with a massive garage and expansive yard near Burbank.
Now, I’m actually stepping inside the room. Oliver is clearly awake and not the least bit happy, his tiny arms flailing around as his lungs exercise a healthy cry. Just as I bend down and scoop him into my arms, a door within the bedroom flies open, and a very wet, very naked—well, wrapped in a towel—Mack emerges in a flurry of steam and worry.
My eyes are so wide they hurt as I gape back at a very cut, extremely toned Mack Cruz standing across the room, a blue towel wrapped around his waist. His chest is all tanned, smooth skin, and I’m pretty sure I could count more than six abs if I were to stop and try. But what holds my attention now is the way that towel hangs low on his hips, giving me a perfect view of the V that disappears behind the terry cloth.
“Lena?”
My name startles me into looking up, my eyes connecting with his dark ones. “What?”
Mack is grinning from ear to ear, his hands now resting on his hips. “I asked if everything was okay.”
“Oh! Yeah! Right as rain,” I rush out, cradling Oliver to my chest. “I just heard him crying. I’ll just…” I point a finger toward the door, “…run down and feed him while you…” and wave my hand in front of me where Mack stands, “…finish your shower.”
Why am I breathing so hard?
He flashes me a quick smile. “Okay. Well, I’ll finish up in the bathroom and be down in a few minutes.”
“Yep! Great. Sounds perfect,” I blurt out, as I practically rush from the bedroom and down the stairs.
By the time I reach the main floor, I realize I didn’t change Oliver’s diaper. I read online to change the baby’s diaper before you feed them, as it often helps them fall back asleep easier with a clean diaper and a full belly. Glancing around, and resolved to heading back upstairs, I spy a diaper bag over along the wall. Inside, I find a few tiny diapers, a travel packet of wipes, and a pad used to protect the surface.
I spread out my loot on the floor, carefully setting Oliver down between my outstretched legs. “Now, listen here, Oliver. I’ve only done this like twice in my entire life, so if you could, you know, not pee on me or sprinkle the walls, that’d be great. And as soon as I’m done, we’ll get you some steak and eggs. Deal?”
The little boy’s dark eyes are open, and I’m not sure if he can see me or not, but I can sense we have an understanding. He still fusses, but stops the hard crying, and for that, I’m grateful. I do everything they did in the online video—yes, I watched instructional clips of all the important things likes diaper changes, baths, and feedings—and before I know it, I have a fresh, clean diaper on Oliver’s bottom.
“I did it!” I cheer happily. Oliver gazes up and I think he even smiles, but it’s so short lived, I could have imagined it. He starts pumping his fists, another angry cry ready to fly. “Okay, okay. We can celebrate my victory later. Let’s get you an omelet.” With the baby back in my arms, I head to the kitchen to fix a quick bottle. It goes decisively quicker than earlier, and before I know it, I’m sitting in Mack’s rocker recliner, getting ready to feed a baby for the very first time.
I place the bottle against his lips, just like I saw Mack do earlier, just like I watched in the video, Oliver’s head cradled in the crook of my arm and slightly elevated. “I can do this,” I whisper as he latches on and goes to town sucking. “Slow down, little man, or you’ll give yourself painful gas.”
I find myself smiling down at him as he settles into his feeding. Once he realizes I’m not going to steal away his bacon, his suckling slows to a steady pace. His eyes remain locked on me though, like he’s keeping a close watch on me, just to be sure. How is it possible this little guy has already wormed his way into my heart?
I hear the stairs squeak and glance up to find Mack at the bottom step. He’s watching me, the softest grin playing on his own lips. “He doesn’t mess around when it comes to food,” he says.
“I’ve noticed. He’s watching me like a hawk,” I reply, gazing down at the sweet little boy.
Mack watches us for a few minutes before slipping into the kitchen. I see him stir the pot on the stove and place the rolls in the preheated oven. He pulls two bowls and two glasses out of the cabinet, filling each glass with lemonade. I notice the bottle is already about halfway empty, so I move Oliver to my shoulder, just the way Mack did. He squawks, but settles in for the burp. When I get a small one out of him, I return the bottle to his mouth to continue the meal.
By the time the biscuits are cooked, the bottle is finished, and Oliver is passed out against my chest. Mack rushes upstairs, taking them two at a time, and comes back down with the bassinet. He places it along the far wall, away from the windows, and I take that as my cue to move him. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind holding him for a little longer, but I can see Mack at the stove dishing up dinner, and my stomach is growling, considering I haven’t eaten much today. Nerves and the unknown, plus travel, doesn’t exactly make it an easy day on the belly.
Before I’m able to join him in the kitchen, Mack brings food to the living room. He sets a bowl and glass of lemonade down beside the chair, and when he returns with the second, he places it on the coffee table. “Go ahead and eat,” he says, indicating the food he set beside the rocker recliner.
We’re both silent as we dive in. There are a few things that cross my mind, but I’m not really sure how to ask them. I mean, isn’t it a little awkward to ask your ex about his love life? Not that I want the details or anything—hell no—but if I’m going to be here with him for the next several weeks, shouldn’t I know what to expect?
God, this is going to be uncomfortable…
“So, I have a question,” I start, keeping my eyes on the contents of my bowl.
“Shoot.”
“Well, I’ve gathered you’re probably not married, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked for my help with Oliver. I guess I’m wondering, and not because I’m just curious, I mean, it’s more of I’m going to be staying here and wanting to know what to expect…”
Deep breath. Yeah, this is hard.
“What do you want to know, Lean?”
My eyes automatically seek him out as he uses the old nickname. “I guess I’m just wanting to know if there’ll be a girlfriend who’s also here with us? Or girlfriends, I guess.” Then another thought hits me. “Hell, maybe just friends with bennies, since, well…”
“Stop.”