“I’m not going to ask you to leave, you know,” he said. She needed to relax, since no way was he tossing her and two little kids out on their butts. That wasn’t who he was. He wouldn’t do that to her.
“Thanks.” She let out a sigh and flashed him another smile. It made his chest tighten. “That’s very kind of you. You have no idea how much this helps.”
Kenton returned her smile, and his stomach fluttered. He took a deep breath, smothering the sensation. This wasn’t the time or place. “Were all your belongings destroyed?”
“I was able to salvage a few things,” she said, “but most of it had so much water and smoke damage that it wasn’t worth keeping. Insurance helped me replace what I needed in the short term. Cribs for the girls and clothes and the like.”
Kenton watched Eliot approach Emma’s high chair and swipe a piece of sausage from the tray. Not a difficult trick for a dog whose head was level with the table, but not acceptable behavior, either.
“Mia—” He tried to get her attention.
“My apartment is being redone, and the parts of the building destroyed by the fire have been torn down and are being rebuilt, but I don’t know when we can return.”
“Yeah, I read that in the online article, too. Uh… Mia.” He pointed to where Eliot was swiping food from the other twin’s tray.
“Eliot, stop that,” Mia said, but her tone was amused. The dog glanced at her with soulful eyes and snagged another piece of pancake.
“He’s completely untrained,” Kenton declared. That needed to change, and soon. He’d make allowances for some things, but not a half-wild dog.
“Not entirely. He hasn’t had an accident in the house,” she said brightly. “The twins, however…”
“Huh?” What kind of accident was she talking about?
“They aren’t trained, either. Toddlers are messy.”
Emma was smashing the remains of her pancake into her hair. “I can see that,” he commented.
“Don’t worry,” Mia continued. “I’ll scrub down the walls and floors before we move out.”
Walls? He didn’t like the sound of that. Even though he hadn’t lived in the house much, he’d taken care to select colors appropriate to the home’s age. And he’d bought furnishings that were comfortable and classic. His mom had helped him, but he’d also engaged an interior decorator for the formal rooms. This house was going to be the setting for the perfect life he was planning for himself.
If it survived this temporary invasion.
Kenton felt his annoyance rise, which wasn’t fair. Mia was in a bind. Maybe it was best to keep his distance, so at least he didn’t see the destruction firsthand.
He stood up and took his plate to the dishwasher. “I’ve got some work to do. Do you want me to help you clean up?”
“I’ve got it.” Mia wiped Ava’s hands with a paper towel.
“Thanks for breakfast, then.”
Kenton kept himself occupied in his home office for several hours sorting through personal emails that had stacked up, taking care of the few things that came by regular mail, and, frankly, worrying about a child-trafficking ringleader who was on the loose somewhere in the world.
He clicked the pen in his hand as he once again reviewed his last mission, looking for the flaw in his plan that had allowed the man to slip through the net they’d cast for him. Kenton still couldn’t find the error, so he turned his attention to preparing for his future. The house was almost perfect, but he had a few home improvement projects yet to be done before he’d be ready for phase two: finding someone to share it with.
That was a tougher puzzle, but he’d solve it as he had most issues in his life—with a solid plan. He wrote down a list of places where he might meet the right sort of woman and researched dating apps with high marriage rates. A surprising number of couples met and wed from those sites. That seemed promising.
Pleased with what he’d accomplished, he opened his office door and winced. The solid oak had prevented the noise from reaching him, but no longer. He headed toward the epicenter of the cacophony: his living room. When he walked through the archway, he stopped cold.
Children’s music was playing, high-pitched voices singing rhyming songs. Eliot was eating some unidentifiable food from the floor in the corner. One of the girls was sitting on the rug, face wet with tears, and the other was red-faced as if angry. Mia stood between them, almost like she was playing referee. What the hell kind of chaos was this?
He was no expert, but it looked like a nap was in order for everyone.
“Maybe you could fill me in on the schedule?” Kenton asked, pitching his voice to be heard when he really wanted to bark orders until everyone was quiet.
“Sure,” Mia said, picking up the teary girl and tickling her tummy. Her action seemed to have minimal effect in terms of soothing the child. “On days that I work, I get up at four. I usually leave about a half hour later, drop the girls at day care, and head to the bakery. Since I’m primarily in the kitchen, my work is done around noon or one—unless we’re really busy and I have to help at the counter. I pick up the girls on my way home, so we’re all home by early afternoon, which gives me plenty of time with them.”
“I meant the girls’ schedules. What time do they eat, nap, that sort of thing?”
“Oh, I don’t do rigid schedules for them,” she responded.
“Seriously?” Kenton’s eyebrows shot up. That didn’t seem right to him. His childhood had been orderly and on a timetable, with his mother the keeper of the clock. He had always felt that it engendered good habits and a sense of responsibility. Hell, he even credited the way he’d been raised for making him a successful soldier.
“At day care, they have a schedule for snack, nap, and playtime,” she explained, “but at home, I use the free-range parenting method.”
An image of free-range chickens came to Kenton’s mind, and that didn’t seem like the best way to raise children. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a system that fosters independence by letting kids be in charge of themselves. Within limits, of course. At this age, it means letting them decide when they’re hungry, for instance. Letting kids make decisions gives them confidence. And it’s proven that free-range kids are happier, play outside more, and have better social skills ultimately.”
Kenton eyed the two toddlers. Neither looked happy or capable of communication. He didn’t want to test the outdoors part. God only knew what would happen if he let them out in the yard.
“I want the girls to follow their own instincts,” Mia continued. “They’ll let me know when they need something.”
“They both seem cranky,” he observed. “Does that mean they’re letting you know they need a nap?”
“Probably,” she said with a rueful smile, “but they have to learn how to go to sleep on their own, how to soothe themselves.”
It took everything in him to not declare what she said ridiculous. Who came up with this stuff? That was a good question, actually. “How do you know about this?”
“From parenting books and articles,” she said. “You can look it up.”