Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“A schedule is a great idea, but she might be a little bit young for that.” I bounced Paisley in my arms, holding her tight. “Did you try the pacifier?”
“I’ve tried everything.”
“Did you ever give her a bath?”
He removed his arm from his head and gave me a guilty look. “No. I was too nervous.”
“Why don’t we try it together?” I suggested. “A warm bath can be nice and relaxing, and then we can try to feed her, and then maybe we can get her to sleep. This seems to be her worst time of night.”
“I’ll try anything.” He stood up and cracked his knuckles. “What should I do to help?”
“Is your sink clean?” I asked.
“I think there are a couple half-finished bottles and it.” He started for the kitchen. “I’ll clean it out.”
“Hey, before you do that, would you mind grabbing that shirt I slept in last night? I don’t want to get my blouse wet.” I glanced down at the lavender silk. “Either that, or I could run home and change.”
Nate did an about-face. “No. Do not leave. I’ll go get the shirt.” He disappeared up the stairs while I walked and bounced Paisley a little, looking around the apartment, marveling at even more differences.
There was a changing table against one wall. The swing and Pack ’n Play. The sling lay discarded on the floor. A half-empty bottle and two burp cloths on the coffee table, next to a cup of coffee that had gone undrunk, and a little white rectangular box. Fudge? Curious, I lifted the lid, surprised to find something covered in chocolate. Nate wasn’t really the type to eat sweets. “What’s this, Paisley? Was your daddy cheating on his diet?” I reached into the box, took one of the chocolate covered things, and nibbled on it. Potato chips? Oh my God, was that a thing? Chocolate-covered potato chips?
Nate came down the stairs, the shirt in his hands. “Here you go. Want me to hold her while you change?”
I finished the potato chip and looked longingly at the box. “I want you to take those things away from me and keep them away. I can’t even believe you were eating those.”
“Me either. They were a gift from a client and I stuck them in the pantry and forgot about them. But this afternoon I was dying for sugar for some reason.”
“Welcome to being human.” I handed him the baby, who was still howling. “Why don’t you put her in the swing or something while you clean out the sink? I’ll be right back.”
I took the shirt into the first floor bathroom and changed into it, wishing I had some jeans—or even better, some sweatpants—to put on, but my work skirt would have to do. After tossing my blouse on the chair next to my jacket, I retrieved Paisley from the swing and went into the kitchen with her. When Nate was finished cleaning out the sink, I instructed him to grab a couple towels, a washcloth, a cup, and the baby wash while I filled the sink with some warm water. Together, we undressed her, got her in the water, and managed to soap, shampoo, and rinse her with a minimum of water in her eyes and on our clothing. Actually, she seemed to like the bath and splashed around a bit, making gurgling noises. I showed Nate how to carefully wash her, and how to rinse her hair. He paid close attention, took over for me when I asked if he wanted to, and when she was clean, he wrapped her up in a towel and took her into the other room to dry her off.
It was kind of crazy. Was this really the same guy who’d fainted at the thought of having a baby daughter?
I drained the sink, wiped up what water we’d spilled, and made a bottle. I happened to glance at the clock when it was 1:11 AM, so I quickly made a wish that Paisley would fall asleep fast instead of keeping us up until three in the morning again. When I came out into the living room, she was dry and dressed, and he was holding her against his chest, resting his lips on her head. My stomach flipped. Seeing him with her was definitely messing with me.
“She smells good,” he said. “And she seems calmer.”
“Good. Here’s the bottle.” I handed it to him, careful not to let our fingers touch.
He fed her as he walked slowly around the room, humming something that sounded like “White Christmas.” I settled on the couch, my legs tucked beneath me, my cheek propped on my hand along the back of the couch. Watching him, I was disturbed by the way I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off his butt in those jeans.
Stop it. This baby doesn’t change things. This is still a man who doesn’t believe in happy ever after.