“Nope, no plans,” I confirm. The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me at all.
“I’ll text you when I’m done with dinner,” he says, glancing down the hallway.
“Don’t wake her. I’ll tell here where you went when she gets up.”
He nods in agreement. “All right, see you later then.”
I throw him a wave as he heads out the front door, leaving me here with his sister. Alone. The last time I was alone with her, I did dirty things to that sexy little body of hers. Those things definitely won’t be happening this time, but I’m looking forward to hanging out with her nonetheless.
And maybe finally getting the answers to some very burning questions.
Chapter Six
Ashtyn
I don’t know what startles me awake, but it takes me a few moments to get my bearings. Apparently, I was sleeping hard enough to drool, if the wetness on my pillow is any indication. I stretch my legs and stare at the wall, taking in the quiet.
Only, it’s not exactly quiet. I can hear a noise, like the floorboards beneath my carpeting is squeaking. And then I hear Rowan make a sucking noise on what sounds like skin. I turn over in my bed, only to come face-to-face with Tate. He’s standing beside my bed, rocking back and forth, Rowan in his arms. “He’s probably getting hungry,” he whispers.
“What…why are you in here?” I ask, confused over why he’s in my room, holding my son.
“Rowan started to cry. I came in to check on him after a few seconds.”
That’s odd. “He was crying?”
“Yeah, I was surprised you didn’t hear him, but when I peeked in here, you were dead to the world.”
I’ve been so tired lately. Could I have slept through my son’s hungry cries? What if it happens again?
“Don’t beat yourself up, Ash. You’re exhausted taking care of him, but you’re a good mom. Even I can see that,” he says, offering me a small smile that meets his eyes. They seem to turn darker, a deep golden shade of sex on a stick.
Wait, what?
Stop that.
“Thank you for grabbing him,” I reply, climbing off my bed. I was so tired, I didn’t even get beneath the covers.
“I’m no expert, but his diaper feels a little on the heavy side,” Tate adds, as I reach for the baby. My hands brush against his chest, which seems to do wonders for the libido I was sure dried up and died in the last ten months.
“I bet it is,” I answer, kissing the top of his soft, fuzzy head.
I head across the hall to change his diaper, Tate hot on my heels. I can feel his presence like a warm embrace, even though he hangs back near the doorway. Trying to pretend he’s not there is futile, especially when his aftershave makes its way across the room. It’s a sexy woodsy scent that would turn the best of girls into bad ones.
With a fresh diaper on, I scoop Rowan up and turn to face Tate. He’s leaning against the wall, watching my every move. A piece of hair hangs down on his forehead, my fingers itching to touch it. “Where’s Alex?” I ask, lightly patting my son on the back to give my hands something to do other than touch Tate.
His smile is instant. “He got a call from the Fire’s office. The GM wanted to meet him for dinner. He apologizes for not being here, but I told him I’d stay. I’ve got some chicken breasts I found in the fridge almost ready to go on the grill, if that’s okay.”
“Oh, uh, you don’t have to do that.”
Tate shrugs. “Alex and I were going to do it before he got the call, so no reason to change the plan. Besides, I don’t mind cooking, especially grilling.”
Rowan starts to fuss again, ready for another feeding.
“Do you always feed him in here?” Tate asks, pointing to the glider.
“Sometimes, yes. I’ve sat in the living room a few times just for a change of scenery,” I confess.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Why don’t you come out and do…your thing? You can keep me company while I’m in the kitchen,” he says, and I swear I can see his cheeks flush.
“Oh, I don’t have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You won’t,” he insists, glancing down at Rowan, a soft smile on his full lips. My heart skips in my chest, and I still can’t help but wonder what his game is. Why is he all of a sudden interested in my son?
I shouldn’t, but I grab a burp cloth and the lightweight blanket off the glider and follow him out of the nursery. Tate grabs a throw pillow and sets it beside me on the chair. When I get comfy, I slide the pillow under my arm, much as I did for my brother earlier in the day. It only takes me a few seconds to finish getting situated before I slip the thin blanket over my shoulder. Rowan latches on right away.
Tate busies himself in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I don’t know why it’s so comforting to listen to him move about my space, especially since no one but my parents have been here since I moved in. I’m used to quiet, to doing things on my own. Yet here I am, enjoying the sound of someone helping in the kitchen.
Rowan feeds for about twenty minutes, and throughout that time, Tate has popped his head in to check on me. He brought me water and a few slices of Colby Jack cheese he found in the fridge. By the time I’ve burped my son and he’s passed out again, I can hear Tate on the back deck, finishing up the grilling.
I decide to try the swing again. The first time we used it last week, Rowan wasn’t a fan. But he also had bad gas that day, and I’m wondering if it had something to do with it. Carefully, I set him in the seat and buckle him in, making sure all of the safety features are engaged before I press the button for slow swinging. It moves from side to side, gently rocking him in a soothing manner. Rowan doesn’t so much as make a peep, so I set the timer for twenty minutes and follow my nose to where the food is.
Tate is just returning to the kitchen, a platter of chicken in one hand and my grilling tongs in the other. “I wasn’t sure what you liked on your chicken, so there are plain, barbecue, and spicy,” he says.
“Oh, I should probably stick with plain, though the barbecue does sound good,” I say, taking a seat at the table.
“Why should you stick with plain?”
“What I consume, the baby consumes. So I should avoid spicy and acidic things so he doesn’t get heartburn or an upset stomach,” I tell him, reaching for a napkin.
“Huh, I guess that makes sense. Looks like I’m eating the spicy ones, though no hardship there.” He sets a chicken breast on my plate before placing one of the spicy ones on his own. “Oh, shit. The vegetables.” Tate walks over the stove and grabs a pan. “I hope you don’t mind I cut up some of the veggies you had in the fridge and on the counter. They looked good, and I thought they’d make a great grilled vegetable medley.”
Tate brings the pan over and scoops a healthy mound of veggies onto my plate. There’s squash, zucchini, carrots, and cherry tomatoes all together in a foil pan. “This looks amazing.”
He shrugs. “I hope you like it.” He takes a bite of vegetables before asking, “Where’s Row?”
It’s the second time he’s called him that, and I can’t figure out if I like it or not. Though, if my rapid heart rate and schoolgirl exhilaration is any indication, I’d it’s the former. “He’s sleeping in his swing in the living room.”