We cleaned up, gave Finn a bath, and are now playing on the floor with him. Totally normal, totally boring, and completely perfect. I wonder how it compares to Slade’s old life before Finn and me. “What were your nights like before us?” I ask, causing him to stop building his block tower for Finn to knock over.
“Are you asking me about other women?” he asks.
I wasn’t. I was thinking more about parties, dinner with clients, drinks. “No.”
“No?”
“I don’t need to know about that,” I say, though I can imagine. “I was just wondering if this feels weird to you. I doubt you were on the floor playing with toys two weeks ago.”
“Toys can be fun,” he says, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Is sexual innuendo your special talent?” I ask.
“One of them,” he teases, and I start laughing. He’s relentless. Pulling me into his arms, he says, “My nights were kind of boring. I worked late a lot and worked out. Sure, there were business things to go to. Parties, but mostly, I hate that stuff, which is why I spent most weekends at the ranch.”
“I miss it,” I say. “Even though I never learned to sleep out there. I miss walking to see Whiskey. The quiet.”
“Me, too,” he says as Finn kicks over the block tower with his foot. “When it’s done, I think I’ll live there permanently.”
“Really?” I ask, unable to hide the happiness in my voice. “Most of your business is in the city.”
“I can work remotely and commute to the office a few days a week.”
“I’ve never seen your office,” I say.
“I’ll take you,” he says, restacking the blocks.
“What about this place?” I ask.
“Probably sell it,” he says. “There’s not a lot of room for Finn to play. The ranch has more space. Kids need space.”
“Kids?” I ask. “Did you say that like in the general sense, or in the you want more kids sense?”
“Um, the general sense,” he says, eyeing me. “You don’t want to have any more kids?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” I say.
“I didn’t mind being an only child,” he says. “Did you?”
I tell myself to lie, only the lie doesn’t come fast enough. That’s the thing any good liar learns first. The lie has to roll off your tongue seamlessly like the truth. Lies are like knots. They get tighter and tighter, choking you, stealing your breath. They get so tight that even Houdini couldn’t escape.
“Paige?”
This is the hard part about loving someone. It makes lying harder. The second rule of any good liar: if you can’t lie, dodge.
“I wouldn’t rule out another baby down the road,” I say, tossing him a smile. “Way down the road.”
He tackles me to the ground, kissing me. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”
“I know you were,” I say.
Finn crawls over, tackling both of us, and Slade rolls on his back, bench pressing him in the air. “A little sister.”
“Brother,” I say. “No girls.”
“Did your mommy not take biology? I control that,” he says, continuing to lift Finn up and down.
All I can do is roll my eyes. Maybe a girl wouldn’t be so bad since I’m already outnumbered. What am I thinking? If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s not to dream.
But Slade is a dangerous man. He makes me dream, want, wish for things that I know I can’t have.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Hmm?” I say, realizing he’s continued the conversation without me.
“I asked how you’d feel about me legally adopting Finn,” he says. “You know, later on, after you agree to marry me.”
My heart sinks, knowing that won’t ever happen. It can’t. “I love the idea,” I say. “But haven’t we had enough serious conversations the past couple of days?”
“I guess we have,” he says. “Right after you moved in, Jon told me that a baby ups the ante. He’s right.”
“He is,” I say, “but maybe you should learn how to change Finn’s diaper before you call your lawyer about adopting.”
“Alright,” he says, placing Finn on the ground. “Give me the crash course on diaper changing.”
*
“Shouldn’t I practice on a doll first?” Slade asks. “Jon told me in some baby class they took, they practiced putting diapers on dolls.”
I’m trying so hard not to laugh. Even though I have everything lined up for him, he continues to ask me question after question. It’s a diaper, not brain surgery. Still, it’s sweet that he wants to get it right and do a good job.
“I don’t have a doll,” I say.
“One of Finn’s stuffed animals?” he asks.
“Might be harder with tails,” I say, a little giggle escaping.
“You find this funny?” he asks.
“A little,” I say, giving him a quick peck. I want him to know he has nothing to prove to me. “This isn’t a test, Slade.”
“Don’t pee on me,” he says to Finn, starting to remove his dirty diaper.
He gets it off with no problem, then reaches for a baby wipe. “Make sure you clean everywhere,” I remind him. My cell phone rings, and I reach for it.
“Don’t answer that,” Slade says. “I might need backup.”
“You’re doing great,” I say, answering my phone. “Hey Catrine, anything happening on baby watch?”
She tells me she thought she felt a contraction earlier, but it turned out to just be gas. My poor friend is really starting to sound miserable. She’s enormously pregnant, and summers in Tennessee can be brutal.
“Well, over here, Slade is changing his first diaper.” She screeches so loud it probably wakes up Chewie, begging me to video him. “I’m not going to take a home movie,” I say, causing Slade to turn around.
“Tell her she’s fired!” he calls out.
“She says then Jon quits,” I say, repeating Catrine’s message from the other end.
Slade shakes his head, finishing up the diaper and holding up Finn for me to see. “Perfect,” I mouth to him. He holds Finn’s little hand up, giving him a high five.
“I promise I’ll come see you soon,” I tell Catrine before hanging up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SLADE
I watch her put Finn to sleep. I’m supposed to be learning his routine, but I think I’m learning more about Paige than I am about Finn’s bedtime ritual.
I listen to her read him a story. She doesn’t choose a picture book or something with silly meaningless rhymes. She reads him the story of Paddington Bear, which isn’t really about a bear at all. It’s about what it’s like to be without a home, the bumps and bruises life brings, and finally finding your family.
It might as well be the story of Paige the Bear.
I watch her hold him, kiss him, cuddle him, giving him all the love she wished she’d gotten. She doesn’t rush the process and remains totally focused on Finn. Then her eyes close, her hand rests on his little chest, and I listen to her say a prayer—a prayer that Finn will be blessed and protected while he sleeps.