"Did you sleep?" He looks up at me casually like he does this every freaking day. As if he's in the business of entertaining toddlers.
"What are you doing?" My voice comes out harder than I intend it, but my heart is racing, pounding in my chest so hard I think it's going to explode. I look at them together, Olivia delighted with her new playmate, his nose covered in yogurt. For a second, I want to walk over there and kiss him.
"You were sleeping so soundly, and you were so tired, I figured it's probably been a long time since you got to sleep in, so when she cried, I brought her downstairs. There's coffee over there if you want some. Bacon and eggs, too."
"How long have you been awake?" My voice is still clipped with an edge I can’t quite seem to control, and I’m not sure why I’m so annoyed by this. I watch as Olivia applies more yogurt to Luke's nose and collapses into hysterical laughter again.
"A couple of hours."
"You've been entertaining her for a couple of hours?" He’s trying to be nice, I tell myself. The rational part of me knows that. But the protective mother in me thinks, you slept upstairs while some guy was alone with your child for a couple of hours?
"I figured if she got really upset, I'd just come up and get you."
"You should have gotten me anyway," I say, my tone clipped. "Unless you have vast childcare experience I don't know about."
It just comes out. I know I’m being mean, but I'm still on edge, worked up by the fact that I thought something had happened to her.
And by the fact that I feel suddenly vulnerable, finding him down here laughing with Olivia and taking an interest in my child.
You’re scared because he’s taking an interest in you. Because maybe he isn’t just a fling.
When Luke looks at me, his jaw is clenched. "I didn't realize you'd have a problem with it," he says, standing up and wiping the yogurt off his nose with a napkin.
I keep my tone level, my voice quiet, aware that Olivia can hear us. "You didn't realize I'd have a problem with a strange man in my house alone with my child?"
Holy shit.
I don’t even mean to say it. The words just come out, and I immediately want to take them back. I regret them instantly.
A hurt look flits over his face and then disappears behind a stony one, and I feel terrible.
"You're right," he says, his voice flat.
"She's my kid." I don’t try to put into words how I’m feeling this morning in the wake of what happened between us last night. I’m feeling panicked and skittish and not at all like myself.
His jaw clenches, and he looks at me, his expression hard. "No problem," he says. "I should get going anyway."
He calls Lucy, who pads over to Olivia's highchair and licks her toes, causing Olivia to giggle with delight.
"Luke, I – " I start, but don't know what the hell to say. I could say a thousand things that would make this situation better. I could explain that I didn't plan to wind up dealing with a morning-after breakfast with anyone anytime soon. And that I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.
Instead, my mouth goes dry and I stand there stupidly, tongue-tied, saying nothing. For once, words completely fail me.
"No worries," he says, avoiding eye contact with me. He starts down the hall, calling Lucy, who trails after him.
"Luke, you don't have to go," I say weakly, as I unbuckle Olivia from her highchair. "I didn't mean anything – "
"It's all right," he says, giving me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We're still friends, right?"
He gives Olivia a little wave before he walks out the front door. And I let him go. I let him drive away, even though I could easily have asked him to stay, apologized for being an idiot.
But instead, I stand there with Olivia in my arms, telling myself that I'm in the right.
Even after I walk back into the kitchen and look at the breakfast he cooked for us – that he cooked for me while watching Olivia and letting me sleep in – because he was trying to be nice.
Damn it. Why can't I let someone just be nice?
"It's nothing," I say, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrays me.
"Obviously," June says. We're sitting on the back porch at her house watching the kids play in the sandbox. It's not our regular play date; it's the emergency Saturday morning play date I called an hour ago.
"I mean, it just happened," I go on. "It was stupid. Irresponsible. I shouldn't have brought him over. It's one of those things that you're not supposed to do, right? Isn't there some kind of rule about that? A recommendation from experts or something?"
June laughs. "Rule about what? Having a little bit of fun for a change?"
"A rule about bringing a man home when you're a mother," I clarify. "About not bringing some random stranger and exposing your kids to a… to a creep or something."
June purses her lips and frowns. "Oh, so now you're saying Luke is a creep?"
"No, he's not," I say adamantly. "He's not."
"So what's the problem?"