“All right, all settled.” Addison appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a light blue button-down top with polka dots. It was prim and proper, very Carol Brady—not that Addison was old enough to know who that was.
She glanced around the room and winced, but then covered it quickly with a smile. “I can take it from here.” She aimed that grin at Dylan, who cooed in delight. “All I need to know is what Dylan’s daily schedule is usually like.”
She turned her gaze on me and I frowned, unsure how to respond. “Her schedule?” Dylan was a baby. She didn’t exactly have a to-do list.
“Yeah, what kind of routine do you guys have?”
I blinked. “We, um, we’re sort of free spirits. Not much of a schedule.”
Addison tilted her head slightly, but her expression didn’t change from its placid, thoughtful state. “That’s cool. Since I’m new around here, Dylan and I can probably develop our own schedule over time. You’ll be surprised what a difference routines make for little ones. I’m sure you’ll see the improvement.”
“I’m sure I will.” I glanced at the door, then back at Addison. “Maybe I should stay around since this is your first day? I can work from home while you learn the ropes. I don’t want to just toss you in here.”
Dylan cackled, and I became uncomfortably aware of the electricity buzzing between Addison and me.
This poor woman must think I’m insane. One minute I’m an asshole, and the next I’m leering at her.
She swept her arm through the air, waving me off. “Don’t be silly. You need to work, and Dylan and I need a schedule. It’s a perfect arrangement for everyone.”
“I left a list of important information on the fridge. Phone numbers too.”
Addison nodded. “I appreciate that.”
Already, she was wiping away the smudge of peanut butter from Dylan’s cheek and clearing the crumbs from her high-chair tray.
“Don’t be afraid to use it, all right?” I said, suddenly filled with a strange apprehension at the thought of leaving.
“I won’t.” She picked up a few errant mugs from the table in front of the wide bay window and plunked them on top of the mound of dishes that filled the sink. “It’s almost eight. You should probably get going. Do you need some coffee first?” She motioned to the pot, and I shook my head.
“No, no, I’m fine. That’s for you.”
She grinned. “Thanks, that’s really nice.”
“Don’t be afraid to call me if something is wrong. My cell is the first number on the list.”
“You bet. Don’t worry. You have my number, and everything is going to be great,” she said encouragingly. The dimple in her cheek made the briefest appearance, and despite myself, my lips split into a matching smile.
“Yeah.” I nodded, and I wasn’t sure how she did it, but twenty minutes later, she managed to push me out the door of my own house. Before I knew it, I was standing on the steps where she’d been only moments before, staring at my truck and digging in my pocket for my keys.
I had half a mind to walk back in there and read aloud to her everything I’d written down. I was nearly to the point of turning the handle when she appeared with Dylan at the front window, both of them waving me off.
“Bye-bye, Daddy,” Addison cooed. “Say bye-bye.”
I waved back at them, then trudged toward my truck with a full heart. As I backed out of the driveway, they never moved from where they stood. All the while they waved after me, and I watched them in my rearview mirror until they were only specks.
How could Jenn have left Dylan with me like that when it was making my gut churn just to leave her behind with the nanny? I shook my head, marveling at the oddness of parenthood, and doing my best to ignore the little voice in my head that urged me to turn around and go back home to be with Dylan again.
Maybe that was why the drive to work felt so exceptionally long. It was like every light turned red and all the traffic crawled to a standstill. My only options were to the stare at the clock on the dashboard, or wait for my phone to buzz with news about the baby. I knew that any second I would get a message asking me to come home, or telling me that Dylan was sick or . . .
I took a deep breath. My office building was just ahead of me now, and I pulled into my parking space, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.
“Coffee,” I muttered to myself. “I’ve got to get some coffee.”
Climbing out of my truck, I pulled my cell from my pocket and glanced at the home screen. It was cheesy, I knew, but Dylan’s face stared back at me from the photo I’d taken yesterday and chosen as my wallpaper, a spit bubble still wet on her lips. No messages.
“Probably still having breakfast,” I said, then internally scolded myself. I couldn’t go through the entire day talking to myself. I wasn’t going to become that guy—that nervous parent who left the office at lunchtime because he couldn’t stand to be away from his kid.