Blondie kissed my cheek again and went to wait outside on the porch while I tried not to have a panic attack. What in the fuck was I supposed to do now?
I made a pillow fort on my bed, blocking all the edges, and then attempted to get the baby out of her car seat. That five-point harness was serious. She was sleeping, not skydiving, but whatever. When she was finally free, I lifted her out and laid her down in the center of the bed. I’d take the guest room. The sheets were dusty in there, and I didn’t want her sleeping on them. I didn’t know much of anything about babies, but I knew their skin and lungs were probably more sensitive than my man-hide was.
Once she was settled, I opened the duffel bag that Jenn had dropped off with her. Inside was a fuzzy pink blanket, some tiny clothes, a sippy cup, diapers, wipes, and a folded sheet of paper. I opened the note and looked down at Jenn’s neat handwriting.
Max,
I know this comes as a surprise. I’m sorry to just dump her on you like this, but I know you can handle it. I know you thought you couldn’t, or maybe you just didn’t want the responsibility, but you’re the strongest man I know. You’ll be better at this than I was. I’m sure of it.
Her name is Dylan. She just turned one, her birthday was Sunday. She takes a nap after lunch and she loves baths. Thank you.
With love,
Jenn
I flipped the page over. That was it? There were no instructions? No manual, no nothing. I knew the running joke was that men didn’t read instructions, but believe me, these I would have at least glanced at.
The fact that Jenn had named her Dylan made something clench inside my chest. Bob Dylan was my favorite musician and Jenn knew that—she used to tease me about it. Said my taste in music was from another century. I realized that her choice in name was a way to pay homage to me. If she was willing to do that, then why keep the pregnancy from me? Why hide the fact that she was having my baby?
My gaze drifted back over to the baby . . . my daughter. That would take some getting used to.
I had no idea what I was going to do, but I hoped the morning would bring some clarity.
? ? ?
I heard the crunch of tires on my gravel driveway and looked out the front window. Thank God Tiffany’s here.
I was wired after three cups of coffee and had been pacing my living room for the past thirty minutes.
Tiffany had been my personal assistant for going on three years. She made sure all the bills got paid on time, the supplies were ordered for jobs, and most importantly, she kept me in line. She was a problem solver, and so even if this was supposed to be her day off, I needed her.
As usual, Tiffany let herself inside. “What’s going on?” she asked, toeing off her shoes at the front door. Working so closely together these last few years meant we were practically family. At least, that was how I viewed our relationship.
Before I could answer, her gaze landed on Dylan, who was sitting on my living room floor watching the Saturday morning cartoons just like I used to do as a kid. Only these weren’t the cartoons I remembered. They were too violent and had crude humor, so we’d have to work on finding something more suitable.
“Max?” Tiffany said, her voice rising like my name was a question.
“Yeah. I know. You better sit down.”
Her brows jumped and she lowered herself onto the couch, her gaze still on the little girl. “Is she . . . yours?”
“Yes.”
Tiffany swallowed. “Jenn?”
She knew all about my failed attempt at a relationship. In fact, Tiffany had even played the role of a rebound at one point. After my breakup with Jenn, Tiffany had kissed me at our company Christmas party and had grabbed the front of my jeans, or rather, what was inside. And for the next ninety seconds, I’d let myself think with my dick—towing her into my office and kissing her back. But then I’d come to my senses. I’d let her down carefully, wanting to preserve our working relationship.
Rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, I sighed. “She dropped her off last night. Said she couldn’t do it anymore.”
Tiffany placed her hand over her chest. “Wow. I’m going to need something stronger than coffee this morning,” she joked.
I sat down on the couch beside her. “You know I’m not good about asking for help.”
“No, you’re not. But you’re going to need it.”
I nodded again.
“Whatever you need, Max. I’m here.”
I swallowed, scrubbing a hand over my face. My gaze wandered down to Dylan, who was still absorbed in the show. I’d changed her diaper when she woke up this morning, given her dry Cheerios and filled her sippy cup with milk. She’d watched me curiously while I drank my coffee, but she didn’t cry and didn’t ask for her mama, which was both a relief and made me sad. I didn’t know what I was doing, but so far, so good.
“You know I don’t like to admit it when I need help, but I’m not going to be able to manage everything, not with work too. I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want to stick her in a day care where she doesn’t know anybody.”