“Is she okay?” he asks.
I raise my eyebrows and let out a breath. “She’s seven months pregnant, her sister doxxed her, trolls on theinternet are sending her horrible messages and she hasn’t heard from her parents since. How do you think she is?”
He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes, the move so familiar I have to look away.
“But you—you’re looking after her?”
I nod, turning back to him and looking in his eyes so he can see how serious I am about his daughter. “I’m looking after her.”
“Good, that’s good.” He nods.
I round the car to the driver’s side. “Can I give you some advice?” Terry looks up eagerly. “Don’t letthemruin what relationship you can have with your daughter. And your granddaughter.” I add.
“It’s a girl?”
“Yeah, it’s a girl.” I say softly. I readjust my hat on my head before opening the car door.
Terry lets out a breath before burying his hands in his coat pocket. “That’s…that’s great.”
“Terry,” I call as he turns away, leaning my arms on the top of the car. “You’ve got my number now, yeah?”
He nods his head and I climb in the car. Looks like my afternoon plans have changed.
Five hours later, I’m sitting surrounded by a dozen screws, even more cardboard, a half assembled crib and an open beer bottle I had to open just to get through the afternoon. The front door opens downstairs and I hear Rosie call my name.
“Nursery,” I call out around the nail clenched between my teeth.
“Whoa,” Rosie says as she steps inside and assesses my carnage.
“Good, you’re here,” I say, shooting her a wink. “How good are you with handheld tools?”
She snorts as she unwinds her scarf and unbuttons her coat, her round stomach appearing beneath a dark green jumper. “You’ve been busy.”
I pull the nail from my mouth and rise to my feet, crossing to her and pressing a kiss to her lips. She sinks into me and I inhale her, her lips still cold from outside.
I pull away gently and nod my head to the crib. “I’m nearly done.”
“What happened to the old one?”
I shrug. “I took it downstairs.”
She steps towards the walnut crib. From the instructions on the box, I’ve deduced that it’s an advanced style that will see Smudge through all growth stages. It’s warm and homely, cozier than the marble white one we had before. I watch as she rests her hands on the wood, and I come up behind her.
“Don’t put too much weight on it, I’ve got too many screws left over,” I joke.
“Good thing the baby’s not too heavy. I’m sure it will be fine,” she deadpans.
I press a kiss to her neck as my hands cradle her belly, taking its weight. She sighs in relief and rests her head on my chest.
“You smell nice.” I mumble as her scent invades my nostrils. Eucalyptus and mint.
“It’s the massage oil. I can’t wait to shower it all off.”
“I can help you with that.” I tilt my head and press a kiss to her soft skin. “Did you have a nice time?”
“The best,” she says quietly as her eyes flutter closed and she leans further into me. “What did he say?”
We sway gently as I tell her about her dad, how he wanted to ask more but didn’t.
