Ashton shakes his head, koala swinging by its ear between his teeth. I sigh, hanging my head, even as Holden chuckles. I really should have known the toddler wouldn’t say anything. At sixteen months old, he’s shy and unwilling to be performative for anyone. It had taken months for Ashton to warm up to Tristan and Luci. I give Holden an apologetic smile, but he doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on watching the cars Ash pushes from one end of the mat to the other. A small smile plays on the man’s lips, as if he’s actually entertained.
“So…” I start, and Holden’s gaze jerks away from my nephew.
“I’m not good company today, am I?” he asks.
“Dude, I never expect anyone to be good company.” I laugh and shake my head. “It’s barely eleven anyway, so you have a few hours before I get disappointed at your lack of playing the role of court jester.”
“My, someone’s blunt.”
“I try my best.”
My phone buzzes, and I send the incoming call to voicemail. My stepmother is a lovely woman, but every conversation with her serves to give me a migraine and stress me out. Too often, the topics shift to Katie, and I have a hard time biting my tongue where my former stepsister is involved. We’d had a great childhood together. We were family for sixteen years. But Katie has drastically changed from the nine-year-old girl I once knew.
It’s more than evident in the way she treats her son, the way she prefers to live her life with no regards to the child she’s supposed to love and care for.
“You okay?”
My head snaps up. Holden stares at me, brows drawn together over gray eyes so dark with concern. I force a smile, clear the lump from my throat, and nod. Setting my phone aside, I round the bar to sit on my L-shaped couch, shifting until my back is against the armrest.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I finally reply.
“Not someone you wanted to talk to?”
“Not right now, no. Besides, you’re here. I can call her back later. She won’t mind.”
Thankfully, Holden lets it drop. He turns his attention back to Ashton instead of saying more about the call and how quiet I’ve become. My nephew has abandoned his cars in favor of the plastic building blocks. He slams them together before twisting them this way and that, fitting them together with a satisfied smile.
I cough quietly. “So what brings you to Austin, anyway?”
Holden hesitates, which piques my interested. A simple question can only have a simple answer, right? My curiosity grows when, after a moment, he merely replies with “Friends.” I shrug it off, though: If he wanted me to know the reason behind the hesitation and what he isreallydoing in my city, he would tell me. We are all entitled to our secrets.
A yawn slips free though I try almost desperately to stifle it. Holden gestures toward the door, but I shake my head. I’m fine, if a little sleepy.
“You can go if you wanna,” I assure him, “but don’t feel like you have to. Just under-caffeinated, like I said. Didn’t get to hit the coffeeshop this morning like I normally do.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Ash woke me up at, like, five this morning then refused to get ready to go. So I gave up.”
“Sounds rough.”
“It was, but…” I glance at the toddler—my nephew—my whole world—at the sunlight slanting across his cherubic face. “He’s worth it.”
When he starts tugging on my shirt and whining, I check the time. Noon. I rise to my feet and put together a quick lunch of string cheese, ham slices, and a quartered apple. Ashton reaches his arms up; I lift him up and set him in his highchair, placing the plate on the tray. Holden politely rejects my offer of food for himself, claims he ate a large breakfast. I shrug in easy acceptance—I don’t know if he’s lying and if he is, I can’t exactly sit on the man’s chest and force-feed him—and join him on the couch.
After lunch comes Ashton’s nap. I wipe his face and hands clean before carrying him into the bedroom. His eyes droop almost the second I tuck him in, and I kiss his cheek. He falls asleep without his lullaby, and I slip from the room only to stumble to a stop outside the door.
The cars have been placed in their basket. The koala sits on the bottom shelf of the bookcase with the rest of the stuffed animals. Ashton’s plate is no longer on his tray; instead, it stands nestled in the slats of the drying rack beside the sink. I blink a few times then turn my attention to Holden where he sits on the couch.
“Did you clean up?” At his nod, I can’t help but swallow thickly. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
“I know. You look like you keep busy enough with him, and I felt awkward just sitting here, so I thought I’d help out a little.”
“You’re a sweetheart.”
He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Nah, not a sweetheart. Just not a dick. Wait, can I say that?”
“Yes, Holden. You can say ‘dick’. So… How do you feel about some television while he naps?” I ask, and he gestures toward the available cushions.
