And Jasper…well, he was the one who paid for the little jersey, insisting to buy the baby his first hockey gear. Because it made sense hisUncleJasper would do that—his words, not mine.
I park Papa Shane’s SUV in front of Haisley’s brownstone later in the evening. The front door swings open, and Timmy steps out. His attention goes to the bags and boxes neatly stacked in the trunk.
“Did you buy the entire Babies R Us?" He jokes, helping me carry the items inside.
It’s my first time inside Haisley’s brownstone, and while I expected it to be nice, I didn’t expect it to feel so much like her. There are colorful art prints in the foyer, small unique details here and there, and I can totally see her everywhere. The place is also way bigger than it looks from the front.
The ceilings are high, the moldings look original, and the warm-toned wood floors add to the charm. It’s a mix of oldand modern touches, exactly the kind of place I’d picture her in—cozy but elegant, comfortable but impressive.
I get why she wants to come back here. It feels more home than my place does.
Timmy nudges me as we step further inside. “Stop gawking, Lover Boy. We’ve got work to do.”
He leads me to the second floor, where the empty guest room is. The walls of the soon-to-be nursery are currently a soft cream color, but we’re about to change that. Haisley once mentioned in a text that she bought gray paint she wanted to paint the walls with. So that’s what we are about to do.
Timmy claps his hands together to get my attention. “Alright, Big Guy. Before we start, I have two rules. One, don’t fall off the damn ladder. Two, if you do, it’s your fault.”
“That a new rule you came up with or based on previous experience?”
“Listen, I have a track record of being an excellent painter,” he says mock offended. “But accidents happen.”
Stripping off my hoodie so it won’t get paint on it, my black T-shirt underneath rises a bit, revealing my ink. Timmy whistles. “Damn Westerbro, no wonder Haisley got knocked up?—”
I smack the back of his head playfully, stopping the words coming next. “Get the damn rollers and tape.”
We start taping off the trims, silence falling between us as we prep the walls. But it doesn’t last too long with my chatty new friend in the same room.
“You nervous?” he asks, covering the floor with a tarp.
“About what?” I ask, though I already know. It’s the same question everyone asked me after finding out about the baby.
He gives me a pointed look. “Don’t play stupid with me.”
I let out a slow breath, dipping the roller into the paint tray and pressing it against the wall. “Like I told Haisley and everyone else listening, I want to be a good dad to our boy. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Good. ‘Cause that little dude is going to have the best mom ever, and I’m hoping his dad is even half as good. But that’s still undecided.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mutter.
Timmy completely ignores my tone. “Now, let’s hurry up before she gets home and finds out we suck at painting.”
“She won’t be here until tomorrow or the day after, so we have time.”
He grins. “Oh, so we’re pulling an all-nighter, Ice Daddy? Just two dudes and a bucket of paint.”
“That sounds too close tothatone viral video.” I shake my head, horrified and amused at the same time. “We’ll be done in a couple of hours if you stop talking and paint.”
“My chitchat is what makes this bearable,” he says, dunking his roller into the tray with a flourish.
Every once in a while, Timmy gets distracted and starts doodling nonsense on the wall. At one point, I catch him sketching what looks like a dinosaur if you look at it from a certain angle.
“What the hell is that?”
“A masterpiece only those who love art would understand. So not you,” he replies. “You don’t seem to be a guy who gets modern art.”
“It’s more like a crime against art.”
“Hush, Man Bun Majesty.”
