I sit on the floor beside them and Tilly crawls over to me. Chuckling, I lift her and blow a raspberry on her stomach. She giggles, and the sound is one of the most precious things ever.
“You’re good with her,” Haisley observes.
“I was thinking the same about you. We’ll be fine raising our little Meatball.”
“I can’t believe you’re still calling the baby that.” Her chuckle turns into a snort, and I love the sound of her being so free with me.
We spend an hour playing with Tilly, showing her different toys while making noises of animals. She gets fussy when it’s close to her bedtime, so Haisley cradles her and sings in Spanish as she takes her to bed.
A soft melody spilling from her lips is gentle and sweet. I don’t recognize the lullaby, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the way shesings it while swaying with Tilly that has me completely mesmerized.
I lean against the doorway, watching as she carefully lays the baby down, smoothing a protecting hand over her fragile body. When she turns around and spots me, she stops in her tracks. “Were you there the entire time?”
“Yeah, and I was admiring how natural you are.”
She tries to hide her reaction with a small laugh, but I can tell my words have gotten to her based on how her back straightened from the confidence boost. “It’s babysitting, not rocket science.”
“No, it’s more than that. You’re going to be such an amazing mom, Haisley.”
The weight of my comment settles between us as she processes the words. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
It feels as though we’re standing on the edge of something big. But then she jokes. “You know, for a guy who had a full existential crisis over one dirty diaper, you’re doing pretty well yourself.”
“Listen, I stand by what I said. That was against everything logical. But I think I’m getting the hang of this tiny human thing.”
Haisley’s face softens as she glances toward the crib. “Me too.”
We stand there for a beat, watching the sleeping bundle of joy we somehow managed to keep alive and happy for one evening. And for the first time since this whole thing started, I realize something: I actually want to do everything with her, which makes all the difference.
18
DON’T PLAY COY WITH ME, LAVIGNE
HAISLEY
It’s honestly unfair how hot Rasmus is with a baby in his arms. I mean,unreasonablyhot. He should come with a warning label.
All night, I kept stealing glances at him. There’s something about a six-foot-plus, tattooed hockey player gently blowing raspberries on a baby’s belly and making duck noises that apparently short-circuits my brain.
There was this ease about him that I wasn’t expecting at all based on his nonexistent experience with babies before tonight. And it messed with me. Because somewhere between the diaper disaster, the giggles, and getting Tilly to bed, it hit me: he’s not just going to beadad. He’s going to beour baby’sdad.
And I still don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know how to let him in. Not when parts of me still flinch at the idea of needing someone…of trustinga new person in my life. It’s not that I don’t want to. But it’s hard to let him in after the disappointments of my past dating life.
What if I let him in and it all goes wrong?
What if I lean on him and he pulls away for some reason?
What if this version of him, all in and seemingly ready for fatherhood, is temporary?
These are the questions that run through my mind as we step out of Ollie and Peyton’s place. I hug my green winter coat tighter around me, questioning if I should call an Uber or walk home from here. Some fresh air could be exactly what I need right now.
“You wanna grab something to eat?” Rasmus asks, startling me from my thoughts.
“Isn’t it getting too late for you?”
“It’s the start of the bye weeks, so I’ve got a relaxed schedule for almost two weeks,” he reminds me.
