“We could revisit the nanny idea.” Preston had suggested going that route after talking to Victor. His sister employed a nanny for Pip, and Victor said it worked well.
Chelsea had dismissed the idea, claiming it would be too expensive, and she wasn’t swayed when Preston said he’d pay. Yet another instance when time wasn’t on his side. Apparently, a few weeks as a father wasn’t enough for Chelsea to agree to let him pay for a nanny she couldn’t afford.
“We wouldn’t need a full-time nanny, just someone flexible enough to work around our schedules,” he added. While Chelsea’s hours would be more fixed once the bakery opened, his would be all over the place during the season. “Victor gave me his sister’s number. We could call and ask her how it works with her nanny.”
When he made the nanny suggestion a week ago, Chelsea dismissed it out of hand. Tonight, it looked like she was considering it. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her.”
Preston smiled because—whether she realized it or not—Chelsea was slowly starting to allow him more input regarding Lennon.
By trusting him to pick out a high chair.
By listening when he suggested a nanny.
By spending the night here so that he could learn the nighttime routine.
He’d noticed in the past few days that she’d also stopped giving him instructions, letting him take the lead in Lennon’s care, confident that he knew what he was doing.
“Great. I’ll ask Victor to let her know we’ll call her soon.”
She nodded, twisting to face him, the side of her head resting against the back of the couch.
Chelsea studied his face for a moment, and he got the sense she had something else on her mind, other than childcare. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“When you retire from hockey, do you think you’ll move back to Seattle?”
No doubt, all the talk he and his parents had done over Christmas dinner about his hometown bothered her.
Preston shook his head. “No. I really do consider Baltimore my home now. It’s where my friends are, where you and Lennon are. And most importantly, it’s where my boat is,” he joked.
Chelsea burst out in laughter, the loudness causing Lennon to flinch. “Oh no,” she said, placing her hand on their son’s chest. “I’m so sorry, baby. Did Mommy scare you?”
Lennon settled quickly, continuing to suck down the milk in his bottle like it was his last meal. Preston’s mom swore he’d done the same thing when he was a baby, always guzzling every drop of milk, then seeking out more.
Of course, it was at that point Mom revealed she’d packed his baby album in her luggage, and she’d pulled it out, comparing the pictures he’d texted her of Lennon with ones of him when he’d been little. There’d been no denying Lennon took after him, something Chelsea good-naturedly joked about being unfair, considering she carried him inside her for nine months, before pushing his bowling-ball-sized head out of her body.
Preston would never forget the look of shock and amusement on Chelsea’s face when Mom responded to that joke, saying “preach” and lifting her hand to Chelsea’s for a fist bump.
“I guess I’m silly for worrying about something that’s years in the future,” Chelsea said, referring to his retirement from the sport.
“I’m not sure it will be years away,” he confessed. With the exception of Victor, Preston hadn’t told anyone he’d been thinking about retirement recently.
“Really?” Chelsea’s tone told him just how much he’d surprised her.
“This past fall was not a great time for me. Usually I’m chomping at the bit for the start of each season, ready to hit the ice again.”
“You didn’t feel that was this year?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve played in the majors for fifteen years, fourteen of them right here in Baltimore. Things I used to enjoy—like working out, the road trips to away games, hanging out with the guys after wins or losses—have started to feel more like, well, obligations, and not ones I necessarily look forward to. And it’s only gotten worse since…” Preston looked down at the baby in his arms. “Him.”
“Him?”
“And you,” Preston added, going for complete honesty. “I hate anything that means I can’t be with the two of you, even if it’s just for a few hours.”
Chelsea smiled, and for the first time, he got the sense there wasn’t any of that ever-present doubt in her eyes. It felt like she truly believed what he was saying. “You’re still brand-new to this parenting gig. The month after Lennon was born, I literally took three-minute showers because I hated that he was out of my sight. It gets easier with time. Or so Ethan tells me,” she added with a giggle.
Preston didn’t laugh, because there was too much truth to the joke. “That guy really is an authority on babies for someone who doesn’t have any. He gave me a twenty-minute lecture on teething, telling me what to expect. When I asked how he knew so much, he said he’d hit me up with some links to good baby sites. He sent me thirty-two links, Chels. Thirty-two.”
