Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Time to shower, head over to Mom and Dad’s, and sweet-talk my mom into making my girl some of her blueberry muffins. They’re Riley’s favorite, and I need all the good deeds I can get for what I’m about to drop on her.
The clock on my dash reads 9:00 a.m. as I pull into her driveway. Mom suggested not arriving too early since she and the baby might be sleeping. I was ready an hour ago. Finally, I couldn’t take the wait any longer and loaded the container of muffins in my truck and headed into town. Luckily, the flower shop opens at eight, so I was able to grab her a small bouquet of daisies. I know they’re her favorite.
Leaving the flower shop, I realized I didn’t have anything for baby Hayes, and even though he’s not old enough to understand, I would know. So I made another quick stop at the pharmacy. There I grabbed a pack of diapers, wipes, and a couple of small toys that the lady in the aisle next to me suggested for a new baby. She also suggested a soft blue blanket, so I grabbed that too.
With my arms loaded, I make my way up the steps of the front porch and knock on the door, using my foot since my arms are full. I can hear the baby crying, and it’s getting closer and closer. When Riley opens the door, she looks haggard and stressed.
“Let me in, baby,” I tell her.
She doesn’t fight me, but she does try to glare at me as she steps back, allowing me to enter. Her attempt is useless. She’s exhausted, and that’s all I see. I rush into the living room and drop everything on the coffee table. Then I turn to find her watching me as she bounces Hayes in her arms and shushes him.
“Let me have him, Riles.”
“No. He’s my son. I can do this.”
I keep my voice calm. “I know, but he can tell when you’re stressed; at least that’s what I read on the internet.” I’ve been trying to brush up the last couple of days. If I am going to convince her to let me into their lives, I need to at least look like I have somewhat of an idea of what I’m doing. Fake it until you make it is the road I’m taking.
Cautiously, I take small steps toward her until I can reach her. I place my hands on her shoulders. “I know you can, Riles. But you don’t have to do it on your own,” I say over Hayes’s cries.
“What are you doing here? Jake is on his way. I don’t need you.”
“I’m taking his place today. He got called into work. Let me hold him.”
“No.”
“Riles, baby, you need a break. Let me give that to you.”
“Fine. Hold his head,” she instructs.
I take the baby from her arms and hold him against my chest, gently rocking back and forth while running my hand up and down his small back. He instantly starts to calm down.
“Figures,” Riley grumbles. “My own son hates me.”
“No way. He loves you, but he knows you’re stressed. Babies can feel that. Go take a shower or a nap or just watch TV. Give yourself some grace.”
“I need to do a load of laundry.”
“Riley.” My voice is firm, and now that the baby is no longer screaming it’s more of a whimper she hears me easily. “Sit your ass down.” I nod toward the table. “You have gifts, and my mom made you a fresh batch of blueberry muffins.” She groans, and I bend my head so that she can’t see my smile.
“Fine, but only because Janice went through the trouble,” she says.
“I’ll be sure to let her know that you enjoyed them.” She rolls those emerald eyes. At the same time, she moans when she removes the lid from the container of muffins.
I can’t take my eyes off her as she plucks a muffin from the container, peels back the wrapper, and takes a healthy bite. “So good,” she mumbles.
“What do you want to drink?”
“I can get it.”
“So can we.” I nod at the sleeping baby in my arms. “Milk?” It’s surreal how well he fits. I’ve never really had much experience with babies, but this little guy, he and I are going to be best buds. I can feel it.
“Yes, please,” she says before taking another huge bite of her muffin.
I manage to pour her a tall glass of milk with one hand and deliver it to her. “Here you go,” I say, placing the glass on the end table next to her. “He’s out,” I say, taking a seat in the rocking recliner, something she didn’t own before I left.
“Finally. He’s been up since four and started crying around seven, and I couldn’t get him to stop. I tried feeding him. I changed his diaper and nothing. He just seemed to cry harder.”