He brings in box after box of things for Maggie. Each time he does, he doesn’t talk or even look at me. Each time he does, my disbelief grows. I run through so many different emotions, I get dizzy. There’s too many to grasp all of them, so I hold onto the one that I can identify the easiest.

“You have to take them back,” I tell Michael, when he finally looks at me. In response, he gives me a grunt. “I’m serious, Michael. They have to go back. I can’t keep them.”

“The fuck you can’t,” he grumbles, turning away from me and going back into the nursery. I watch from the door as he grabs the broken bassinet and begins walking towards me.

“What are you doing now?” I gasp, literally blocking the doorway.

“Making room in here so I can start putting the furniture together, while I’m waiting on the tow truck. Then I’ll go do some business, and come back this evening to finish putting everything together,” his dark voice rumbles.

“But I’m using that bassinet to put the baby in my room until she gets older!” I cry, feeling completely out of my depth.

Michael makes a noise that is not really his trademark grunt, it starts that way but then spreads into a rumbly growl. He places the basinet back down, and he looks at me. He’s standing right in front of me, his head bent down to stare at me. I stretch my neck up, so I can stare right back. I should be scared—especially with my history and the mean look this huge man is giving me. I can’t explain why I’m not. I can’t even explain how I know in my heart that Michael would never willingly hurt me…but I do. Standing here going toe to toe with him seems natural.

“I bought a bassinet,” he mutters, in the same deep, husky tone as his growl.

“I can’t pay for it! I can’t pay for any of this stuff! You have to take it back!”

“I paid for it,” he says, leaning further down. Remarkably, I don’t back up, I don’t even think, I act.

“Then go get your money back,” I tell him, pushing my finger into his chest for emphasis.

“No.” he breathes an exaggerated sigh, straightening back up and pushing his hair from his face.

“No? You can’t say no.”

“I just did.” he’s back to the rumbly growl, his brow crinkled up in clear irritation.

“Michael,” I start again, but our attention is diverted when you can hear a large vehicle outside. I can’t see it but from the noise, you can tell it’s big, because it’s loud and there’s that large air sound and squeaking like the vehicle has air brakes, like those used on big rigs.

“Hayden if you don’t want the fucking furniture then I’ll throw it out when I get back and burn it. I’m not asking for my money back. I’ll get rid of the shit when I get back,” he mutters, his voice cracking, but not as much this time as it usually does. Maybe because he’s talking in a lower tone?

“You’ll burn it?”

“If you don’t want it, yeah,” he says, his eyes going back to the doorway I’m standing in front of, when a horn blows. “Can you move so I can get out the door? That’s probably the tow truck out there,” he says, rubbing his beard around his chin, his forehead scrunched up.

“You are just going to burn all of it?”

“If you don’t want it.”

“That makes no sense, Michael. Why would you just burn it?”

“Jesus, Hayden. Let me through. I just wanted Maggie to have the best. She deserves that and with all the work you put in fixing the room, I could tell you wanted it. I’m sorry I bothered now,” he growls and this isn’t a rumbly growl. It’s a growl I’m pretty sure would cause tigers to cower in the corner, afraid to move. Then, he puts his hands on my upper arms and picks me up, effectively moving me out of the doorway. He puts me down, out in the hall and turns to leave. I put my hand out without thinking about it, grabbing his shirt in my fist. I stumble when he moves, but he stops when he feels my weak pull on him. “What now?” he asks and this time, I can tell he’s exasperated with me past the point where he’s even trying to contain it. Still, for some reason I’m not scared.

“Could you bend down here, please? Just for a second?” He frowns, but does as I ask. Before I can second guess myself, or my need to do it. I reach up on my tip toes, bracing myself on his massive chest and lean up and kiss him on the lips. His beard tickles, and it’s just a quick peck. To be honest if I hadn’t felt the soft give and tasted the faint minty flavor of toothpaste, I wouldn’t have been sure I touched his lips. “Thank you, Michael. I’m sorry I reacted badly. I’m just…I’m not used to someone being so nice. Thank you for caring about Maggie,” I tell him.

When he says nothing, I start to feel even more awkward. I look at my hands to realize I’m still bracing myself on his chest. I let go immediately and step away. Michael continues to stare at me for what seems like forever, but in reality, is probably shorter than a minute. The horn outside blares again, and Michael continues to stare. Then he shakes his head, grunts and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Only when he leaves do I take my hand and rub it against my lips, wondering if maybe, just maybe, I’ve lost my mind. It was a peck. A thank you, but Michael clearly thought it was weird. Maybe I should have only hugged him? Or even better, maybe shook his hand? I shrug it off and go back into the kitchen. I have work I need to do.