Mom drives me to Mason’s, not saying much. I try to assure her that I don’t want to get involved with an older man, especially not one with a newborn.

I love babies but no way in hell am I ready to deal with one on a permanent basis.

She just listens, nodding, but the look on her face still says she knows something that I don’t.

In Mason’s driveway, I hug and kiss her and thank her for the ride. She tells me not to hesitate to call her if we need help, night or day.

Mason’s house is out in the country, very rural, in a nice secluded spot with no close neighbors.

It’s a large, new home, a rambling, ranch-style bungalow on a big lot. It’s a nice size, but it’s not a pretentious McMansion. It’s at the end of a long, private driveway.

Any client of my dad’s is bound to have money. If this place is anything to judge by, Mason’s doing okay. Maybe not on a level with Bill Gates, but that’s fine by me.

It’s a peaceful spot, lots of trees and birds, almost no traffic on the road. A nice place to raise kids.

The soft sound of lullaby music is coming from behind the house.

“Hello? Back here,” Mason’s voice calls out.

Following the sounds, I go around the corner of the house and stop to take it in.

The driveway continues for maybe fifty feet before ending in a enormous, detached, two-story garage. The roof of the garage bristles with antennae and the structure boasts four roll-up doors. It’s big enough to house an impressive car collection.

Or maybe, the Bat Cave, I think to myself.

To my right, there’s a big patio, set away from the house, with a fire pit, benches, comfy chairs, a water feature and a gazebo strung with lights.

Attached to the house is big deck, which holds a huge grill under a rain-roof, conveniently placed close to the sliding doors leading inside. The deck has lots of seating, including built-in benches with outdoor cushions, punctuated by small built-in tables for drinks or whatever.

A lush green lawn rolls away from the house. Old-growth trees and saplings alike grow nicely spaced apart. Shady spots are dotted with benches, and little paved paths meander here and there.

The lawn is bracketed by garden beds coming into summer bloom, home to annual and perennial flowers and plants proudly displaying their colors.

Far in the distance, a line of trees forms what’s probably the back border of the property line. A very large multi-acreage property, by the looks of it.

It’s a stunning place, secluded and lovely. Wryly, I think to myself that it makes my parent’s home look kind of cheap in comparison.

“Hi. I heard the car,” says Mason.

He’s lying in a shady hammock strung between two trees. Baby Andrew lays belly-down on his father’s chest, eyes open, staring at his fist again in apparent wonderment.

There’s a blanket on the grass, and the diaper bag sits next to that.

Mason’s phone is open beside him, playing a YouTube lullaby video. Both his hands are on the baby, holding him in place, rubbing the child’s back in time to the music.

“Hi,” I say. “Wow, this is…what a nice place. Seems like a large property, too. Is that the property line way down there, by those trees?”

“Actually, I own the land pretty much as far as the eye can see. It’s mostly undeveloped, except for some hiking and ATV trails through the forested areas.”

He motions with his chin and I turn to look at the leafy canopy of trees in the distance. “There’s hundreds of acres of sensitive environments that I don’t allow anyone to step foot on. All kinds of wildlife. Deer, turkey, spotted owls and various other birds. Endangered reptiles and amphibians live in wetlands back there, too.”

“Hundreds of acres, all to yourself? It’s beautiful, Mason. And no wonder it’s so quiet.” I gesture at the house. “And this house…it looks like an entertainer’s dream.”

“Thanks. I…yeah, it’s a bit much, actually. I went with some existing plans the builder had. I don’t know how much entertaining I’ll be doing, quite honestly.”

“Well, you could rent it out for weddings or bar mitzvahs or, or…symphony orchestra concerts,” I say. We both laugh. I look down at the two of them, swaying gently in the hammock. “Did you know he’s awake?”

“He is?” Mason glances down before smiling back up at me. “He’s so quiet, I thought he was still asleep. I guess maybe he likes this music.”

“And the rocking. And the sound of your heartbeat. All babies like that. Hell, I’d like it myself.”

I grin down at him cheekily. He grins right back.

But the baby starts moving now, his bottom sticking up and his little face turning red. He grunts a couple times, and I start laughing as I realize what’s going on.

“What?” Mason says. “He can’t be hungry again already?”

“Oh, he could be,” I say, “but I think he just pooped.”

“Ugh, geez. Did I mention, he does that. A lot,” Mason snorts. “Well, let’s take him inside and deal with it.”

“Here, give him to me,” I say, holding my hands out. “I haven’t even held him yet.”

I take the baby, cradling and supporting his head, feeling that rush of tenderness that holding a tiny helpless newborn always brings.

Then I watch as Mason struggles out of the hammock, grunting comically.

“Shit, I forgot that it’s a lot easier getting into that thing than it is to get out of it,” he remarks. “I should’ve thought of that before I laid down in it with a baby in my arms.”

“Good thing I was here to take him,” I say.

“Good thing you’re here, period,” he says. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

* * *

We go straight through the house to a large master bedroom. It’s a little messy, with an unmade king-sized bed and clothes, shoes, personal and baby items. Lots of empty cartons and boxes are strewn around.

In a window-filled alcove on the far side of the room, there sits a long desk, holding three monitors and computer equipment. The screens are all blank, turned off or in sleep mode at the moment.

Against one wall next to the bed, there’s a changing table, a bassinet, and a bunch of brand-new, unopened packages of diapers, baby clothing, toys and assorted stuff.

“Sorry about the mess,” Mason says. “I ordered some stuff online and…what with the baby and all, I haven’t had time to tidy up much.”

“It’s not that bad. Is your housekeeper off today?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t work weekends. She’s not allowed in my room anyway. I clean that and my bathroom myself.” He pauses. “I mean, when I feel like it. I’m not gonna say I clean my room every day or anything.”

“Okay. Let’s get the baby changed and then you can show me around.”

Mason takes the baby out of my hands and lays him on the change table. As soon as he gets the onesie off, he makes a gagging sound. “Oh God,” he says. “I’m not used to this yet.”

“Do you want me to….”

“Nope! No, thank you. I have to get used to it. You’ll do your share soon enough. But right now, I gotta do this.”

I watch, amused, as Mason turns his head, takes a breath, holds it, then removes the diaper.

He looks so comical, I can’t help but giggle. He gives me a chagrined look, then wraps the soiled diaper up and chucks it into the nearby diaper bin, letting his breath out.

Then he turns his head, takes a breath again, cleans the baby’s bottom, throws the soiled wipe into the diaper bin, then finishes the job, including umbilical care, breathing normally.

I’m giggling the whole time, but still impressed with his handiwork. “You’re doing a great job keeping him clean,” I say. “Especially for someone who’s nauseated by baby poop.”

“I figure, it’s gotta get better. Right?”

“Right.” I’m sure not going to tell him how much worse it could be.

He picks up the freshly-diapered baby and tucks him into the crook of his arm.

Then he takes me on a tour of the house.

* * *

It’s a very nice place. He hasn’t been living here long, and it shows in the clean but sparsely furnished rooms.

As modern and up-to-date as you could want, the home features gleaming hardwood floors throughout, wired-in broadband in every room and high-end fixtures, appliances and finishes everywhere.

The kitchen is big and bright, with granite countertops, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, a small walk-in freezer, walk-in pantry and a Wolf range. There are deep, double sinks in front of a big window facing the back yard and the walls above and below the long, generous counter spaces hold plenty of cherrywood cabinets. Mason opens them to show me the locations of his restaurant-quality dishes, plus every accoutrement and kitchen gadget you could want.

A smaller sink for washing produce graces a granite-topped center island with disposal unit, separate, enclosed trash and recycling bins on one side and a full-length wine rack on the other.

A small hallway leads to a butler’s pantry, then an office, and a powder room. In the pantry, a brand-new high chair waits for Drew to grow into, and there’s a child’s dish set in bright, primary colors, waiting to be unboxed.

“The housekeeper uses the kitchen more than I do, but I’m trying to learn to cook,” Mason tells me. “Now that I’ll be home with Andrew, I’ll probably get better at it.”

“Have you always worked at home?”

“Just since I moved here, a few months ago. My shop is out back.”

There’s a big living room with a wall-mounted flat screen over a generous-sized wood-burning fireplace, and built-in shelves and cabinets in the same warm cherrywood as the kitchen.

While we’re in there, he shows me how to turn on the TV and access the internet, Netflix and his vast collection of movies. He opens a cabinet to show me gaming consoles of every type available.

“Won’t have much time for that anymore,” he observes.

The furniture is all very masculine, leather couch and chairs, with modern accent tables that complement the built-ins.

In here as well, there are brand-new baby items, some waiting to be unboxed and put together. There’s a baby bouncer and a playpen and there’s a colorful toy box already full of toys for a toddler. There’s an activity blanket and mobile set waiting for Andrew when he’s ready to play with them.

“You’ve made a good start on getting him outfitted,” I say.

“You think? Thanks.” He smiles. “I still have to baby-proof the whole house.”

“Yep. But, you have plenty of time.”

He shows me the basement, where there’s a full gym, a recreation room, a kitchenette, an additional bedroom and bath.

I don’t have to ask if he uses the gym. His muscled physique is testament enough, but the gym looks more lived-in than the rest of the house, with gym shoes, towels and items of clothing scattered among the racks of weights and equipment.

Back on the main floor, there are three bedrooms besides the master suite. Two of them remain empty. “One of these will be Andrew’s,” he says. “I haven’t decided which.”

Lastly, he shows me the room I’ll be using. Not your typical spare room, it sports a waterbed, a shag area-rug and one of those lamps that hang from a curved stand. To one side there’s a sitting area with a well-used overstuffed couch, a flat-screen TV, reading lamps, coffee and end tables.

“This is all stuff from my old place.” He shrugs, grinning. “This is actually what they call a nanny suite. This came with the house plans too. I figured it might come in handy at some point. It’s not like I knew I’d need it when I was looking at the plans.”

“Maybe you had an intuition.”

“Maybe. Either that, or, high hopes.”

“High hopes?”

“Just in case I ever met the right girl and get married again. Maybe her parents could use it or something. Look, it has its own ensuite, too.” He opens a door off the sleeping area to a sparkling bathroom. There’s a huge glassed-in shower that could fit a foursome at the same time, with two rainfall shower heads. There’s a separate tub, separate toilet enclosure and a bidet! Plus heated towel racks and a granite-topped vanity.

“I may never leave this room,” I say, smiling.

Back in the bedroom area, I take a second to flop on the waterbed, making a big wave and enjoying the way it rocks me.

Mason watches, amused.

“This is so cool,” I grin. “I’ve never actually slept in a waterbed!” I struggle a little to get off the bed. Mason holds a hand out and pulls me off.

“Thanks.” Our eyes meet, and then I look away. “The only thing is, we need somewhere for Andrew to sleep in here, too. I’ll want to keep him with me during the night so I can take care of him without waking you up.”

“Sure, no problem. That bassinet has wheels, so we’ll just bring it in here.”

He finishes the tour of the house by showing me the voice-activated, state-of-the art security system and Smart House controls.

It’s an amazing home actually. Clean and neat, thanks to his housekeeper. A spacious but manly and somewhat utilitarian home, it only lacks a woman’s touch to warm it up.

When we’re done, it’s time to feed Andrew again. We get a bottle of formula from the fridge, and I run the hot water tap so I can fill a bowl in which to warm the formula.

“Oh,” he says. “I haven’t been warming his bottles. The nurses at the hospital said not to use a microwave, but I didn’t think of using hot water.”

“Oh? Well, the baby will take it cold but ah, um…Nature serves it warm, so…”

He grins. “I gotcha. Listen, I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Maybe you could do this feeding, and I’ll take the opportunity to tidy up and organize my bedroom. As you noticed, right now, it’s the nursery too, and I want to get his changing station set up properly, get his clothes put away and all that. You could sit in the rocker in there and feed him, and give me your opinion about where stuff should go. That’d be a big help.”

Taking the warmed bottle back to his bedroom, I sit in what looks like a brand-new rocking chair and begin feeding Andrew, who eats with his usual gusto.

Mason watches for a moment, hands on hips, then turns and begins sorting through boxes and organizing his stuff.

“So, ah…from what you said earlier, I take it you don’t have a routine in mind yet?”

“Routine?” He snorts, breaking down an empty box and setting it aside to be recycled.

“Yes, a routine or schedule. Babies feed on demand at first, but it’s better to get them onto a routine as soon as you can. It’s good for everyone and it helps them sleep through the night. Obviously, it’s important that they learn to do that as soon as possible.”

As I speak, Mason’s gaze keeps focusing on my lips before returning to my eyes.

It’s making me very aware that we’re alone, together, in his bedroom, with his enormous bed just a few feet away. My face gets warm, and I stumble over my words a few times.

I explain how he can slowly train the baby to nap in the afternoons, and to have a bottle or meal at the same time as the adults have their meals and so on.

“And then, some people like to give their baby a bath right before bed. It helps relax the baby and being clean helps them sleep more comfortably.” I push my hair back off my forehead, trying to think if I’ve covered everything.

The way he’s looking at me with heavy-lidded eyes could be read as either sleepy or sultry. Probably sleepy…but the vibe in here as we talk together is changing; becoming closer.

More intimate.

“I think I read that somewhere, too. You know an awful lot about this, for someone so young,” he says, his voice very quiet.

Baby Andrew, finished eating, has been burped and is now dozing in my arms, his tiny mouth making sucking motions peacefully.

“As I said, I took courses. And babysat, a lot. I…don’t want any of my own just yet, but I love babies and small children. I think they’re wonderful. Beautiful.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Mason says. “And sexy as hell in a bikini.” He grins and opens his eyes wide. “Oops. Was that out of line?”

“Uhh, um, heh. I…I don’t know. Thank you,” I say, blushing.

Mason’s eyes hold mine, and we stare at each other for just a little too long.

I tear my gaze away and look around, suddenly overwhelmed with intensity.

He looks around at the room, too, then looks back at me, putting this hands on his hips and sucking that bottom lip between his teeth.

Humor…and something else…shines from his eyes. “I better get back to it,” he mutters, turning and running his hand over his face.

* * *

Sitting in the rocking chair with the baby cuddled against me, I watch Mason moving around the room, listening to him talk about his life, mesmerized by the play of his muscles and the unexpected grace and sexiness of his movements.

“So we got divorced after a year of marriage. It was amiable enough, but I still felt like a huge failure. And I was alone again.”

“I’m sorry, Mason. From what I’ve heard, everyone feels like that when they go through a divorce.”

“Yeah, no doubt. So, should I hang the diaper thingie here?” He gestures towards a space on the wall next to the changing table.

“A bit more to the right. That way you don’t have to step away from the changing table to reach the diapers.”

“Okay.” Using a hammer and some nails, Mason mounts a diaper caddy to the wall next to the changing table, then fills it up with fresh diapers. “Although, frankly I was glad when the ex moved back to Europe,” he says. “After a couple months, I un-friended her on Facebook, even though I don’t use it much. Just thought it was for the best.”

Our talk’s been flowing so comfortably, it’s like we’ve known each other forever.

So, now, I ask what I’m dying to ask. “And Drew’s mother? Where’d you meet her?”

“At a bar downtown. I was lonely, she was lonely. She seemed like a nice girl. There’s really nothing more to it than that.”

“I feel so bad for her. It must be a horrible to give up a child.”

“Yeah.” A look of sadness crosses his features, making my heart hurt. “It happens. She’s very distraught. I wonder if she’ll ever get over it. I just hope she doesn’t change her mind and try to, I dunno, somehow come back into his life and mess with his head. Or with mine.”

“Yeah. But if she relinquished her rights, then, how could she?”

“You never know what the courts might do. And if it’s down the road, and she’s stable, and I feel okay with it, and if she ticks all the right boxes…you know? If the stars all line up right, maybe it’d be a good thing for him, good to get to know his mother. Not share custody, but just, let them see each other.” He rubs his hand over his chin. “I lost both my parents when I was a teenager and I’d give anything to be able to talk to them again.”

“Oh my God! I didn’t know that! I’m so sorry Mason.”

“Thanks. It was a long time ago, but, yeah. I have no family to speak of. You know, that’s why I liked it at your house so much today. It’s nice to be around a loving family.”

My heart is a complete puddle in my chest now. He finishes making his bed, smoothing the comforter and fluffing the pillows into place.

Everything done, he stops to look around. It’s neat and tidy and peaceful in here now.

“This is great. I should’ve done this before I brought the baby home, but I’m still wrapping up a work project and…yeah. I had no idea how much work a newborn is. Even one who sleeps as well as Andrew does.”

He takes the elastic tie out of his pony tail, drawing my eyes to the play of his biceps. His hair falls loosely in thick, rippling waves. “I was trying to grow this mop out. Now I think I’ll get it chopped off. It’s just going to get in the way now.”

He looks yummy with his hair tied back, yummy with it loose, and I bet, yummy if it’s chopped.

I bet he’d look yummy bald.

He’s just a yummy guy that I’m finding myself very attracted to.

We spend the next three or four heartbeats just…looking at each other again.

Oh boy. Something’s bubbling up, under the surface. We both feel it, we both know it.

He steps towards me, closing the distance between us. I’m holding my breath, looking up at him, afraid of what I see in his eyes…and a little afraid of the desire that’s been growing in me since I laid eyes on him just this morning.

He stops in front of me, gazing down, a smile playing around his generous mouth. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and runs his fingertips over my arm, so lightly it feels like a soft wind.

Goosebumps rise on my skin, racing after his touch before disappearing again.