SIX WEEKS POST GROCERY STORE BIRTH
“We still on for tomorrow night?”
“What’s tomorrow night?” Mia asks from beside me where she’s lounging on my sofa, remote in hand as she scrolls through the channels on the TV.
“New season of The Bachelor starts next week. We need to start a new fantasy draft.”
“You really need to get out more Amz,” she says with a giggle.
“Yeah,” I reply, tilting my head toward Brody who’s lying on his back underneath his play gym. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Who else is coming?”
“Just Abi, Zoe, Nat, and Kristy.”
“Ooh, so we’ll all get a good spread of picks then.”
“We will indeed.”
“Are you staying for dinner tonight or does your husband and daughter want to see you?” I ask.
“I’m staying and we’re ordering in. It’s best friend etiquette.”
My brows shoot up. “You sure? You don’t have to stay, hun. You’ve got your family to get back to.”
She leans over and puts her hand on my arm. “Amz, having a child doesn’t mean you have to stop living your life. Matt is more than capable of watching Emma. In fact, they’re having a daddy-daughter date at Lincoln Park Zoo. Mommy is having a best friend date with Aunty Amy, gorging on takeout, and doing her research so she gets only the best eligible women for our bachelor’s lonely heart.” By the end of her speech, she has her hand over her heart and is looking at me with a fake dreamy expression.
I giggle, shaking my head as I get down on my knees and crawl over to Brody and kiss his forehead. I sit back on my butt and lift him up, cradling him in my arms, needing my next baby hit. Turning his head, he nuzzles my shirt, looking for food and setting off my let down like practiced clockwork.
I scooch back to my chair and pull myself up, getting comfortable while simultaneously pulling up my top and unclasping the cup of my nursing bra with one hand.
“Look at you go. You’re a pro at nursing now,” Mia says as I move Brody’s head toward the motherland of milk known as my nipple. I grin and watch Brody latch on.
“So . . . Thomas . . .” Mia says quietly, dragging out his name.
“Yes . . .” My eyes drift over to her, wondering where she’s going with this.
“What’s up with that?” she asks, tilting her head toward the kitchen where the man in question is cleaning up.
“He’s just helping out.” My eyes drift to the doorway before moving back to my best friend.
“Helping out? Amz, it’s been six weeks. There’s helping out and then there’s that.” She tilts her head at the kitchen leaving me in no doubt what that is. She doesn’t stop there though. “He cleans, he cooks, and he sits here at your beck and call. That’s more than ‘helping out.’”
I shrug and feeling Brody pull off, run my hand up to cradle his head and guide him back to my nipple.
“At first I figured it was just him helping out like the rest of us. But you guys were never that close, well I didn’t think you were. And now—now—he’s still around and he’s still doing dishes and stuff. It’s so far from the Thomas I know, it’s not funny . . . well, it is, but—”
I stifle a giggle but have to stop her before she says something bad. “Meems . . .”
She snaps her mouth shut and stares at me, her eyes going from narrowed contemplation to wide surprise. “Oh my God, no. . . .”
It was a statement, not a question and one I’m not quite sure how to answer. To me, he’s just Thomas Caldwell. Good cook, good guy, and freaking awesome at catching a baby in a grocery aisle.
“When I had Brody and Thomas was there, something kinda happened between us.”
“While you were giving birth?” she asks, her hushed voice rises to a squeak.
“No!” I stage whisper back, looking down to check that my baby boy is still sleeping, he’s not, instead his bright blue eyes—my eyes—are staring adoringly up at me while he continues to nurse.
“Then what is it? And why are you only telling me about this now? I’ve seen you at least three times a week since then and not once have you said that there was anything going on between you two.”
“There’s nothing going on between us. I’ve just given birth for God’s sake. It’s just . . . oh, I don’t know.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I know I’m not going to get out of this without explaining.
“We’re just connected now. There’s something to be said about sharing a surreal and deep experience together that just . . . it just makes you see someone in a new light,” I say with a shrug.
“Amz, I—”
“No, Meems. It’s not anything like that. I’m a single mom with a newborn baby. He was there when Brody came into the world and since then, he’s been here for me.” She opens her mouth to say something but snaps it shut. “And it’s not romantic, not for him. It’s just—”
“How do you know it’s not for him?” she says.
“Because it’s never been like that between us. We were friendly acquaintances, then I could say that we became loose friends because of all of you. Now . . .”
“Is it romantic for you?”
“I don’t know what it is. Not once has he let me down since Brody’s birth. He said he’d be there for the two of us and he has been. Every single time he said he’d be here, he’s been true to his word. Even late at night when it would normally just be me and Brody, he’s stayed to keep me company, offering adult conversation that isn’t all about the baby.”
Mia looks meaningfully back toward the kitchen, her lips morphing from pursed into a slow smile when she turns back to me.
“You sure there’s nothing romantic there?”
“He’s just Thomas. He’s always just been Thomas.” Then, because it’s Mia and she’s one of the biggest meddlers I know, I lie. “I don’t know if I’d want things to change.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
The night after I got home from the hospital, Thomas was knocking on my door.
Since then, he’s called or come over every few days. And don’t get me started on how utterly adorable he’s been with Brody.
The first moment I wished things were different with Thomas, Brody was two weeks old and had been up most of the day, refusing to sleep unless he was on me. It was the growth spurt from hell and I was grumpy, tired, hangry, and desperate for a shower lasting longer than a minute. When I heard the doorbell ring, I was literally ready to throttle the person behind the door.
Thomas took one look at me and didn’t waste any time in taking Brody out of my arms and ushering me toward the bathroom. When I emerged twenty glorious minutes later, Brody was lying in his crib almost asleep and there was a ham salad sandwich waiting for me on the coffee table.
And for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of a life where I wasn’t a single mom and I had a partner who’d have my back when times were tough.
I’m jerked back to reality when Brody pulls off my nipple again. Knowing he’s had enough, I quickly tuck my breast back into my bra, clasping the cup and pulling down my top before lifting him up and propping him up against my chest, rubbing gentle circles on his back.
“I like this,” she says, her whole face now bright, almost hopeful. Oh no.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Mia Taylor, don’t go getting any ideas. He’s just being a good friend.”
“Thomas is a great guy, he’s awesome. He has his own business, he’s settled and not going anywhere anytime soon, he has his own apartment, he’s single and—”
“Abstinent,” I say deadpan.
She throws her hand up nonchalantly. “Meh. The difference between abstinence and jumping back on the horse is one flash of those sexy milk jugs of yours.”
“Mia!” I hiss.
“What? You two would be good together. He’s definitely a step up from the sperm donor, that’s for fucking sure.”
“Remember what happened the last time I let my vagina make decisions for me?”
“Vaginas make mistakes, but they can also be fucking geniuses. Look what happened when I finally listened to mine.”
“Yours just made you pull your head out of your ass and see what the rest of us already knew.”
“Oh, I saw wood all right, a lot of it. Still do in fact,” she replies with a laugh.
“Too much information. You’ve already informed me the ‘mini’ in mini WD is a gross understatement. That’s all I need to know about your baby daddy.”
Her face goes soft, her expression turning dreamy.
“Oh stop with the mushy happy face.”
She turns to me with the same look. “Amz, you’ll have reason to look like this one day. You of all people deserve a man that’ll make you happy and give you lots and lots of orgasms. Until then, let your fingers do the walking and your trusty vibrator do the talking. I promise you, your vagina will thank you for it.”
“Brody is only six weeks. There has been no walking or talking or anything even close to that with my vagina.”
“Did I hear someone say vagina?” that deep caramel topped voice I may or may not hear in my dreams says. Both Mia and I snap our mouths shut, our eyes moving to the side of the room where the sexy—in no way is he getting anywhere near my vagina—man of the hour leans against the doorframe. He’s holding a dishtowel in his hand and I can honestly say that there isn’t anything I’ve seen lately more titillating than that image.
I really need to get out more if that is doing it for me. It’s a freaking dishtowel for Christ’s sake.
“I bet you like vaginas,” Mia says, looking up at him with a smirk.
“I think any straight male does.”
“Even abstinent ones?” she presses. My eyes snap to hers and if looks could kill, she’d be gravely wounded at the very least.
Thomas throws his head back and laughs. “Believe me, whether I’m having sex or not, I’ll always be a fan.”
“Happy vagina, happy life, I say,” Mia adds.
I turn apologetic eyes to Thomas. “I’m sorry, Mia doesn’t have a filter.”
“I do too! I hate the word but I’m with Thomas, I’m a huge fan of the body part. Thankfully my husband is too.”
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Thomas says, turning to put the dishtowel on the kitchen counter and back to face me. “Is there anything I can get you before I go?”
I can’t deny that my belly does a mini whoosh at the offer. The last few months have seen Thomas stay true to his word about helping me with Brody. I honestly didn’t expect him to follow through.
Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t need to. I didn’t ask, in fact, it’s felt a little weird—but in a good way—spending so much time with him.
Before Brody’s birth, our interactions have been brief at best. Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve had to have been dead not to see how hot he is. I’m not—or I wasn’t—in the right head space or right place in my life in general to consider anything with him. Let alone contemplate the possibility that he’d want anything with me. Pregnant with another man’s child? It’s not high on the list of desired women.
“Ah . . . Amz? You still with us?” Mia muses. I turn wide eyes her way before realizing I never answered Thomas.
I look over at him. “I’m good. And thank you for doing the kitchen, you really didn’t have to.”
His gaze pins me in place. “Said I would, sweetness. It’s just cleaning. You have your hands full with Brody.” He closes the distance between us, stopping just short of touching me.
“But—” I say, tilting my head up to watch him.
“What did I say?” he says softly like he only wants me to hear.
“I know,” I acquiesce, my breath catching as he bends and rests a hand on the back of my chair. His head dips and he kisses the top of Brody’s head—bigger whoosh—then mine. Mega whoosh.
“Anything you need, anytime you need it, Amz. I said it and I meant it. Now do me a favor and just sit back and relax,” he murmurs against my skin, his warm breath fanning over me. It takes everything I have not to shiver.
He straightens and meets my eyes, giving me a meaningful nod before moving over to Mia and kissing her cheek.
“You two enjoy your Bachelor draft planning and feel free to continue discussing my favorite female body part in my absence.” My cheeks heat—something he doesn’t miss if the knowing glint in his eye is anything to go by—but he doesn’t call me on it. He simply grins and leaves the room.
“Maybe I do have to pop home,” Mia blurts out as soon as he’s gone.
“You do?” I ask, turning back toward her as I adjust a now sleeping baby onto my chest.
“Yeah. After that little display of non-platonic affection, I either need to jump my husband or have a cold shower.”
“You’re full of it,” I say, shaking my head.
“And you’re in denial if you’re really still going to tell me that you’re just friends with him.”
“I am . . . we are . . .” I quickly retort.
“Maybe you’ll try to be, but he’s definitely not aboard the same ‘just friends’ train.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“Maybe,” I reply with a huge grin.
“Definitely.”
And damn her, now she’s watered the seed I long ago buried when it came to liking Thomas, my mind, stomach—and definitely my vagina—won’t let me forget about it.
Shit!