Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Okay.” He looked up at me from his seat on the couch. “Thank you. For being here. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come back.”
“It’s okay. You’ve gotten me out of a jam plenty of times.”
“This is more than a jam, Emme. And I was a total dick to you earlier.” He stood up. He stood close. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
Oh, God. I could smell him, and the combination of man and baby smell does things to the body of a woman my age. Things that make the blood run faster, the heart beat quicker, and the ovaries send confusing signals to various other parts of the female anatomy. Parts that harden and tingle. Parts that flutter and whoosh. Parts that swell and pulse. For a moment, all I wanted in the universe was for him to touch me. Kiss me. Want me.
Was I going insane?
Paisley began to cry. I took a step back and headed for the kitchen. “Come on. She’s hungry.”
It took Nate much longer than it would’ve taken me to make a bottle for her, and she cried the whole time he carefully measured and poured and added water and mixed it up, but I wanted him to do it on his own.
“Not too tight,” I warned him as he screwed on the cap, “or she won’t be able to get anything out.”
He immediately started loosening it.
“But not too loose, either, or it’ll drip all over the place.”
He grunted and tightened it a little before handing it to me.
I shook my head. “You have to warm it first,” I told him. “No, no, no, not in there,” I said as he popped the microwave door open. “Run the hot water on the tap and hold the bottle under it.”
He looked at me blankly. “How will I know when it’s warm?”
I shrugged. “You guess. Try 30 seconds, shake it up a little, and see if she takes it.”
Nate did as I asked, but after shaking it, he held it out to me. “I don’t know how,” he said.
I took the bottle from him, and asked him to follow me into the living room, where I sat down on the couch. “Hey, see if there’s a bib in the bag. You know what that is?”
“I think so.” He dug around in the bag until he found one, and managed to get it snapped behind her neck while I held her. In doing so, the back of his hand accidentally brushed against my breast. “Sorry,” he said, his cheeks going a little red.
“It’s okay. Now sit.” But my stupid nipple was tingling.
He hesitated, but eventually lowered himself to the couch, and I transferred the baby to his muscular arms. It was the first time he’d held her that way, and she looked so small against his chest. I wondered if he felt any tug of paternal affection, or if he was still too stunned to feel anything at all.
“Hold her with her head in your left elbow so you can feed her with your right hand,” I advised. When she was situated, I handed him the bottle. “Here you go. Tip it up gently at first in case the nipple is too fast.”
He looked at me curiously. “There’s such a thing as a fast nipple?”
“Only the rubber kind. Don’t get excited.”
For the first time since we’d discovered Paisley in the hall, he actually smiled. It didn’t last long, though, because he was so nervous about feeding her. But she sucked eagerly at the bottle and made contented little noises as she drank.
“Is this right? Am I doing it right?” he asked.
“You’re doing great. We’ll let her drink a couple ounces and then you can burp her.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
I grinned. “You’ll be fine.”
And he was—sort of.
He managed to balance her on his knee, her stomach braced on one hand as he rubbed her back to encourage a burp, exactly like I showed him. He learned how to hold her against his chest, her head over one shoulder, as he walked around the room patting her back. He even talked to her a little bit as he moved around the room. “Sorry I’m not much good at this stuff, Paisley. Maybe I’ll get better.”
When she finally let out a pretty good-sized belch, he looked over at me, shocked. “Was that her?”
I nodded from where I sat on the couch. “Yep. Good job. Want to see if she’ll take the last ounce?”
“Okay.”
But she wouldn’t, and Nate was frustrated. “She’s not eating it. Why won’t she eat it? What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said from beside him. “Babies don’t always finish the entire bottle.”
He set it aside and looked down at her for a moment. Her eyes were open and locked on his. “Do you think she’s cute?”