“I’m really glad you answered that Craigslist ad.”
Pleasure and happiness mix into a heady cocktail I didn’t know I was missing. I bury my face in his pecs and laugh.
“Me too.”
And I mean it.
Which is terrifying.
But also—maybe—kind of perfect.
Chapter 13
Google: Can I Have Sex on a Hay Bale?
Twenty-one Days Until I Have to Go Back to Work
It’s beentwo days since Selleck was born, and Jamie and I agreed to take turns watching him. Tonight’s my first shift. I’ve set alarms for every two hours. It’s midnight now—my second check-in. I won’t get any sleep for maybe the next week, but maybe that’s good practice if I ever do have kids.
I peer into the stall, and my breath hitches.
Jamie is sitting on a pile of golden hay, cowboy hat dropped over his face. On his lap is baby Selleck, who’s curled up on the fluffy green blanket that was lying over Jamie’s sectional just three nights ago. Arrietty's head is on Jamie’s forearm, and she’s snoring softly.
I snap a picture, then stare at this perfect scene.
Jamie isn’t shirtless, but this will definitely get social media traction. I’ll reach out to the web designer we used at Manhattan Vet Clinic to see if she can work some magic here.
“You staring at me, Doc?” Jamie says, cowboy hat still dipped low.
“Sorry, I was trying to be quiet.”
“Don’t be. I was waiting for you.” He gently settles Selleck next to his mom, then walks over to me.
“Why?”
“Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the small office tucked into the back corner of the barn—the one I’ve barely spent any time in. The door groans open, spilling a slice of golden light across the hay-dusted floor.
Before I can ask what we’re doing, he snags a lunch bag off the spotless desk and heads to the far wall. That’s when I notice it: a narrow wooden ladder bolted to the beams, half-hidden behind a rack of harnesses and thick blankets. He tugs it free, the rungs squeaking in protest, and flashes me that boyish grin that makes rational thought temporarily impossible.
“Where does that go?” I ask.
“Afraid of heights?” he teases, already halfway up, the bag slung over one broad shoulder.
“Afraid of falling to my death at midnight? Yes.”
“You’ll be safe,” he promises, glancing down at me. “I got you.”
Fuck it.
I grip the rung and follow him up, the wood cool beneath my palms. When I reach the top, Jamie wraps his arm around my lower back and helps me over the ledge. The loft is open, scattered with old boxes at one end, and at the other end, under a massive skylight, lie scattered cushions on a pile of blankets with tiny electric candles surrounding them.
“What is this?”
“Come see.” He walks me over and opens his bag. “Wine or hot cocoa?”
“Cocoa first.” I grin, and he hands me a cup, then serves me some cocoa from an oversized green thermos.
“Can’t forget your favorite part.” He sprinkles marshmallows on top.
