We barely know each other. In fact, it was weird that I was so comfortable having him over last night. Pediatrician or not, I would normallyneverlet a man around Gus like that. Would never have felt comfortable falling asleep while he was in the room with my kid.
And yet. There’s something different about Russell. Something about him that just makes me feel relaxed.
Most of the time. When his eyes aren’t dropping to my chest like he wants to eat me whole, igniting parts of me I’d thought I tucked away. There have been a few flings here and there, but nothing brings me as much consistent pleasure as my vibrator, so I eventually stopped even trying to date.
I didn’t realize a man could still make me feel like this. Lighting up from the inside out, fire licking up my belly like it did last night when his gaze darkened, clearly noticing my nipples through my shirt.
I’d needed the shower, yeah, but I also needed cold water over my head.
Scrambling out of my bed, I find relief in the fact that I’m still fully dressed—in my sweats and BU t-shirt—and hurry out to the kitchen, where I find something I wasnotexpecting to see.
Russell Burch, standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. Blueberry pancakes.
Gus sits at the counter with a plate loaded up on small, fluffy pieces of the cakes, sausage, and a glass of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Good morning, Mommy,” Gus mumbles around a bite of pancake, smiling loosely at me, so some crumbs fall from his mouth and onto the counter.
“Good…morning,” I mutter back, my gaze traveling back to Russell, and I realize my mouth is open. When did he have time for all this?
As though he can hear my thoughts, he turns to me, and with something like a sparkle in his eye, says, “Ordered a grocery delivery last night, it got here early this morning. Naturally, an early riser. Figured I could make breakfast, and I noticed you were low on a few things.”
My gaze skips to the neat pile of brown paper bags by the garbage can, and I wonder just how much Russell deemed we werelowon. Swallowing, I glance at the clock again and realizeit’s just about the time that I would normally start the process of peeling myself out of bed.
I have plenty of time, especially since Gus is already up, eating breakfast, his hair combed. He sits shirtless at the counter, and I blink in surprise at the ingenuity of that—the syrup on his chest isn’t staining a shirt.
“Your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” Russell says, flipping a pancake expertly, not sloshing the thing over the side of the pan like I would have. It’s perfectly golden brown on the other side, and I stare at it like I’m in a fever dream. Maybe I am.
Dipping his head down to catch my eye, Russell asks, “How do you take your coffee?”
“There’s…creamer in the fridge,” I manage, stunned.
“Great,” Russell says, nodding and pointing at me with his spatula. “Go ahead, we’ve got everything handled in here, right bud?”
“Right!” Gus says through his bite. His fever must have broken last night, and the only sign he was sick is the slightest rasp to his voice. His cheeks are rosy but not flushed, and he looks truly delighted to have a breakfast that deviates from cereal and waffles.
Once again, my logical self is butting in that Istilldon’t really know Russell Burch that well, and I shouldn’t be leaving him alone with Gus. But apparently, Russell was here all night. There’s a blanket folded on the edge of the couch, and I realize he must have slept there.
Not only did the man risk his back by sleeping on my shitty sofa, but here he is, feeding my kid. Maybe I should be doing a background check on him. Surely, the hospital would have done a background check on him when he was hired? He works with kids for a living.
Maybe I should be embarrassed, or worried, or trying to figure out why, exactly, he’s doing this.
But the only thing I really feel is relief.
Turning, I head back down the hall to my room, step into the bathroom. For the first time in weeks, I have time to blow out my hair. Run through afullskincare routine. Do my makeup without just slapping on mascara.
I emerge from the bathroom unwrinkled, well-rested, and find a veggie omelet waiting for me on the counter, Gus standing in his school clothes. Russell is standing at the door, too, looking like he was waiting for me to come out.
“I have to get to the hospital,” he says, nodding his head toward Gus. “This outfit look right? We were flying a bit blind.”
Gus giggles, “It’s right! I told you it’s right!”
“Yes, that’s right,” I say, cheeks flushing, which hopefully Russell can’t see under my makeup. Hopefully, he can’t see how much this has helped me. I glance around the apartment, noticing justhowcleanit is. It looks like furniture has been moved, swept under. The corner of the rug is finally straightened out. The kitchen is gleaming, smelling nicer than it has in a long time. I suspect Russell was doing something to clean out the disposal, because it smells like oranges.
“The gala is tonight,” Russell reminds me, and I make a mental note to ask Ettie about a dress to wear. Surely she’ll have something.
“Oh yeah, right,” I say, glancing at Gus, who’s whispering with one of his toy dinosaurs. “I’ll be ready.”
Russell smiles, throws out agreat, and is out the door, disappearing just as quickly as he came.
