Baker’s eyes find mine, and he looks worried. “Hey, buddy,” I tell Camden. “That’s not a nice word. Daddy didn’t mean to say that.”
Cam furrows his brow. “Daddy, no?”
“That’s right,” Baker says. “Daddy, no.”
“Daddy, bad,” Camden says.
Baker chuckles. “I’ll do better,” he assures his son.
“I took care of his outfit,” I tell him, and he whips his head around to stare at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I took that shiny black card you gave me with my name on it and bought him a new suit for today.” I shrug. “I figured he’d need it because I didn’t see anything in his closet. I thought worst-case scenario, you bought him one, too, and I could return it.”
“I—Thank you, Sloane. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these last few weeks without you.”
I nod. “What do you want for breakfast?” I ask, pretending like my heart isn’t squeezing in my chest at his praise.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That may be, but you need something in your belly.” I get to work making us both a bowl of vanilla yogurt with strawberries and granola. “Eat up,” I say, sliding the bowl toward him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Once Cam’s finished eating, I’ll get him ready. I’ve already got a diaper bag packed with a change of clothes in case the monkey suit is too much for him, and we can change him on the way home. I also have snacks and anything else we might need. All you have to do is get yourself ready.”
Baker nods and dives back into his breakfast, finishing in just a few bites. He stands, rinses out his bowl, and places it in the dishwasher. His hands land on my shoulders, and he gives them a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, his lips next to my ear. His touch disappears just as quickly as it appeared, and he takes his warmth with him. “I’m going to get dressed,” he calls over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.
I wasn’t sure how he would react when I told him I’m going with them. I was hoping he’d be okay with it, but I wasn’t expecting the relief that crossed his handsome face when he realized that he didn’t have to face this alone.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Lifting him from his highchair, I leave the mess for later, careful not to get sticky fingers on my dress. Today is going to be hard, and this little guy has no idea what we’re about to face. My heart aches for both of them. I wish that I could fix this for them. The best I can do is be here for whatever they need—both of them.
Upstairs, I clean up Camden’s face and hands, help him brush his teeth, and wet his wild locks. “Look how handsome,” I coo at him, when he’s all dressed in his little suit. I don’t bother with the jacket just yet, and I might not at all. He might hate it, and he looks adorable without it.
“Need help?” Baker asks from the doorway.
I glance at him over my shoulder. “I was just telling Cam how handsome he is.” I turn back toward Cam and tap his nose with my index finger, making him laugh. “You’re handsome, just like your daddy.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of it. This is not the time for me to be dropping truths about how hot my friend-slash-boss is.
I feel Baker step close, his body aligned with mine. One hand lands on my hip, while the other he presents to his son. “Very handsome,” he agrees, talking to Camden. “And Sloane is beautiful,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
“Swoan, butaful,” Camden repeats.
“You’re a charmer.” I smile at the boy and ignore his sexy-as-sin father.
Baker rests his chin on top of my head. Camden is holding one hand while the other still rests on my hip. “Are we ready to go?” he asks, his voice soft.
“We are,” I answer, my voice barely a whisper because he’s touching me, and his body heat is warm and inviting. I curse myself because this is not the time for this. I can’t go there with him. Not while I work for him. Right?
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s not the feel of his lips against my temple before he steps back and reaches for his son, lifting him into his arms. “Where’s the diaper bag?” he asks.
“I’ll grab it.”
“I can carry it,” he counters.
“You’ve got precious cargo; I can handle the goods,” I tease, trying to lighten the moment because my heart is racing and my body is calling out for him to touch me again. Anywhere, anytime—now, preferably.
With his free hand, he rests his palm against my cheek, and I can’t resist leaning into his touch. “You’re both precious cargo,” he says softly. “You saved my a—behind today,” he says, correcting his wording for his son’s benefit.
