“Then you stick to that,” she says.“I’m guessing there are a lot of kids out there who could use your help.”
We shift into lighter chatter after that—her favorite coffee shops, the latest ridiculous thing Lucky did in a TikTok.She doesn’t stay long, and I’m grateful, as I really have work to do.But when she leaves, I strangely find myself feeling a bit sad.
Winnie hugs me tight enough I can’t wriggle free, but I’m not so sure I want to.And when I close the door behind her, the house feels emptier than it did when Atlas left earlier.
♦
I stand inthe kitchen, looking at the mess that must be cleaned up before I can go to bed.It’s been another exhausting day, but it wasn’t without success.Grayce woke up from her nap seemingly better, or at least fussing less.In fact, she had such a great nap this afternoon while Winnie was visiting, she was a little difficult to get to sleep tonight.She was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and no amount of warm baths, bottles of milk, or repeat loops of Gray’s awful “You Are My Sunshine” could get those eyes to close.
Finally, she went down and now I’m ready for dreamland as well.
But first, the kitchen.
It was only me for dinner, but it looks like I cooked for an army.That’s because I went ahead and prepped several meals for the week, not really knowing if Atlas would be here.We haven’t talked about routines and splits of duties and expectations.And we definitely need to talk about finances.
But I didn’t want to cook for myself only, so I made double the meals, which basically means double the mess.
I glance at my watch, see that it’s nearing eight thirty p.m., and wonder how long it will be before Atlas gets home.I have no clue how long a game lasts, but he did say he wasn’t going out tonight.That sort of led to a mini argument wherein I had to insist it was okay if he did and he had to insist he didn’t want to, and then it sort of fizzled out into a grudging agreement that it really didn’t matter what he did.
Curiosity strikes from nowhere and I have the sudden urge to watch the game.Not that I care about hockey—because I don’t like sports—but more because I am curious as to Atlas’s role on the team and how that will mold Grayce’s life.The whole Titans dynasty has been billed to me as a family unit, which implies every position is equally important.Is he one of the better players?Do the fans like him more than others?
I rationalize that I want to know because I need to protect Grayce from… well, I don’t know what, but it’s always good to research.
Ignoring the disaster in the kitchen, I grab the remote control and turn on the TV.It doesn’t take me long to find the game and Atlas’s TV is so large, it’s like I’m on the ice itself.
I turn down the volume so the announcers don’t distract me and spend several minutes trying to find Atlas.It’s nearly impossible as I realize the players rotate on and off the ice.I make a mental note to find out about that, but eventually, I spot him.
I’m not sure how it’s possible, but he looks even taller and more powerful on ice.He also looks more graceful, even though I soon learn, this is a rough-and-tumble sport.Players get slammed into the ice and the walls and two players get into a fight.I’m appalled and fascinated at the same time.
Every time Atlas comes onto the ice, I lean forward to get a better look.The camera zooms in on him, and his jaw seems permanently clenched, eyes sharp with focus.At once, I feel a flicker of interest warmer than curiosity.
I shove it down.I have no right to be feeling any kind of warm feelings for that man.It’s all about mutual respect and nothing else.
Still, my mind drifts to this morning and the awkward run-in we had.I’d grabbed a quick shower while Grayce was still sleeping.I had no clue if Atlas was awake or still asleep and hell, he could have been out of the house for all I knew.It was quiet downstairs, but I didn’t read anything into it.
Steam still clung to the bathroom mirror when I heard Grayce start to fuss through the monitor.I wrapped myself in a towel and made my way to the nursery, hair dripping down my spine.When I opened the nursery door, I was shocked to find Atlas was already there, leaning over the crib with his hoodie strings dangling into her reach.
He looked up, and for a heartbeat his eyes dragged over me—wet hair, bare shoulders, towel knotted just above my breasts.Heat flared in his hazel eyes, sharp and unmistakable.Then, as quickly as it came, he straightened, cleared his throat, and said something mundane about the baby.
Not sure I really heard it because I was mortified to be standing there half-naked in front of a man so gorgeous, he could be gracing a Times Square editorial campaign.
And all day today, I kept replaying that look.It did things to me I don’t want to give credence to.Atlas is the type of man who makes a woman do stupid stuff.He’s effortlessly masculine, the kind of man who could scratch an itch, if circumstances were different.But they’re not.He’s my co-parent.My roommate.I can’t let myself think of him that way.
The buzzer on the screen pulls me back.Titans win, 4–2.The guys swarm the ice, Atlas disappearing in a huddle of massive hockey players.Against my will, I feel a rush of pride.He’s good at what he does.Damn good, and admittedly, I’d like to know more about the sport now.
I push that aside though and turn off the TV.I’ve got to clean the kitchen and I’d like to be in bed before Atlas gets home.
I’m just finishing the last pan, drying it with a soaked towel, when my phone buzzes on the granite countertop.I lean over and see it’s a text from Atlas.Leaving soon.Need me to pick up anything?
My fingers hover.I should say no because I don’t like asking for favors.But I’m starting to realize that might not be an option and I need to open myself up a bit, especially since Atlas seems so committed to this co-parenting thing.
I let my thumbs fly, texting out a response.Can you stop and pick up some apple juice?
Three dots appear.Disappear.Then,Absolutely.Anything else?
My belly flutters slightly at the kindness of the gesture, but it’s my complete acceptance of it that has me questioning myself.Nothing else.Thank you, I text back.
I really didn’t need the apple juice.I just wanted to make myself take him up on an offer of help so I could see how bitter it tasted.
