I turn for the door, then hear Felix’s voice. “Hey, munchkin. Did you have a good nap?”
Ellie’s response is garbled but enthusiastic, and his answering laughter rumbles through me.
“Let’s get you changed. We’ve got a surprise downstairs.”
“Prise?” Ellie’s voice is excited.
“Yep. But first, diaper change. Not your favorite, I know. But Uncle Fee’s getting pretty good, aren’t I?”
It feels like I’m eavesdropping on an intimate moment. But I can’t seem to make myself turn off the monitor or stop listening to Felix’s patient, playful tone as he talks Ellie through getting changed, or her delighted giggles when he apparently makes a funny face.
This is the Felix no one else sees. Not the cocky NFL star or the charming flirt or the guy who trades barbs with me at every family gathering. This is the man underneath all that armor. And he’s so much better than he thinks he is.
By the time they make it downstairs, I’ve finished the laundry and composed myself. Mostly.
Felix has Ellie on his hip, and she’s pointing at the boxes with wide eyes. “Big box!”
“Really big,” Felix agrees, carefully setting her down. “Want to help me open them?”
She bounces on her toes and gives me that toothy grin. “Ewwie and Pi help.”
My heart clenches again, and I head to the kitchen for a knife to cut through the packing tape. For the next twenty minutes, we work together to unpack and assemble the play kitchen. Felix reads the instructions while I sort pieces, and Ellie “helps” by sitting in the middle of the chaos, banging toy pots and pans together like she’s leading an enthusiastic one-toddler band.
“Hand me that panel?” Felix points to a piece of pink painted wood. “The one with the oven door?”
I pass it over, and when our fingers brush, the familiar but still unsettling shock zips up my arm. I pull back quickly, nearly dropping the oven door. He catches it smoothly, his eyes meeting mine with a teasing glint that says he knows I’m not thinking about toy furniture at the moment.
Focus, Piper.
“This is about a thousand times nicer than the kitchen in my house,” I joke, needing to break the tension. “Which hasn’t been updated since my mom died, so the bar’s pretty low.”
Felix looks up from where he’s attaching the sink unit. “Yeah?”
“Scuffed cabinets, laminate countertops, floral wallpaper.” I tick off the list. “It’s classic.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He fits another piece into place. “It just means it has character.”
I chuckle. “A generous way to say it’s outdated.”
“I want my forever house to have character. To feel like people actually live there.” He adjusts the cabinet door. “I’ve had too many friends and teammates with sterile showroom houses.”
The phrase “forever house” hits me square in the chest. Felix Barlowe thinking about forever anything feels significant, even if he’s just talking about real estate.
“I bet your decorator in Denver loves you as a client,” I answer, switching to what feels like a safer topic.
“Everyone loves me.” He grins, and I realize now that I knowit’s part of his mask, the cocky expression I used to find annoying feels charming. “I’m extremely lovable.”
Apparently not safe at all. “Keep telling yourself that, Barlowe.”
He winks, and my toes curl. “Spittin’ facts.”
Sure, sure.
He finishes tightening the last screw and sits back on his heels. The kitchen is even more gigantic than it looked in the photo on the box. There’s plenty of room in the cabin, of course, but it’s almost comical to watch Ellie exploring her new toy.
“How did you decide on this kitchen?” I ask, trying to hide my smile.
“I Googled ‘what’s the most expensive play kitchen you can buy’ and ordered it.”
