She stepped into the front room, taking in a pale brunette dressed in sweats and a T-shirt with an olive-colored army surplus coat over it all. Cynthia clutched a yellow stuffed bunny under her arm, the head squished like she’d forgotten about it. This woman wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
But before she could take the thought further, Sam nodded curtly.
“Amy, this is Aiden’s mother. Cynthia.” Sam offered the woman a seat as he made the introductions. “I’ll get Aiden, but he’s not leaving the house.”
“Of course.” The woman shuffled her boots along the welcome mat before she darted into the spot Sam indicated. “I just want to hold him for a few minutes,” she explained while Amy took a seat on the couch nearby.
“Do you live in the area?” Amy asked, hoping it sounded like friendly conversation and not like she was gathering intel on a rival woman in Sam’s life.
Although perhaps, in all honesty, it was a bit of both.
“I live in Franklin.” Cynthia went to tuck her hair behind her ear, and, as she moved, the stuffed bunny fell to the couch. She righted the animal and set it on the wooden coffee table. The sleek, polished surface of the hickory was a nice balance for the rough exterior shape of the wooden plank.
The piece gave her an idea for the rafters in the loft room she wanted to build in the hunting cabin. She tucked it away for later.
But it was easier to think about her renovation project than about what to say to Sam’s former girlfriend.
Cynthia shot to her feet at the sound of Sam’s footsteps in the hallway. He held Aiden in his strong arms, the boy tucked securely against his father’s wide chest.
Amy’s breath caught in her throat just seeing him. She wondered vaguely if Cynthia felt the same. She knew they’d only shared a fling but still—they now shared this baby and a whole life she’d never be a part of. That stung more than it should have.
Yet the woman’s eyes seemed to be all for her son. Theirson. Seeing the three of them together—however briefly—Amy couldn’t help but wonder if Sam would be trying to work things out with the mother of his child if not for her presence in his life.
Was she a distraction when he needed to focus on family?
“I’ll make his bottle if you’d like to feed him while I get ready for work.” Sam handed over the baby as Aiden started to fuss. Amy followed him into the kitchen to leave the new mother with her child.
“Sam.” She kept her voice low while he moved around the island to flip on the bottle warmer. “I should go.”
“No. You shouldn’t.” He wore the same basic clothes as he had the day before. Not a uniform, per se, but the black pants and gray shirt had a generic look about them, even if he happened to be fiercely handsome no matter what he wore. “We haven’t even gotten to talk this morning.”
The long look he gave her heated her skin.
Until she remembered the woman in his front room. A woman suffering from postpartum depression, separated from her child and at a truly vulnerable point in her life.
“We can talk later. Cynthia drove all this way to see you and Aiden?—”
“She’s here for her son. Not for me.” His tone rumbled a hint of anger before he raised his voice to be heard in the next room. “Cynthia, would you explain to my friend why I’m so sure you’re not here to rekindle some old flame between us?”
Amy stiffened. “That’s unnecessary.”
“I think it’s very necessary.” He heated the bottle in the warmer.
Cynthia stepped into the kitchen, holding Aiden on her shoulder, her cheek tipped to the baby’s down-coveredhead. She’d removed her coat and tossed a cloth over one shoulder to protect her T-shirt.
She looked comfortable with her child in her arms and younger somehow. Less unsure of herself.
“Sam and I had a one-night stand,” she explained quietly, her blue eyes locking on Amy’s. “He didn’t know I was still married at the time.”
“Whoa.” Amy dropped into a bar stool. Had she said that out loud?
No wonder Sam was having difficulty sharing parenthood.
Wordlessly, Sam passed the warmed bottle to Cynthia, his jaw flexing before he retreated to the coffeemaker to start a fresh pot.
Cynthia repositioned her baby and settled into the cushioned banquette built around a corner of the table in the breakfast nook.
“The night I met Sam, I thought my marriage was over. My husband had sent me the divorce papers, and I signed them.” She focused on the baby while he ate greedily, readjusting the blanket when he kicked a foot free. “I drove into Nashville and went out as a mental farewell to my old life. I found Sam.”
