Toby nodded sagely, as though he had these conversations all the time. Perhaps he did. Aside from the fact that he liked ambient music and was likely a virgin—with men, at least—I knew nothing about him. “You look like you’ve held a baby before.”
“I have. Hundreds of times. My sisters have a gazillion kids between them.”
“Do they live around here?”
“Not anymore. They moved away after my mum’s house went back to the council.”
“She died?”
“Yup.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a while ago.”
“Where do you live now?”
Toby spun around with Ella in his arms and pointed towards the main road. “I rent the annexe at George’s place.”
“George?”
“Old bloke. He’s supposed to be retired, but he works here anyway. You’ll see him around.” Toby tickled Ella’s cheek. “What about you, bug? Where do you live when you’re not with your dad?”
“Bude.”
“She’s Cornish?”
“Nope. Born in Hammersmith. But her mum moved down here a month ago, so maybe she’ll end up with an accent like yours.”
“Not mine, I have too much of my dad’s Irish. But I suppose it’s better that than cockney hipster.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll take that, but only because she likes you.”
The moment fell for me to take Ella back, but as I raised my arms, Harry and Rhys wandered out of the main house. If they were surprised to see Toby holding my kid like she was his own, it didn’t show, but I felt Rhys’s gaze all over me. Always did, in my convoluted mind, at least.
Harry took Ella from Toby. She seemed so small in his big arms that my heart did a little flip. Harry was the softest dude in the world, but what if—
Toby nudged me. I tore my gaze from Ella, but he was already walking away, leaving me to ponder the meaning of his elbow in my ribs and why the simple gesture made me spin for a loop.
Maybe it’s not Toby. Maybe it’s you.
True facts, but it had been a very long time since I’d last felt so unbalanced. I’d worked hard to be a man who had something to offer other people, and the knot in my chest scared me. And distracted me to the point that I barely noticed Harry relinquishing Ella to Rhys and ambling away.
“He’s a nice kid,” Rhys said when I failed to speak.
“Who?”
“Toby.”
“Kid?” I scoffed. “He’s twenty-four.”
Rhys whistled. “Is he really? Jesus. He’s got such a babyface, I forget.”
“I like him.” I spoke to myself as much as Rhys, but he hummed his agreement.
“He’s great. Even better now he’s got over his crush on Joe. That shit was painful.”
That piqued my interest if it hadn’t been razor-sharp before. “Oh yeah? When was that?”
