I’ve never driven through any place so nice. When I’m told my destination will be on the left, my jaw drops.
Nan is living here?
Seriously, what in the world is going on? She goes from the tiny cottage at the retirement center to this?
It’s practically a mansion. I have no idea the square footage as I turn my car onto the half-moon drive and park. The all-white house with a black roof looks modern, plucked right from the pages of a home renovation magazine. A porch leads to a set of natural wood front doors, with two large picture windows on the right, one on top of the other. To the left, there’s a single door that matches the front, which looks like it could lead to an attached guest cottage of some kind. The landscaping is pristine—not a blade of grass out of place.
The front door opens, and finally I see a person I recognize.
“I thought I heard your car.” Nan has her arms out, ready to welcome me in for a hug.
“Where are we and what am I doing here?”
“Now, now.” She links her arm through mine when I don’t return her hug. “It’s too hot outside. Come in and we’ll tell you what’s going on.”
As if that isn’t ominous enough, a shrill cry rings out. “Is that…”
“A baby?” she interjects. “Yes. Stop dillydallying and get your rear inside.”
“Okay, what in the world is going on?” My purse falls off my shoulder and onto the floor with a clatter.
Stepping inside, I’m immediately met by the most gorgeous set of brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Same question. What in the world is going on?”
ChapterFour
BODE
“Why won’t he stop crying?” I plead to no one in particular.
I’m exhausted. It has been nothing but screaming and crying for the last week. Caleb has been with me for a month. Add in getting peed on this morning, and I’m ready for the day to be over.
It hasn’t been the easiest month I’ve ever had, but I thought we were settling into a good routine.
That was what Harper drilled into my head. Routine. Babies thrive on routine.
Thank God it was the offseason because I don’t think I’d be able to adjust to having a son during the regular season.
Which also causes new waves of panic to surface because I don’t know how I’m going to make that work.
“I can see you’re borrowing trouble,” Gran tells me as she walks inside.
“What? No, I’m not.”
Grabbing the half-empty coffee pot, she gets a mug from the cupboard and pours herself a cup. “Honey, I have raised you more than half your life. I see that face. You’re worried.”
“Why won’t he stop crying?”
“Have you fed him?” Gran asks.
“Yes.”
“Changed him?” She drops down onto a bar stool, kicking one leg over the other.
“Obviously.”
Gran rolls her eyes at me. “Well, maybe he’s just fussy. It happens with babies.”
