“Close. We’ll practice later. I love you, but don’t feed me your food, okay?” I turn back to Blair. “Busy morning?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You’ve got...” On instinct, I step closer, wiping what I think is flour off her skin. “You’re baking cookies?”
“Cookie!” Noah cheers, bouncing in my arms. “Cookie!”
“Yes, madeleines. I can bring some over later. I just need to run to the shop. I’m all out of sugar.”
The words are out before I can stop to think why this is wrong. “I’ve got sugar. You mind finishing in my kitchen and watching Noah for ten minutes? I could use a shower, and this devil can’t be left unattended.”
Lies. Filthy lies.
Noah’s fine spending a few minutes alone if he has enough toys. Also, I had a shower while he was still asleep, but... I don’t really know what.
There’s not one explanation in my head for why I just asked her to spend time with me.
Not one excuse.
Maybe curiosity.
She’s in sweatpants again. A rare sight. Blair Fitzpatrick never once came to school without a face full of makeup, a perfect outfit, and bling. She’s not wearing any of that now, and it’s like staring at a brand-new person.
Her cheeks heat, eyes darting to my lips before shifting to Noah. “Will you help me with the cookies?”
“No.”
“He’ll help when it’s time to eat them,” I say, opening my condo. “Come in.”
“Let me grab everything first.”
“You need a hand?”
She looks me over. “Yours are full. It’s okay. It’s just a few small things. Won’t be a minute.” She disappears into her condo as Noah pinches my nose.
“Juice,” he says. “Juice!”
“I can’t wait until you speak full sentences.”
He speaks a lot already for his age. Mom said neither my brothers nor I started talking until we were around two, so Noah must take after Cassidy. He’s sixteen months and has a vocabulary of about twenty words. He mostly shows me what he wants, but I bet he’ll be talking my ear off in no time.
Leaving the door ajar, I take Noah in, and by the time he’s got a sippy cup, Blair’s back with baking trays, three bowls, and an array of spatulas and ingredients.
“I’ll try not to make a mess.”
“You can try all you want,” I say, washing my hands under the kitchen faucet. “Noah won’t share your sentiment. I’ll grab a shower. Help yourself to whatever you want.”
With a tight nod, she lifts Noah into the highchair, and I head to the bathroom for the quickest shower in the history of mankind.
Ten minutes, and I’m back, dressed in clean—for now—clothes. They’re filling the baking trays with batter. Noah grins when Blair helps him, guiding the tablespoon in his hand. Seeing them working together, his tiny hand engulfed in hers, makes me ache in a way I don’t understand or even want to think about.
There’s not as much mess as I expected, though if I collected the batter from Noah’s t-shirt, the counter, and the floor, we could make another tray of madeleines.
Leaning against the wall, I watch, taking a moment to appreciate how beautiful Blair is. She should throw away all the slutty dresses she owns and embrace how good she looks when she’s not even trying.
Soft strands of hair dance around her face, her cheeks flushed from the oven, giving her a rosy glow. I prefer this side of her. The carefree girl with a big, genuine smile. She feels real. Not like the other one—the rude, self-centered bitch.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, peering up at me. “I’ll clean this up in a minute. We’re almost done.”
