Page 17 of Harts & Hurts

“We can figure something out together. Like I said, we’re team Melrose. Nothing about this situation is a you problem. Everything is an us problem.”

8

Anistyn

The next morning, the chef showed up bright and early. She made breakfast while I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and showered. By the time I had Melrose all dressed and ready for the day, she was packing up.

“Hey. I’m Anistyn.” I introduced myself to her. “And this”—I picked up her chubby little arm and moved it in a wave—“is Melrose.”

The chef broke into a grin that was evidence of the fact that she had a heart for babies. “It’s nice to meet you, Anistyn. I’m Nina. You can call me Nina, or you can call me Chef. Whichever you feel more comfortable with is cool.” She walked closer, still smiling at Melrose. “And it’s nice to meet you too.” She took Melrose’s hand in hers. “Oh, she’s nice and juicy. When I start cooking for her, I know she’ll enjoy it.”

I had to laugh. “That’s a ways off in the future, isn’t it?”

“I know the books say not to give them table food until they get about eight months or so, but looking at this angel, she’s probably ready for purees. I would make healthy, all-natural purees for her—start her off with sweet potato. It has a little sweetness naturally, and it’s rich in vitamin A. I’ll make sure that Griffin has a food processor. If he doesn’t, he can pick one up.”

“Okay.” I agreed because, honestly, I wasn’t sure if the formula was even really satisfying her. She seemed to suck so hard on the bottle, like she was always starving. Maybe a little puree would give her feedings a little razzle dazzle. I would speak to Gretta and maybe a pediatrician first, but adding puree wasn’t out of the question.

“I’m going to get out of here. There are waffles, cheese eggs, chicken strips, and biscuits in the warmer. There’s Greek yogurt and fresh fruit in the fridge. Griffin gets a weekly menu. Have him show it to you. If you want any substitutions, have him text or email me.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

I was locking the door behind her when Griffin stepped into view. The guesthouse was so compact that there weren’t many places you could stand and not be seen, outside of the bedrooms and the hall bathroom.

“Good morning,” he spoke.

“Good morning.”

“It smells good in here.”

“Your chef said she made chicken and waffles, along with cheese eggs and biscuits.”

He motioned for me to give him the baby, so I handed her over. “You eat. I’ll feed Melrose.”

Since I was starving, I didn’t argue. I was kind and compassionate, though. Since my hands were free, I quickly made him a plate and a glass of iced water, then placed both in front of one of the three stools that lined the island.

After we’d eaten, Griffin suggested that we head over to the main house so I could finally get a look at it. I ran to the primary bedroom and rifled through my belongings until I found a notebook. Then I grabbed a pen from my purse and ran back out to the living room. “Ready, but we should grab the stroller from the hall closet and put her in that.”

He scrunched up his face. “I don’t mind carrying her.”

“I’m sure you don’t, Griffin, but think about it. For one thing, it’s probably not healthy for us to always be holding and carrying her. I feel like the only time she’s not in one of our arms is when she’s in her car seat. We don’t want to give her a false sense of what the rest of her life is gonna be like.” I thumped myself lightly in the chest area. “I, for one, can’t sign up for toting her around when she gets to be ten months. She’s cute, little, and chunky now. She won’t always be.”

He smirked. “You have a point. And maybe us holding her all the time is one of the reasons she hates tummy time so much.”

“Besides, there won’t be anywhere to sit her down over there at the main house. If your arms get tired, or you just want a break from holding her . . .”

“You’re right.” He nodded his head. “And when my homeboy’s girl brings his little one around, that kid is always in the stroller. Let’s grab the stroller.”

We walked from the guesthouse across the side lawn and over to the main house. The exterior matched that of the guesthouse and was just as gorgeous in its large size. As we approached the front porch, I could see peeks of the ocean from the side of the house.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

“Yeah, don’t get too excited before you see the inside. I had them do the outside as soon as the guesthouse was completed, so the exterior is new. The interior? Not so much.”

The guesthouse didn’t have much of a porch; that wasn’t true for the main house. The porch was a covered, wraparound number that was deep and looked perfect for the setting. It offered quaint columns, double front doors, wide-set brick entry steps, two different seating areas, a porch swing, and even a ceiling fan. It was definitely a place where some southern belle could sip sweet tea while she set her troubles down for a spell.

“I’m in love,” I crooned right before he pulled the key from the lock, turned the knob, and swung open the double doors. “Or not.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He pushed Melrose’s stroller over the threshold, and we stepped into the beige foyer.