Page 21 of Dr. Single Dad

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“Are you reading anything interesting?” I ask, and then immediately wish I hadn’t. Dax doesn’t strike me as a man who enjoys small talk.

“Work stuff,” he says. “I had to work from home today because…” He trails off, but I know what he’s not saying. He’s had to move me in, look after his daughter. “I’m catching up.”

I nod, not wanting to ask him any more questions.

The kettle boils and I pour the water straight onto my teabag. “You’re not a doctor who sees patients then?” As soon as the question leaves my lips, I mentally chastise myself. Why am I trying to talk to him? I’m clearly interrupting him, and he obviously doesn’t want to talk to me.

“No, I’m a research doctor. My work is…it’s important. There’s a lot riding on it—millions of lives.” His gaze stays on his papers as he speaks.

I can tell by his tone that he’s not saying it to show off, but I don’t know why he’s giving me this information. Part of me feels he wants me to dig, like he’s giving me the scent and asking me to follow the trail.

Except he’s not exactly encouraging conversation.

I pull out a drawer to find a teaspoon, but it’s filled with papers. I pull out another one. That’s full of papers too. I glance around, trying to spot the place where spoons might be kept if it isn’t this unit. Dax doesn’t say anything. He’s too engrossed in what he’s reading.

I cross the kitchen and pull out another drawer. Finally, I find the spoons, no thanks to Dax.

Another negative point for my list:not good at giving instructions about where the spoons are.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven,” I say, picking up my mug. He doesn’t respond. “Anything in particular you want me to do with Guinevere?” I ask.

He turns his head. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, do you like her to get some fresh air? Does she have an appointment with the health visitor? Do you have any little routines I should know about?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you think. You know better than me.”

I’ve seen this in new mothers before—the few days or weeks before they bond with their new baby. It will come. It will just take a little time. And maybe a little encouragement.

“Great. We have a free day. Who knows what mischief we’ll get up to?” I smile, but Dax isn’t listening. He’s focused on his work.

Looks like Guinevere and I have some work to do. But babies are magic, so we have that going for us.

NINE

Dax

My head hurts. It’s the lack of sleep. I’m also probably dehydrated, but I don’t want to leave the nursery because for some reason, Guinevere likes my hand on her tummy. Every time I remove it, she wakes up, her face scrunches up and she starts crying.

It’s been like this since four. I glance up at the clock. It’s just before six. Another hour before Eira starts and I can get on with my day. Another hour until I can readjust my brain and start thinking about important things: the research I’m doing and how we’re going to fund the next stage. I haven’t even started work and I feel groggy.

The door creaks open and Eira puts her head around. She’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair still piled on her head. Does she sleep like that? Does it ever get brushed?

“Good morning,” she whispers. “Have you been up long?” She has two mugs in her hand and she hands one to me. “Black coffee, right?”

How did she know that?

“I’m just having a little honey and ginger.” She says it in a singsong voice as she peers at Guinevere. Her face splits into a smile and her bright smile is…disarming. It sends a jolt through my gut. “She likes to feel Daddy.”

She says it like it’s totally normal. “Every time I try to move away, she cries.”

“Aww, she wants to know her human is nearby. She wants to feel safe. That’s all.”

I sigh. Of course that’s why.

“Have you done much skin to skin?” she says, placing her cup onto a bookshelf beside her and moving toward the cot.

---