Page 31 of Dr. Single Dad

“Why don’t we take Guinevere on the swings for the first time?” I suggest.

“The swings?” he says. “Is she old enough? Doesn’t her neck need more support?”

“Not for the saucer swing,” I say, heading over to the round swing with the roped, dish-shaped seat, big enough for five kids to pile onto.

“Is that clean?” he says, grimacing. He’s already worrying about her. How can he think he’s only interested in the science of development?

“She’s in her pramsuit. No part of her will be touching the swing. We can pop a muslin down if it makes you feel better.” I can’t help but smile at his concern.

Dax stops the pram by the swing and I pop on the brake. “It’s good to get into the habit. Even on flat ground.” I’d never say it normally to parents, but Dax has asked me not to hold back. If that’s what he needs, that’s what I’m going to give him. “You want to take her out?” I ask.

“You do it,” he says.

First I pull out a spare muslin from under the pram and place it across the ropes, then I pull back the hood of the pram and scoop Guinevere up. “Are you ready for your first go on the swings?” I ask. “Daddy’s going to push you.” I lay her down so she’s staring at the sky. “Just a little push,” I say.

Dax nudges the swing, his eyes pinned on Guinevere like he’s waiting for her to drop through the ropes at any moment.

“Movement like this helps her develop her balance and her place in world. It stimulates the development of her senses. It might seem like a simple swing, but it’s all science.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off his daughter. “I get it. It’s just…like a dog could come along and bite her at any point. Or someone might have dropped some glass on this thing or?—”

“That’s why you’re here. And I’m here. Kids have parents—and nannies—to protect them. And while you’re playing football, I have my dog-fighting gloves and my glass-finding lamp. We’re all good. For now.”

“Does there come a point when you don’t think they’re moments away from death?” he asks.

I let out a laugh that’s been building in me. “It’s hard when they’re little like this. But wait six months, maybe a little more. You’re going to wish she would just lie here like this.” I gaze at Guinevere. She’s not smiling, but she looks so content, gently swinging, watching the bare branches of the trees above her cut out against the blue of the sky. “And then for fifteen years, she won’t sit still. Then it will come full circle and hopefully, if everyone does their job properly, she’ll be gazing at the sky in wonder, thinking about how amazing this world is.”

I feel his gaze on me and on instinct I turn my head. Our eyes lock. Some kind of understanding passes between us. He respects me. He understands what I’m saying.

There’s a connection. Again.

“Being responsible for another human being makes you feel everything a thousand times more,” I say. “Life’s more vulnerable and scary and tiring and draining, and also a thousand times more colorful and fun and miraculous and wonderful.”

“I’m not sure about that,” he says.

Not yet, I don’t say.

Voices from behind us catch our attention. It’s more people arriving for the football practice.

Dax turns back to Guinevere.

“Do you have to go?” I ask.

“I have a few more minutes.” It’s like he can’t bear to leave her. It’s adorable.

“We’ll walk you.” I take Guinevere from the swing and put her back into the pram. This time I push, because otherwise, Dax might have us heading to the slide and forget about the football altogether.

We get to the gate of the pitch. “Enjoy your football. We’re going to enjoy watching.” As soon as I say it, heat rushes up my cheeks. I didn’t mean to imply we’ll enjoy ogling his perfect male form running about the pitch, but…if the shoe fits, lace that shit up.

He nods and glances between me and Guinevere. He starts to say something and stops himself. Finally, he turns and heads through the gate. When he gets onto the pitch, he stops and turns. “Thank you,” he mouths.

It feels intimate somehow, like we’re the only two people in the park.

I smile at him and he grins back. It’s boyish and sweet and sexy, and I try to ignore the way butterflies flutter in my stomach.

Because this is about Guinevere. And the money. Nothing else.

THIRTEEN

---