Page 51 of Burden to Bear

Feeling a bit embarrassed, I dropped my gaze from his face. It landed on his chest and sent a wave of desire through me. Licking my lips, I returned my attention to his face and confessed, “I didn’t want you to think I expected you to be the guy who helps me out every time I have a problem.”

“I don’t think that at all,” he said, his voice gentle as ever. “In fact, I like being able to lend a hand whenever you need something. So, why don’t you tell me what you tried to avoid coming to ask me for help with?”

I swallowed hard. “The crib was just delivered. But when the delivery driver rang the bell, I had just gotten out of the shower, and I didn’t make it to the door fast enough to ask for help with getting the box inside. I attempted to move it myself, but there’s no way I can do it alone without risking an injury to myself or the baby.”

Brock stared at me in silence for several long seconds. I squirmed under the intense scrutiny of his gaze, wondering what was going through his mind. Eventually, he took a step back and said, “Come inside while I change my clothes and throw on a pair of sneakers.”

“Oh, Brock, that’s?—”

“Mia?”

“Yeah?”

“Come inside.”

Gone was the gentle voice he’d spoken to me with only moments ago. His tone now indicated he was in no mood to be questioned. I’d never heard him speak with such a serious tenor to his voice that I could only propel myself forward into his house in response.

Once he closed the door, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

As he walked away and up the stairs to change his clothes, I wondered where the sweet guy had gone. Had Brock been that upset that I’d gone to ask Russ for help first instead of him. And if so, why? Wouldn’t he have preferred to have his quiet evening alone without needing to be burdened by what was happening in my life all the time? I thought he’d welcome the break.

Brock returned almost as quickly as he’d gone, and the next thing I knew, he was ushering us out the door and back toward my house. We made our way there in silence, the walk feeling extraordinarily tense.

Suddenly, I was questioning everything. Maybe he was bothered by needing to help, but since he didn’t want to tell a pregnant woman to get off his doorstep and find help somewhere else, he felt he had no choice.

I was trying to figure out what to do, how to fix this, when we climbed the stairs to my porch. Despite whatever was happening inside his head, Brock was still a gentleman and urged me up the stairs ahead of him.

“It’s just this box?” he asked, speaking for the first time since we were inside his house.

“Yes,” I murmured.

His eyes cut to mine, questions lingering there. Whatever he wanted to ask, whatever was burning in his stare, he never shared. Instead, he looked away, focused his attention on the box, and said, “Grab the door, and I’ll carry it in for you.”

“Do you… I can help carry it,” I offered.

Brock shook his head. “No. No, I can get this for you. Just open the door.”

“Okay.”

As he wrapped his hands around either side of the box and lifted it, doing it almost effortlessly, I opened my front door as wide as it would go to allow him to get inside without banging or scraping his knuckles on the door or the frame. Once inside, he set the box down and asked, “Where do you want this?”

“You can just leave it here, right inside the door,” I said. “If you don’t mind laying it down for me, I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

Brock’s eyes narrowed on me. “Are you planning to have this baby sleep at the front door?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“So, how do you intend to take care of it tomorrow?” he questioned me.

Sweeping my hand out in front of me and toward the open space in the foyer, I explained, “Well, I just figured if you could lay it down for me, I’ll open it tomorrow and carry the individual pieces upstairs to the baby’s room before assembling it.”

“If you’re okay with it, I can carry the whole box up there for you now and save you the trouble and risk of doing it on your own,” he returned.

“That’s kind of you to offer, Brock. I appreciate it and don’t have a problem with you doing it, but I didn’t want to make more work for you.”

He sent an incredulous look my way, slipped off his sneakers, and urged, “Lead the way.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

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