Page 46 of Christmas with the Baby Daddy

“But he was wrong.” I cleared my throat. I’d spent a long time looking up to my dad and trying to do my best to please him, but he was old-fashioned. “Boys or girls can color. Anyone can color, with any color. I just never really gave myself a chance to be creative. Not like you. That looks good.”

He laughed lightly. “You just gotta stay inside the lines.”

I laughed at the comparison between our pictures. While I waited for Cole to come find me, I simply colored and enjoyed George’s company as he asked me more simple questions, getting to know me. It was hard not to feel like I was bonding with him, becoming less ofMr. Stranger.

As we filled in our pictures, I wondered how moving away from Vernford would affect him.

This was his home, and I hated that he’d have to be uprooted. And as I mused about the concept of home, I glanced around and had to come to the conclusion that one time, it had been mine.

Maybe it could be home again…

19

BLAKE

“I’m sorry.” Amanda blinked as she stepped past her cup and gawked at me, approaching the table I shared with Sara. “Youwhat?”

I leaned over to grab the cup so it wouldn’t fly away and count as litter. Even though my heart was pounding with dread and the only thought that existed in my mind was a nonstop litany ofoh, crap, I had the mind not to add to the litter and mess that would cover Main Street. The wind picked up, swaying the many lights strung from post to post overhead. The twinkling specks of brightness cut against the navy sky as more light snowflakes fluttered down. This should’ve been a cozy, fun, and festive night heralding how quickly Christmas crept up on us with the live band playing a snazzy rendition ofRun, Rudolph, Runand the scent of roasted chestnuts wafting from the vendor booths.

Instead of smiling and appreciating the collective Vernford holiday cheer, I was cringing as my son’s babysitter plopped down next to Sara.Correction, my son’s aunt.

“Did I just hear you say”—she licked her lips and furrowed her brow as she shook her head—“that you wouldn’t sleep with Zachagain?”

I bit my lip, horrified that the circle of people who knew about Zach being my baby daddy had just doubled. Sara was no longer the exclusive holder of that big secret. And of all people to know, Amanda was a risky one.

“Um…” I ducked my head, not necessarily in shame but awkward discomfort. I wasnotregretting the fact that I’d slept with Zach. Either time. But I did judge myself for never telling anyone about how we’d created our son from our first tryst. “Yes.”

She carried on with the shock, gaping at me with her eyes as wide as saucers.

“It just, well, it just happened,” I lamely explained.

Then her brows spiked high as she squeaked. “Wait a second.” She slapped her gloved hands over her mouth. “You’re not telling me that—Oh, myGod!”

“Okay,” Sara said with a light, forced chuckle, glancing around and faking a chill smile at those seated around us. We were out in the open in front of the café and the tables weren’t that close together. Unless someone was leaning in to eavesdrop—or conveniently walking right past our table on the edge—no one would hear us. So long as we didn’t shout.

Amanda did again, repeating, “Oh, myGod!”

“Yeah, let’snotbroadcast this,” Sara said as she smiled and nodded at those noticing us. She patted Amanda’s back. “This isn’t public knowledge.”

“Well, of course, it’s not!” She narrowed her eyes at me, stunned but seemingly forcing herself to come to terms with this development. “I mean…” She shook her head, almost lost in a daze from the shock. “I was just a kid when you would’ve conceived George, but… He’s five, and even with his birthday being months earlier than you thought it would be because he was a preemie, that would’ve put you and Zach together right when Kevin died.” She leaned in to hiss as she finished doing the math. “You… Zach…” She gasped again. “At the funeral?”

“Notatthe funeral,” I clarified. That made a world of difference.

“Because that’s theonlytime Zach’s been home to visit at all. Seriously.”

I nodded weakly. “Yeah. I know.”

She sat back, rubbing her hand over her face. “I can’t… I can’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Blake!” She narrowed her eyes again. “George is my nephew!” It should have been a question, but she blurted it out like it was an accusation. Or as if she were accusing me of keeping that fact from her. “How could I not see this? He… he looks like him!”

This was one of my biggest fears. That Amanda would wonder at some point the older George got. If not her, then Jenny. I was grateful that she’d never outright made a connection between how much my son looked like her grandson. Jenny had tact, though. She wasn’t the kind of woman to voice her concerns like that, and she certainly wasn’t the sort of person to jump to conclusions and ask me anything about suspicions that would arise.

“Please,” I whispered, my gut tensing with more anxiety. “Please don’t say anything.”

“You sure haven’t!” She didn’t scowl at me, but her expression wasn’t one of acceptance or forgiveness.

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