Page 64 of From Maybe to Baby

Alexa steals my bacon when she thinks I'm not looking, making the kids giggle every time. She's relaxed, natural, like she's forgotten to maintain her professional distance. Such as it is. We keep stealing glances at each other, remembering the night before and smiling.

That's when it happens.

"Can you help me draw a flower, Mommy?" Jace asks.

Dead silence.

Pretty sure even the seagulls stop screeching.

Alexa freezes, the color draining from her face. Lukas stops mid-bite, eyes wide. Even the waves seem to pause, holding their breath with the rest of us. The only person who’s oblivious is Jace, who is organizing her crayons by size.

“Miss Minty? Can you help me?” She’s completely unaware of her slip.

I watch Alexa's face cycle through emotions faster than a power play—shock, panic, amusement, then back to panic. Her hand trembles slightly as she sets down Jace’s crayon, precise and careful, like she's handling something explosive.

"I should..." She stands abruptly, nearly knocking over her water. Some splashes on the Jace's drawings, making the colors run. "I need to... work. Article stuff. Very important deadline."

But I catch the look in her eyes before she turns—pure terror, like she's just realized exactly what she's gotten herself into by having breakfast with us.

"Alexa—" I start, but she's already backing away, professional mask returning to her face.

"I'll just... I need to..." She grabs her bag, nearly dropping it in her haste. "Editor waiting. Deadlines."

She practically runs from the café, leaving behind half-drawn flowers and complications I sure as hell don’t know how to address. A crayon rolls across the table, and tumbles onto the floor. None of us pick it up.

"Did I make Miss Minty mad?" Jace's lower lip trembles

"No, honey." I pull her onto my lap, my heart breaking at her confusion. At how easily she was able to see Alexa in the role of her mother.

"Miss Minty has a lot of work to do."

"But she was helping with my picture." Jace points to the half-colored flower, its petals now smudgy from the spilled water.

"Sometimes grown-ups like to be alone," I explain, though I'm not sure I understand it myself. How do you explain emotional complexity to a three-year-old when you barely understand it yourself? “Sometimes they just want a little quiet for a while.”

"You made her sad,” Lukas yells at Jace, whose face finally crumbles.

"No, I didn’t,” she hollers back through tears. A couple diners look our way, but most ignore us. They know the drill. “Daddy, did I make her go away?”

"No, baby." I kiss her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "No, you did not. Please don’t say things like that, Lukas.”

I get it. I get why Alexa took off like her ass was on fire. I probably would have done the same, if I were in her shoes.

This isn't just about breakfast dates and romps in the hay. This is complicated. Scary. We’ve got two tiny hearts at stake, hearts that maybe have already decided to love her.

Shit, shit, shit.

Later, after I've settled the kids with the resort's activity program, I find Alexa by the adult pool. She's typing furiously on her laptop, professional mask firmly in place, but I notice her hands shake slightly when I cast a shadow on her.

"That was quite an exit."

She doesn't look up. "Deadlines."

"Alexa."

"Very important article things. About family-friendly activities. Very professional observations."

"About breakfast?—"

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