Page 21 of Beautiful Thing

She shrugs. “I’m a mother. I don’t have the option to let fear slow me down. I have a child to raise. A child to protect from big scary things, even if I’m scared, too.”

Her words strike my gut like an upper cut.

“But you do have the option to ask me for help. I was right in the yard. And I’m already wearing my spider-catching suit,” Iadd playfully, pinching at the shoulders of the navy blue flannel I’m wearing today.

Lips the color of rose petals tilt into a small smile. Her dark brown waves shimmer under the dim glow of the overhead lights. “Force of habit, I guess. I’ve never had the luxury of being able to rely on a man.”

In this moment, it’s so damn clear that she was never properly cared for. Ever. All I want to do is fix that. And punch the face of every man who’s ever disappointed her.

“Well, while you’re here, can you give me the luxury of capturing spiders for you?” I let one eyebrow hike up my forehead in challenge to lighten the mood.

She chuckles softly, slipping a loose tendril behind her ear. “Okay. Sounds good to me.”

With a satisfied nod, I busy myself with preparing my morning coffee and bagel. Working silently next to me in the kitchen, Layla prepares snacks to send with Sky to daycare.

Then we hear a loud clatter in the living room. “I’ve got it,” I say, since Layla’s hands are now covered in soap suds as she washes his little sippy cup.

I quickly jog into the other room where Sky is in the middle of getting into trouble. I find him in a pile of old DVD cases, starting to reach for some cords behind the TV.

In a quick move, I scoop the tiny boy off his feet and toss him up into the air. “What do you think you’re doing, little man?”

The mischievous child giggles, giving me his full attention now. Those big brown eyes sparkle at me.“Hewo, Mista Musdache,” he says. That’s his nickname for me. Whenever he calls me that, it never fails to make me grin.

“Hello, Mr. Trouble.”

I spent the week baby-proofing this house. Covering up electrical outlets. Getting rid of choking hazards. Installing safety latches on everything. Even moving my jigsaw puzzlefrom the living room to the back room. But I’m learning that it’s never enough. This little guy gets into everything. Nothing gets past him. I think he’s just too smart to fall for my tricks.

Layla comes in, zipping up Sky’s lunch box. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, Archer,” she blurts out, her forehead crinkled and tense as she drops the lunch box on the couch to gather up the DVD cases scattered across the floor. As she cleans up the mess, she continues apologizing for her boy’s behavior. She’s been apologizing all week.

I reach out and grasp her upper arm, gently coaxing her to her feet. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just exploring.”

Layla’s shoulders rise then collapse on a stuttered exhale. She gives me a curt nod. “Thank you, Archer. I mean it.”

We stand there for a beat. And Layla’s eyes roam up and down my body, as her child loops his arms around my neck and tucks his head against my shoulder. I see the way her gaze pauses where my shirt is pulled up, exposing my lower torso.

Wait—is she…checking me out?

I clear my throat. “Uh, you ready to go?”

Layla blinks, snapping back to the present. “I’m ready.”

She gathers Sky from my arms, and puts on his snow suit. Then she grabs her purse andSky’s dinosaur backpack—and his lunchbox and his mittens and his sneakers—before leading the way to the front door.

With a thunderous growl, I snatch the load from her overflowing arms before she can step outside.

“What?” she questions me as we head down the front steps.

“Learn to ask for help, woman,” I toss at her. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

She winces. “Right. Right.”

An icy gust of wind greets us as we amble across the gravel driveway toward the plastic-covered carport. This year, it’s so damn cold. The winter has been brutal so far and we still havethree or four more months to go. I’m grateful to have a reliable truck that can handle all the heavy snow.

But one glance at Layla’s threadbare tires and I’m not so sure her vehicle is equipped to withstand this harsh weather.

She hisses as she approaches her ride. “Shit. I forgot to come out and warm it up.”

I give the car another skeptical once-over as I start to pack her things into the backseat. I want to say something about the vehicle’s condition, but I hold my tongue.

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