Page 36 of Just a Distraction

Darla’s lower jaw moves up and down before she finds her voice. “Well, yes. Sure. I can do that.” Her chin hardens. “Since I’m here now, don’t worry about Callum.” She picks him up, and he snuggles close to her. “Huh, dude? I’ll just take him back to your place and put him down for a nap.”

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”

“But it makes sense for Callum. You want me to put him down for a nap on a park bench somewhere?”

I sigh and rub my forehead with the back of my hand. She has a point.

“Okay. Why don’t you hang out here until my lunch break and then I can drive over and let you guys in.”

“If you’re able to do that, great,” Darla says. “I can take care of Thorin while I’m there.”

“My lunch is in about forty-five minutes. There’s some food for Callum in the diaper bag. Will you feed him while you wait? I’ll see you soon.” I give Callum a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, my baby boy.” His toothy grin gets me every time, a twinge of contentment, grief, and a sorrow I can’t explain welling up within me. Every smile of his, his dark eyes sparkling, upends me.

I guess I could just call it love, but that doesn’t seem sufficient. I think it’s true what they say: that having a child is agreeing to allow your heart to walk around outside your body for the rest of all time.

Getting Callum squared away at my apartment with Darla was without incident. There’s a certain satisfaction knowing he gets to nap at home today instead of at Childcare.

And now that I’m back at work, trying furiously to clean the lobby—I’m so behind—my mind is whirring with thoughts of Milo. It would be silly of me to think that Milo wouldn’t have put two and two together and figured out that I have a son.

So many possible excuses—lies—spring to mind, but I know I can’t do that. I have to come clean about how I’m a mother and how the company his family owns takes care of my son every day so I can work.

This could change the dynamic of what we have. Not that there was really anything between us to begin with, though. Right?

I’m vacuuming like a woman on a mission when Milo’s foot comes into view. I startle a bit but don’t look up. I know it’s him because I recognize these shoes. They’re not pretentious, but they look expensive, nonetheless. You know this kind of sneaker. They’re well made, trim, and trendy. A defying-all-the-odds, gleaming white. Like a moth to a flame of destruction, I glance at my own shoes. The scuffed-up, service-industry shoes that I’ve had for years.

“Hey, Rose,” I manage to hear his voice over the hum of the vacuum.

When I switch it off, my whole body is guarded. This is it, the bubble bursting. I can practically hear the pop.

“Hi, Mr. Tate. Do you need some help with something. Something cleaned?”

He hesitates, his eyes peering at me before darting around. I can feel Trevor at the front desk staring at us.

“Uh, yes.” Milo catches on. “Can I have a word with you about the . . . um . . . bathrooms?”

“Sure thing.” My voice is way more perky than I feel inside. I unplug the vacuum and roll it over to my cleaning cart, thenfollow him, like the dutiful employee I am, to the bathrooms near the elevators.

He walks straight past them and with a glance back, leaves the building entirely. I follow, the fresh spring air infiltrating my nose and throat.

“I should explain,” tumbles out of my mouth at the same moment Milo says, “How are you?”

His posture is soft and warm, his dark-brown eyes searching my face. I’m reminded again of how much I love his beautiful eyes.

“Well, it’s been a weird day,” I say. “How much do you know about . . . stuff?”

Confusion slides across his face.

“I mean, have you been asking Anna for information? Or Maggie in HR? It might be easier to explain if I know what you already know.”

His gaze and tone of voice both soften. “No. I wanted to talk to you about it, not someone else.”

I blow out a breath. “There’s some stuff I need to tell you, I guess.”

The laugh under his breath is laced with nerves. “You sound like you’re giving a confessional.”

“I sort of am.” My eyes search out the chokecherry trees behind him, planted amongst the tiered blocks of land gently landscaped around the resort. The pink blossoms have started appearing on the trees now that’s it’s spring.

“Why?” His tone is soft. “You don’t owe me anything, Rose.”

---