Page 57 of Roommate's Guide to Love

“No.Youtexted me an hour ago. I took it as you were ready.”

“I promise I did no such thing, because for the last three hours I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell to do with a random baby that showed up in my office!”

“Oh my God, Porter! I’m not lying!” She grabs her cell phone out of a tote bag. “See!”

She hands me her phone to a text string between us. And she’s right. After our promise to meet later tonight, is a whole new set of random emojis.

“I promise you I never sent these,” I say. “I never use emojis. I don’t even know what this means.”

“Really, Porter? Then who sent them to me? And who else would send an eggplant and a peach back to back? Also, if you’re into that sort of thing, just let me know. I’m not opposed, but we need to talk about a lot of things in regard to that. Mainly prepping.”

“Quinn, I promise you, I didn’t send these. I don’t even know who would or how?—”

Before I can finish the sentence, the sound of babbles and incoherent sounds come from the couch. She’s even clapping like she’s trying to tell me something.

And that’s when I remember…

“No…” I say, going to sit down next to my unexpected guest.

“No what?”

“This little one, a little over an hour ago, I put her down because my arms were tired. And I needed to go to the bathroom. I had my phone out because I was looking up if I could leave a baby alone. I couldn’t find the answer I was looking for when I was about to call you in a panic. She was on her stomach, and it was sitting next to her before I walked out of the room…”

Quinn’s horrified look quickly turns into a fit of laughter. “Okay, I don’t know who this kid is, but she’s officially my favorite.”

I let baby girl take my finger as I stare at her. “I wish I knew who she was, too.”

Quinn gasps as she sits across from me on a chair. “What do you mean? How do you not know who she is?”

“I have a feeling who she came from, but that’s it,” I say. “I was getting ready to leave the bar. I walked down the hall and noticed the office door was open, which I knew I’d shut. When I opened it up, there she was, staring at me like she’d been waiting hours for me. Then I panicked, grabbed her, and raced back here. The rest is a blur.”

“Okay, then.” Quinn trails off as she looks over to the baby. The two of them make eye contact, and Quinn gives her a little wave. Baby girl is all smiles toward her, which makes me relax slightly. Then the loudest, and smelliest, fart I’ve ever heard comes from my cute guest.

“What the fuck was that!” I yell, coughing once the scent hits my nose.

“That, my friend, was her letting us know loud and clear that she needs a diaper change.”

“A what?”

Quinn’s staring at me like I grew a second head. “Her diaper, Porter. She’s wearing a diaper. It needs changed. This is where you come in.”

“Oh no!” I say, jumping up from the couch, hands up in surrender. “I don’t know how to do it. What if she poops on me? It’s going to fucking smell. I can’t. You do it.”

Quinn lets out a sigh before standing up and picking up Baby Girl, which is her name until further notice. “I’ll do this, but at some point I’m going to be teaching you. It’s not like I can be here twenty-four-seven, on diaper duty.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, sitting back down because my head is spinning. I watch as Quinn picks up the bag that was left next to the baby carrier and starts digging in it for Lord knows what. I’m going to assume diaper things.

I’m not a baby kind of guy. I wasn’t around when Missy was a baby. I barely held Wes’s kids when they were young. Hell, I specifically didn’t take home economics in high school because I didn’t want to do the weeks where we had to take the baby doll home. I knew even back then I didn’t want kids.

I watch in awe as Quinn—wearing nothing but lace lingerie and a rain coat—kneels on the ground as she spreads out some sort of pad before laying the baby down on it. She then reaches back into the bag and grabs a diaper and some sort of wipes before pulling out an envelope.

“Did you see this?” she asks. “It has your name on it.”

“No. I never even opened the bag,” I say, reaching for it. And yup, clear as day, in pretty cursive handwriting, is my name.

I rip it open, and from the first word I realize who this is from. And suddenly, the events of the last two days make a hell of a lot more sense. And why baby girl’s green eyes hit me in the heart from the second I saw them.

Porter,

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