Page 15 of The Single Dads Club
“I didn’t think about the fact that I couldn’t wash myself while I was holding her,” I say, shifting beneath the water.
He nods, still grinning at me. God, that grin is lethal. It makes my belly tighten and flip, and my insides feel like mush.
“I figured. And she probably peed on you as soon as she hit the bathwater, maybe even a time or two.”
“Ew. Gross. Okay, I’m definitely showering.” I pull the drain on the tub with my big toe as Alexei turns his back, finally giving me some privacy.
“Take your time. I’ve got her.”
I think those are the best six words I’ve ever heard. I also think if he were to say them to me again, I would melt in a puddle and flow right down the drain, along with the bathwater.
He leaves me alone to take a shower, and I find myself repeating those words in my head over and over.
When I emerge from the shower and trudge to the room I slept in last night, I find an array of shopping bags on the bed. I close the door and then peek inside each one.
There are three pairs of basic white cotton panties, a matching bra, warm fuzzy socks, T-shirts, a couple of pairs of boxers like the ones I like to sleep in, plus leggings and sweatshirts. Miraculously, everything is in my size. The man is nothing if not observant.
Still cold from standing out in the rain, I select the leggings and a soft gray sweatshirt, and get dressed, adding the socks at the end. I look down and wiggle my toes. Suddenly, I feel a bit like Julia Roberts inPretty Woman.
It feels so strange to be standing here in his guest room, to be cared for in this way by a man I hardly know. I know this is him being a generous person, but why do I feel like this could easily transform from the friend zone to something more sinful?
I brush my hair with the comb from my purse, and then head out to the living room to find Alexei and Ella on the couch. He’s already diapered her, and is cutting the tags off a pink-yellow-and-white-striped pajama onesie with little ducks on the feet.
Oh my God, he’s combed her hair. I almost orgasm on the spot. It’s parted on the side and combed neatly into place. My ovaries could compete on one of those dancing-competition shows with how active they’ve been today.
“This is all way too much, Alexei,” I say, joining him in the living room.
“It’s nothing, Ryleigh. I promise. Besides, she’s a girl and needs to be worshipped like all girls do.”
My throat feels tight when I swallow. Why am I reading between the lines with what he just told me? A couple hundred dollars in clothes and diapers and formula is nothing to him. But to us? It’s everything.
Suddenly, I want to show him my gratitude, want to kiss him senseless and thank him in every single way I know how. Maybe even invent a few new ones. Instead, I rise to my feet and head into the kitchen. I need to put some distance between us before I do something I’ll regret.
“I know how to cook more than breakfast food,” I tell him. “Should I find something to make us for dinner?”
“Sure. That’d be great,” he says. “I think I have stuff for pasta or stir fry. There’s chicken and ground bison, and I’m not sure what else.”
Bison? Um ... no thanks.
I open his fridge, and it’s like a food utopia. It’s all completely organized with glass containers filled with cooked rice, grilled chicken breasts, roasted sweet potatoes, and greens, and cartons of fresh berries. There are at least half a dozen avocados, and even individual jars of overnight oats with slivered almonds.
“Holy hell. This is amazing.”
Alexei chuckles. “I have to eat well during the season. And I go through a lot of food. My housekeeper is also my food shopper and preparer since cooking isn’t really my thing.”
“I can see that.” My fridge is sad in comparison. Bottled mustard and old pickles, along with a half-empty bottle of white wine.
Relieved that there’s at least something I can do to make myself useful, I select the ingredients for chicken marsala. There’s thawed chicken breasts and two cartons of mushrooms, along with the shallots and whole garlic cloves I spotted on the counter earlier. My mouth is practically watering already.Anything is better than instant noodles, but this is heaven.
Something inside me wants to impress him. I have zero to offer this man in return for his kindness, and he’s already done so much for Ella and me. I’ll show him my appreciation through his stomach—instead of in his bed like I wanted to do a few moments ago. I won’t sleep with him.
So I begin the food preparations, wanting to surprise him with how well I can cook. I have the chicken coated in flour and cooking in a sauté pan when he strolls into the kitchen carrying Ella.
“We could open a bottle of wine,” he says when he sees the direction I’m headed.
I fill a pot with water and turn on the gas burner. Even his stove is incredible—a six-burner gas range that looks like it belongs in a commercial kitchen.
“I didn’t think you’d drink, what with being Mr. Healthy and all.” I smile at him. It appears my bath and the clean clothes have done wonders for my spirits.
