“And most importantly,” he begins, pulling the small hot drink out of the tray, “a warm milk for Evee.”
At first, I don’t think I heard him right. It must show on my face because his face immediately shifts to a look of concern, like he did something wrong. “Is that okay?” he asks. “Should I have gotten her something else?”
“You got a drink for Evee?” I ask, and I can feel Ava watching this exchange like her favorite TV show.
Jack nods. “Is that okay with you?”
“Oh, yes. No, of course it’s okay. I just thought—” I pause, looking at how tiny the cup looks in his big hands, the signature Hey Honey’s blue stark against his tan skin. “I just assumed that was your drink.”
He looks at the cup in his hands, and his brow raises. He looks back at me. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“We serve other drinks besides coffee,” I offer, walking over to the sink to grab a paper towel, wetting it a little bit before walking over to Evee’s high chair to wipe off her face and hands.
“Until Luke starts serving energy drinks, I’ll stick to just doing the coffee runs.” He walks over to the high chair where Evee is now half-eating and half-playing with the dry cereal Ava must have poured on her tray for her when I answered the door. He looks to me as if seeking permission.
“The milk should be cooled enough for her to drink, but here,” I say, holding out my hand for him to hand me the cup. “I usually check by pouring a little out on the inside of my wrist,just in case.” I tilt the cup carefully, showing him. He watches intently as if absorbing all of my movements. I feel the warm milk on my skin, and it’s the perfect temperature.
I bring my wrist to my mouth, licking off the few drops of milk.
Looking up, I find Jack’s eyes still on me, but there’s a new darkness to his gaze, one that warms my cheeks—but not in embarrassment.
Evee slaps her hands on her high chair tray, reminding me of where we are and what we’re doing—testing milk temperature for my daughter in the middle of my kitchen—so I hold the cup out to Jack. “Here,” I say quickly—maybe a littletooquickly if Ava’s snort is anything to go by. “It’s perfect, and the lids for the hot cups are pretty sturdy.” The words string together in such a jumbled mess, I wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t tell what I said.
With my arm held out to him, holding the cup, Jack seems to come back to himself, remembering our audience. He reaches out, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You can give it to her,” I reassure as he takes the cup from me, and his features go back to how they were before—the moment between us over just as quickly as it began.
Watching Jack now, that slight discomfort is back, like he doesn’t exactly know what to do. He carefully sets the coffee cup of milk on the tray, but he doesn’t let go.
With something new in front of her, Evee looks up to see who the source is. Her big blue eyes are wide, her mouth open, putting her two front teeth on full display. She looks down back at the cup, but instead of trying to grab it, she grabs Jack’s hand, her fingers wrapping around two of his before bouncing her arms like he’s her new toy.
“I should’ve warned you that she’s an extrovert—no idea where she got that from,” I say with a laugh. Evee has alwaysbeen a happy baby who welcomes new people with a smile on her face. She’s such a curious girl, and she never fails to make a new friend wherever we go—whether it’s waving to everyone she sees at the grocery store, or giving that mostly-toothless grin to the regulars at Hey Honey’s who come in more for her than the coffee. She’s nothing like her introverted mother.
“Probably me,” Ava says, grabbing her coffee. “Now, if you two would excuse me, I am headed to my workout class. With Jack’s help, I trust that you can handle the muffins without setting our house on fire.”
I narrow my eyes at my best friend as she walks backwards down the hallway to put her sneakers on.
“Love you, bye!” she says with a wave, stepping into her shoes and heading straight out the front where our door is supposed to be. “Bye, Jack!” she adds.
Jack’s head snaps up in her direction, as if hearing her yell his name brought him out of a daze he was in. “Bye, Ava,” he says, giving her a small nod before his gaze goes back down to Evee who has started putting her spit-covered, no-longer-dry cereal in his hand.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, readying to grab Evee’s wrist and wipe off her hands.
“I don’t mind,” he says, looking at me. “I’m fine here.”
I want to clarify that he doesn’t need to be polite and stand there as my daughter puts cereal in her mouth before putting it in his opened hand, but watching him watch her is enough to keep me quiet. I lean back on the counter behind me, taking a sip of my chai.
We both stand there watching her for a few moments, the silence comfortable rather than awkward or loaded. “She likes you,” I say, remembering how she also instantly grabbed his hand that night at Lenny’s.
“I’m not good with babies,” he admits, his eyes still on Evee, a look of awe lining his features as he watches her finally let go of his hand, remembering the cup he sat down in front of her and grabbing it with both hands. The way he’s so timid around her is such a difference to the strong presence he carries.
“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” I say, and I don’t think I’ll ever get him looking down at her out of my head—the image going straight to my ovaries.
Jack’s green eyes find mine, and there’s something familiar about them. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen them a lot these last few days, or maybe it’s because I can’t help but think of them long after he’s gone, but I don’t think I’ll get sick of looking at them.
He holds up his hand. “I’m just gonna rinse the cereal off.”
I slide over from where I’m leaning on the counter, giving him a clear path to the sink. “You know,” I start, “she doesn’t share her cereal with just anyone.”
