And much meaner.
Once we’re inside, Tucker sets the diaper bag on the kitchen counter and motions for me to set Birdie down. “She can run around.” His hands go to his hips, eyes hovering at an odd height as they slide over the room. “I’m pretty sure I got safety plugs in all the outlets, and there’s a gate blocking off the stairs.”
Again, I’m surprised by Tucker’s behavior.
And again, I remind myself it’s just a performance. One he is turning out to be remarkably good at.
Hopefully I can hold my own. Which is why I’m here today.If I look uncomfortable around him, it’s going to be a dead giveaway. His mom will never believe we're together, and she sure as hell won’t believe he’s heartbroken when I leave.
Even though I’m still a little concerned my daughter is going to wreck his house, I go ahead and lower her feet to the ground. Tension settles in my neck and shoulders as she takes off running, aiming straight ahead for a portion of the house I’ve never seen.
Tucker thumbs over one shoulder, gesturing in the direction my daughter ran. “She’s hopefully about to find a big pile of toys I’m hoping will keep her entertained.”
He bought my daughter toys? Of course he did. Performance. I don’t know why I keep forgetting.
I can’t even begin to guess what a bachelor would pick out for a kid Birdie's age, so curiosity drags me after her. Tucker trails behind me, his presence making me oddly jittery as we pass a breakfast room and step into what I would call a great room.
Even though great doesn’t begin to do it justice.
The planked ceilings soar and windows are everywhere. It’s light and bright, and while the decorations are masculine, it doesn’t feel like a man cave. It’s surprisingly cozy and comfortable.
“Your house is really beautiful.” I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in a place like this. Growing up, it was just me and my mom. And while I never went without, we certainly weren’t even close to being rich. Our townhome was cute and quaint, but no one would have ever mistaken it for being luxurious.
And this place is luxurious. From the leather furniture draped with plush blankets and pillows, to the rugs placed artfully on the hardwood floors, every inch of it is high-end.
And my daughter is wiping her snotty nose on as much of it as she can reach, leaving the equivalent of a glistening snail trail on nearly every surface.
My eyes dart to Tucker, expecting him to be horrified that his pristine home is already feeling the effects of my toddler. Buthe’s grinning. Watching as she finally notices the insanity tucked into one corner.
When Tucker said toys, I was expecting two or three basic items. A stuffed animal or two. Maybe a couple books and a set of blocks. Instead, it looks like he bought everything he could get his hands on. There’s a full plastic barnyard, complete with just about every animal imaginable, and a barn that opens on a hinge so all the animals can play inside. There are stacks of wooden puzzles and a magnetic drawing board on legs. There’s a car-shaped scooter that can be ridden or pushed, and what appears to be a bubble maker.
Along with the stuffed animals I was expecting. A whole pile of them.
I turn to the man standing beside me, shaking my head as Birdie runs from one item to the next. “You didn’t have to buy all of that.” He shouldn’t have, actually. Because what in the hell is he going to do with it once this is all over?
Tucker shrugs, his eyes following Birdie as she tries to work one leg over the scooter. “It’s not a big deal.”
Not a big d?—
Is he serious?
I stare at him, a man who has been extremelyunserious up to this point. “It’s a very big deal. You must’ve spent a thousand dollars on all this.”
Tucker’s eyes come my way. “Sweetheart, I’m about to give you twenty thousand dollars. Those toys are a drop in the bucket.”
He’s… Sort of got a point.
He picks up one of the blankets my daughter dragged free as she passed, shaking it out before tossing it over one arm of the sofa. “Plus, my niece and nephew will probably play with these too when they get bigger.”
“You have a niece and nephew?” That explains why he was so comfortable with Birdie from the get go.
Tucker beams at me, looking ridiculously proud. “I do. They’re a few months old, and I’m their favorite uncle.”
I blink, processing what he just said. “They are a few months old.” I say the words slowly. “And you’re their favorite uncle.”
I know it’s been over a year since Birdie was that age, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have been playing favorites. Even if someone gifted her an entire toy store aisle.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Tucker goes to his couch, dropping to his ass and stretching both arms along the back. “I can practically hear what you’re thinking.”
