Especially since I do my best to stay away from the unfixable.
I’m just collecting the towels I used for cleanup when Ruth comes out of the bathroom, a diaper-clad Birdie in her arms. I give her a grin, hoping whatever weirdness she was feeling has passed. “I take it there was no salvaging her clothes?”
“They were pretty wet.” Her nose wrinkles. “And sticky.” She heads for her diaper bag. “I have a plastic freezer bag in here I’m going to put them in so they won’t soak everything before I get home.”
“I’ll just throw them in the washer with the towels. I can run it on a quick wash and have them clean and dried in under an hour.” I go into the bathroom, not waiting for her to give me the okay. Ruth has her hands full with a very busy toddler, and I’m happy to take this task off her hands.
Plus, she’s going to be here anyway, so we might as well multitask.
As promised, Birdie’s shirt and pants are a mess, so I add them to the collection in my arms, and head upstairs. When I built the place, my mother insisted it made the most sense to have the laundry on the second floor since that’s where most of it would end up. And she was mostly right. But it would be nice to have somewhere close to the garage to toss my jeans and T-shirt at theend of the day, rather than risk shedding wood shavings and drywall dust all over my house.
After quickly dropping in the load and setting it to run, I scour my room for anything that might come close to fitting the little girl downstairs. I manage to come up with a random T-shirt I never wear because it’s a little tight, and take it down with me just in case Ruth didn’t bring a change of clothes.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, she’s standing in the kitchen with a bundled up diaper in one hand, looking like she plans to put it in her diaper bag. Does this woman think she’s going to taint my house? That a little bubble liquid on the floor and a diaper in the trash is going to be a problem?
Possibly, because I barely manage to stop her before she crams the sodden thing down into a zippered compartment.
“Absolutely not.” I manage to get the surprisingly heavy bundle away, cringing at the warmth still radiating off of it. Didn’t really consider that, but I guess it makes sense.
I quickly open the trash drawer, dropping it inside before holding up the T-shirt I retrieved. “This is the best I currently have to offer.”
Tomorrow I’ll have more options, because I’m going to place another order this afternoon, and it will include some simple clothing items for situations just like this. It’s also going to have an enclosed bubble machine so we don’t have a repeat of the great bubble debacle. Not because I care, but because it seems to genuinely be bothering Ruth.
Ruth gives me a small smile, taking the shirt from my hands. “Thanks. I usually bring extras, but I forgot this morning.”
I lean against the counter as she sets Birdie down and works the shirt onto her tiny body. “That’s because you were distracted over how excited you were to see me today.”
After getting the T-shirt on her daughter, Ruth ties a little knot on one side, managing to make the thing almost fit alittle.
Sort of.
She straightens as Birdie grabs at the fabric, looking over the emblem for McKinley Security Systems emblazoned on the front. “I don’t know thatexcitedis the word I would use for how I felt this morning.”
“How did you feel?” I’m genuinely curious. Interested to know where she sits on a scale of completely uncomfortable around me, to capable of pretending we're in love.
Ruth pinches her lower lip between her teeth. “Definitely nervous.” Her eyes dart to my face before swinging away. “A little worried I won’t be able to pull this off.”
That has me smiling. “I’ve seen you lie, Ruthless. I don’t have any doubts about your ability to pull this off.”
She scoffs, mouth dropping open. “Did you just call me Ruthless?”
“You tried to convince me we’ve had sex.” I take a step toward her, invading her space just a little. “And that I’m your daughter's father.”
Her lips press together, rolling inward. “I had to. I have to find a way to get the money I need to move.”
She doesn’t apologize, and I don’t need her to. Because it’s actually working out really well for me. I get to practice my uncle skills on her very adorable toddler, and I’m not going to have to worry about my mother trying to push me into something I don’t want.
Plus, Ruth is turning out to be surprisingly easy to be around. There’s no pressure. No expectations. No worries.
“I understand.” I look over her face, watching her expression, trying to see more than she’s willing to say. “I am a little surprised I was your best option.”
Her brows lift. “Really? You’re kind of an amazing option on paper.”
“How is that?” I am interested to know how she decided I was the man to extort. Just out of curiosity.
“I figured the odds of you having a kid out there somewhere were pretty high given your extracurricular activities.” She lifts one shoulder, letting it drop. “And I figured there’s no way you remember every single woman who’s been a part of those extra curricular activities.”
It is probably a fair assumption—also a little offensive—but it is incorrect. For a number of reasons. And even if I didn’t remember every single woman I’ve been lucky enough to spend time with, there still would have been one other giant flaw in Ruth’s plan.
