“Not enough.” Tucker’s hold on my shoulders tightens as he turns us away from Trevor. “And don’t let him try to convince you otherwise.”
“Wait.” I turn to catch Trevor smirking as Tucker leads me away. “How much is not enough?”
“Trust me.” Tucker keeps moving, walking us through the lobby and into one of the halls branching off. “Whatever it is, it won’t be enough to put up with his shit.”
I’m forced to face forward when Tucker starts pointing out different areas of the building. He shows me where I can find a breakroom stocked with beverages and snacks, along with a microwave, air fryer, and fridge. There’s a lactation room for mothers who need to pump during their shift. A quiet room for anyone who needs a little peace during their break.
I understand the need for that particular amenity when Tucker brings me into ‘his’ wing of the building. Where everything else up to this point has looked like a polished, professional office building, this area is more like a warehouse and a workshop had a baby.
A loud baby.
There are forklifts zooming across the central area, moving building materials from one place to the next. A row of delivery bays covered with plastic flaps line one wall, with trailers backed into half the openings, ready to be loaded with…
I’m not sure what, exactly. I can identify many of the parts I’m seeing—drywall, lumber for studs, spools of wire and sheets of metal—but I don’t see what they’re being used to create.
Probably should have looked into that a little more. But in my defense, I’ve had a lot going on.
“What exactly do you make here?”
I notice a few of the people working stop what they’re doing to stare our way, looking confused as hell by what they’re seeing. Which is concerning. If his employees are confused, I can only imagine how Tucker's family feels.
Except his brother Trevor didn’t seem shocked by seeing me and Birdie with Tucker. Granted, Tucker didn’t mention anything about our contrived connection, but we were holding hands.
Right up until Tucker put his arm around me.
“Safe rooms.”
Tucker leads me to a small office tucked into one corner of the cavernous space, opening the door and holding it wide as I enter. I’m surprised at not only how quiet the space is once the door closes behind us, but also how nice it is. The room sports warm, wood floors and walls painted a soft green that looks almost identical to the color of the bedroom where Birdie and I slept last night. Crown molding trims the ceiling, and solid wood baseboards and built-in shelving make it feel more like a room in a home than an office stuck in the middle of a warehouse.
Tucker goes to one of the built-ins I assumed was a cabinet and pulls it open to reveal a fridge. “Anything cold can go in here.”
“This is your office?” I take in the recessed lighting and leather sofa and chairs creating a comfy looking seating area.
“I don’t spend a ton of time in here.” Tucker drops Birdie’s diaper bag onto the desk and unzips the main section to pull out the snacks I packed her, adding the chilled ones to the fridge. “So you girls will pretty much have it all to yourselves.”
He’s just giving us free rein of his gorgeous office? After seeing what my toddler is capable of?
The bubble fiasco hasn’t been the only mess she’s made in Tucker’s house. Last night, an entire cup of milk ended up dumped on the floor when she figured out how to unscrew the lid of her sippy cup, and half her dinner went into every crevice within five feet of her highchair. This morning, she managed to drop an entire roll of toilet paper into the bowl while I was attempting to shower, then she rubbed a streak of boogers down one of the sparkling clean windows in the great room.
Each and every time, Tucker just laughed it off. Like it was no big deal my daughter was desecrating his luxury home.
And now she’s going to do the same thing to his office.
“Okay. Great.” I try to sound grateful—I am—but I’m also looking around at all the opportunities for destruction.
Tucker crouches down, giving Birdie a boop on her nose and telling her to be good for me. Then he ducks out of the room, leaving us alone in yet another of his beautiful spaces.
But we don’t stay that way for long. Before Birdie can even ask for her first snack, the door swings open and a familiar face strides in.
Followed by a not-so-familiar one.
“Hey there.” The woman I saw glaring at Trevor earlier gives me a giant grin before landing her eyes on Birdie. “Hello, little lady.”
Birdie—who’s never met a stranger in her life—wobbles right over to the woman, holding both arms up.
The woman eyes me. “Is it okay if I pick her up?”
“Sure.” I look from her to the gorgeous, wavy-haired woman next to her, feeling way out of my element. “I’m Ruth.”
