Dating isn’t an option for me. Even if it was, I can’t imagine finding someone like Tucker would be easy. Even if I did, he’d probably also have zero interest in a relationship.
After closing the door, Tucker turns to me, walking carefully as he motions toward my daughter’s face, mouthing the wordsis she asleep?
Nodding my head, I move in to gently extricate her from his grip. “Yes, but she needs a diaper change and a quick wipe down before she can crash.”
I carry my daughter up the stairs, grateful for a few minutes alone to collect my thoughts. I stretch those minutes out, trying to work through all the weird emotions building up inside me. I didn’t feel guilty about taking money from Tucker—I still don’t.It’s what will keep my daughter safe. And I will always do whatever it takes to make that happen.
But Idofeel guilty about lying to his mother. Not about the relationship she thinks I have with Tucker, but about the relationship she’s hoping to build with my daughter.
Maybe even with me.
Same with Brooke and Mariah and Maren. I even feel bad about Tucker’s brothers.
Maybe not so much Walker. I’m pretty sure that guy knows exactly what’s going on.
But the rest of them? I feel like a world-class dick over lying to them.
After putting Birdie to bed and taking a shower of my own, I go in search of my pretend boyfriend, planning to ask exactly how he expects all this to shake out. Maybe he can tell me his mother won’t be bothered at all. That Brooke and Mariah and Maren will all take it in stride, and his brothers will barely notice.
I go downstairs, expecting him to be on the sofa or digging around the kitchen. But the main floor of the house is empty. Quiet.
Could he have already gone to bed? Tucker worked a long day today, so it’s not completely surprising he might want to crash early.
I’m approaching his door, planning to listen for any sign of movement on the other side, when a strange sound drags my attention to the closed door I found him coming out of the other day. I’ve been a little curious about what’s behind it, but going inside felt like crossing a line. Invading a space I haven’t been invited to.
Quietly, I creep down the hall, bare feet silent as they move over the plush runner protecting the hardwood. Stopping in front of the mystery door, I step close, holding my breath so I can hear better as I attempt to identify the sound I heard.
It’s not consistent. It comes in bursts, cutting through the air sporadically. Now that I’m closer, I can tell it’s familiar. Something I’ve heard before.
On a daily basis since I’ve been going to work with Tucker.
He must be adding some built-ins or something. Maybe bookcases like the ones in the bedroom Birdie and I currently occupy. I bet they're going to be gorgeous, and imagining what he’s doing only makes my desire to see the other side of the door stronger.
I did want to talk to him, didn’t I? I don’t see why I can’t knock? Maybe get a tiny glimpse when he peeks out.
Lifting my hand, I quietly rap against the solid wood, doing my best not to be loud enough to wake my daughter, but also to be heard over the drill he’s using.
The drilling stops, like Tucker’s waiting to see if he really did hear a knock, so I do it again, anticipation building as I wait.
I’m not waiting long.
The door suddenly whips open, but only wide enough for me to see the tall expanse of man greeting me. Tucker looks me over, eyes dragging from the top of my head, past the pajamas I changed into after my shower, stopping at where my bare toes curl against the floor. “Did I wake you up?”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t asleep.”
His eyes snap to the door of the room where Birdie’s sleeping. “Am I being too loud?”
Again, I shake my head. “Not at all.” I can’t fight the curiosity curling through my insides any longer. “What are you doing?”
I know I wasn’t going to pry, but I love Tucker’s house, and would hate to leave without seeing his newest project.
“Uhh.” He hesitates, head swiveling over one shoulder. “I was just assembling something I built.”
“Can I see it?” Maybe he’s turning this room into a man cave with a speakeasy vibe. Possibly a library withfloor-to-ceiling shelves. A theater room with a kitchenette where he can watch movies, snack, and relax? The possibilities are endless, and they’re killing me. Since I don’t have a house of my own, and likely won’t for the foreseeable future, I want to live vicariously through him.
Tucker seems torn, which is weird. Normally he’s more than happy to show off his building skills. I’ve heard all about how he spent weeks on the built-in hutch in his dining room. The hours it took to craft his own cabinetry for the kitchen and bathrooms. He’s even shown me plans for the play space he’s putting in the basement for Titus and Mariah’s twins to play in when they’re older.
So it’s strange he isn’t eager to show me what he’s working on now.
