Pixie carried Shayna and the bag of food. “Do you want to eat first or make your call?”
Grumbling, Brogan said, “I should return the call, I guess. Officer Jansen Flynn said it wasn’t urgent, but he had a few questions.” Clearly, making the call wasn’t his preference.
“Let’s get the kids in their seats and then I’ll reheat our food while you talk to him.”
“More teamwork. I like it.” He lowered Andy to the flooragain, but caught him when he would have taken off. “Hang on there, speed racer.”
Somehow he managed to open the stroller and restrain Andy at the same time. Pixie figured it was his long reach and strength that made it easier for him. As soon as he finished, they switched kids. She got Andy into his high chair and Brogan got Shayna into the stroller.
The kitchen had once felt large, but now, with Brogan here, the space felt wonderfully crowded.
Obviously, she was worse off than her son. When Brogan’s lease ended and he went away, she’d probably miss him even more than Andy would.
As she turned, they collided. Brogan caught her upper arms and laughed. “Hey, sorry. You okay?”
Um … no. Absurd for a twenty-one-year-old mother to blush clean down to her toes, but she did. She could feel the warmth in her skin and knew her face had turned red. “Sorry.” She tried a laugh, too, but it sounded a little strangled. “Go make your call. I’ll have the food ready in no time.”
Slowly, his hands fell away from her. “I’ll just step into the other room. If you need help, give a yell.”
“I won’t,” she promised him.
He already had his phone to his ear as he walked away. With the kitchen open to the living room, Pixie saw him pace toward the porch to look out. His deep voice was pitched low, and he kept his broad shoulders and back to her, giving her a chance to look him over without his knowing.
He really was large, towering over most people, with the physique to match. He kept his dark blond hair military short. It made her fingers twitch with the need to stroke the back of his head, to feel that rough velvety texture.
As if he felt her stare, he turned, which had Pixie scrambling to do something—anything—else. Her face quickly got hot again.
Andy helped her by saying, “Cookie.”
“Not just yet, sweetie. Very soon.” She gave him water in his cup instead, then watched as he tried to pour some on Shayna. “No, you don’t,” she said in a rush, scooting his chair a little farther from the infant. Then she worried that he might throw the cup anyway, something he’d done before, so she let him take a drink or two and then reclaimed it.
“Cup!”
“In a second.” She had no idea what Robin had sent them to eat, so she quickly emptied the bag, hoping it wasn’t steak, which would be tough when reheated. She inhaled the aroma of pork loin wrapped in smoked bacon. The glazed apples were packed separately, as were the asparagus and onion straws. “Bless you, Robin.”
She wrapped the pork to reheat it in the air fryer, with the onion straws left unwrapped to keep them crisp. She’d microwave the asparagus. After she had the food ready to heat, she peeked into the living room. Brogan was still talking, but looked up when he saw her. She lifted the choice of bottled water or cola, and then whispered, “Or tea?”
Covering the phone, he said, “Tea, thanks,” before getting back to his call.
Pixie held up two fingers as a question.
He returned four.
Nodding, she set the table and started heating the food. In the diaper bag, she found a bottle of water for Shayna, with a travel dispenser of formula. She set both on the counter and then prepared finger food for Andy, including soft chunks of cheese, a couple of his favorite crackers, steamed carrots and broccoli, and just a bit of diced chicken. She put it all in his divided bowl just as the microwave dinged. The air fryer finished next. She’d just finished putting the apples on her pork when Brogan reentered.
“Man, that smells good.”
“Mam,” Andy said, using the same enthusiasm Brogan had.
“He calls me Mam,” Pixie said, “and he’s ready to eat, too.” She put bibs on both of the kids. “I have Shayna’s stuff there on the counter, but I wasn’t sure of your process with her bottles.”
“Thanks.” Brogan set her plate and drink on the table for her. “Why don’t you sit. I’ll finish my plate and put Shayna’s bottle together.”
He did so quickly and efficiently, proving he was now a pro.
“The apples are great,” she said, in case he didn’t want to include them. Cort usually didn’t, but she and Marlow loved the combination of tastes.
Brogan took her suggestion while she fastened the suction cups of Andy’s bowl to the tray on his high chair.
