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Alexei doesn’t give me a moment to even process the answer to that question.

He simply walks over to the baby carrier and wraps one hand around the handle, lifting the whole thing—Ella, carrier, blankets, and all—as though it weighs absolutely nothing. Like he’s picking up a bag of groceries.

I carry that thing from the car to the apartment and my arm aches for twenty minutes afterward. I have to switch sides halfway. And he just . . . lifted it. With one hand. While still holding shopping bags in the other.

Something about watching him do that—the casual, effortless strength of it, makes my stomach do a slow, traitorous flip. I stare at his forearm, at the muscles that bulge against his jacket and the vein that runs along the inside of his wrist, and I have a completely inappropriate thought about what those arms would feel like wrapped around me.

Stop it, Ryleigh. The man is being nice. He’s not flirting with you. He’s rescuing you, which is actually worse.

“You guys are coming back to my place. We’ll get this all sorted in the morning.”

I cross the room to stand toe to toe with him and place my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you from Adam. I’m not going home with a complete stranger.”

“You don’t have much of a choice. I’m not letting you and the baby stay here and freeze tonight. In case you didn’t notice, it’s below thirty outside, and it’s not much warmer in here.”

“Not letting me?” I sputter.

The audacity. The sheer, unbelievable audacity of this man, standing in my apartment—that he walked into uninvited, by the way—telling me what I can and can’t do. I don’t care how good he smells or how easily he lifts baby carriers. Nobody tells me what to do. Not anymore.

“That’s right. Now, get your shit. It’s way past her bedtime.” His gaze flicks to Ella, whose whimper has turned into a full-on cry.

And that’s the part that gets me. Not the bossy command or the way his jaw is set in that stubborn line. It’s that he looked at Ella when he said it. He’s not doing this for me—he’s doing it for her. Because it’s nearly midnight and thirty degrees, and there’s a baby in a freezing apartment, and even if I’m too proud to accept help for myself, I can’t be too proud to accept it for her.

I sigh and reach for Ella, lifting her out and bouncing her in my arms. As I expected, it does nothing to calm her. My bouncing is apparently not the right rhythm, or the right speed, or maybe she just knows I have no idea what I’m doing and she’s protesting accordingly.

“Let me have her.” He takes the baby from me and gently rubs small circles along her tiny back, having dropped the bags right on the floor without a second thought. His massive palm covers nearly her entire back, and the contrast between his size and hers—this giant of a man cradling something so small and fragile—does something to my chest that I refuse to name.

“When’s the last time she’s eaten?”

I check my phone for the time. Mrs. Henderson said Ella had her last bottle just before ten. “Almost three hours ago.”

He nods. “She’s due soon, but let’s see if we can have her hold out until we get to my place. Then we’ll put her down to sleep.”

‘We’. Like we’re a team. Like this is a joint operation and not a stranger telling me how to handle a baby I’ve known for four days.

What is even happening right now?

He continues patting her back, and when she lets out a huge burp, Alexei smiles. It transforms his entire face—softens the hard jaw, crinkles the corners of his eyes. “There we go. Was that the problem, princess?”

She stops crying, blinking as she searches for the source of the deep voice. Her tiny fist opens and closes against his chest, and for a second she just stares up at him with those wide blue eyes, like she’s trying to figure out who this new person is and why he’s so much better at this than the woman who’s been fumbling through it for the past four days.

Same, Ella. Same.

Holding her carefully in one of his huge arms—one arm, while I need two and a prayer—he opens a package of pacifiers, walks to the kitchen sink, and washes one with my antibacterial soap. He gives it to Ella, who immediately begins sucking away, and her cries fade into soft hiccups.

I blink at him. “How do you know all this?”

He shrugs. “A gaggle of nieces and nephews, as I mentioned. I’ve been around babies a lot. You pick things up.”

You pick things up. Like it’s no big deal. Like soothing a screaming infant in under sixty seconds is a casual skill, right up there with parallel parking or making a decent omelet.

I’ve never spent much time around a baby, and these last few days have proved it. I have no idea what I’m doing with Ella, and watching Alexei handle her with such ease makes me feel both grateful and completely inadequate. He’s right, though. It is way past her bedtime. It really is freezing here. And no matter how pissed I am at Andi right now, I can’t let my pride put Ella at risk.

It wouldn’t be fair. She’s not mine, but I’ve been entrusted with her care. I need to do the right thing. For Ella.

“Fine. We’ll come stay at your place for the night.”

Alexei only nods, like he expected my response all along. Smug bastard.