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“I don’t have a crib,” I say, suddenly nervous.
I don’t have anything.
Not anything that a little baby bear might require.
If I had been prepared, I would have set up everything my son could have possibly needed, but I wasn’t prepared. I’m not prepared. Not for this. When I woke up, I never imagined that someone like Polly would walk through my doors or that she’d hand-deliver my own kid to me.
Then again, that’s life, right?
It’s no fun if it doesn’t keep you on your toes every now and then.
“Where?” I ask. “I don’t have a crib.”
“We could put him on the bed,” she says slowly, gesturing toward the bedroom, but then I have an idea.
“Wait.”
I hurry over to my closet and rustle around for a minute. Then I find what I’m looking for. I grab the item and come back to show her.
“Is it...a crate?”
“It’s a box,” I say. I set down the wooden box in the center of the floor. It’s definitely big enough for my little guy, but small enough that it’ll be nice and cozy.
“Like a travel bed,” she says. A slow smile spreads over her face and she looks at me with something that could only resemble admiration. I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything. If anything, this is just a shallow attempt to make up for the fact that I’ve essentially missed my kid’s life. He’s been around for months and I had no idea. I mean, that much isn’t exactly my fault, but it sure feels that way.
I grab some bedding and we make a little nest for my baby bear. Polly places him gently inside and once we’re satisfied that he’s not going anywhere, I gesture to the bedroom.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“In bed?” She raises an eyebrow and her eyes quickly move up and down my body.
Interesting.
So, she finds me attractive.
I’m not sure how I should feel about this little piece of information, but for some reason, it makes me feel pretty okay. Not that I should make any sort of move on Alexis’ best friend, but I’m glad to know I haven’t completely lost my appeal to the fairer sex.
“Polly, we can talk wherever you like.”
“I think the table would be a safer bet,” she says, gesturing toward the little table and chairs.
“Is that where you want to talk?”
“It’s safer,” she repeats.
I take a step closer. Then another. I’m invading her space and we both know it. I lift her chin, though, and I force her to look at me. I see so many things in her eyes that I don’t even think she does.
Excitement.
Passion.
Nervousness.
Fear.
What’s little Polly afraid of?
“The table it is, then.”
