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But before I can ask him what that means, Liam starts to throw a fit because Rhett is wiping off his face. In true toddler style, Liam goes from happy meatloaf man to inconsolable ball of ire in the space of two seconds.
“Liam, buddy, you are a mess.” Rhett tosses his napkin onto his plate and yanks the tray off Liam’s highchair. “How about a bath? You liked that last night.”
My cue to go, for real this time.
“Y’all go do bath time.” Standing, I grab our plates. “I’ll clean up here, and then I’ll take off.”
Rhett glances at the table as he unclips Liam, who narrowly avoids hitting his daddy in the face with the foot that he’s flailing. “Just leave that stuff. I’ll take care of it.”
“I got it.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. I think Liam’s going to be ready for bed in about twenty seconds, so you’d better hurry.”
“I’m on it.”
I load the dishwasher while Rhett takes Liam upstairs. He stops crying not long after, and as I’m wiping down the table, I hear him laughing and splashing—his room is right above the kitchen—and then I hear Rhett laughing too.
Glancing around the kitchen, I notice a half-empty beer bottle on the counter by the stove. I frown, trying not to think about what Rhett said about his dad. What it means, and why he’d share something like that with me after all this time.
But then I notice that Liam’s left Pup Pup down here, so I focus on that instead. It’s safer. Easier.
I walk into Liam’s room, lovey in hand, just as Rhett is getting him out of the tub in the en-suite bathroom.
“We-wa!” Liam cries when he sees me.
Holding a naked, squirming toddler in his outstretched arms, Rhett glances over his shoulder. “Shoot, I forgot to grab a towel.”
I grab one off the pair of hooks on the wall beside the tub.
“You mind drying him off while I hold him?” Rhett asks.
“No problem.” I make quick work of it, wiping down Liam before wrapping him up in the towel, mummy-style, and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Is there anything better than a clean baby?”
“Yes. A sleeping one.” Rhett shifts Liam in his arms so that he’s cradling him against his chest. “T-minus five minutes. Not like I’m counting.”
Crossing into the bedroom, I dig a pair of pjs covered in red monkeys out of a dresser drawer while Rhett sets Liam on the bed and puts a diaper on him. I gotta give the guy credit; he still fumbles a little with the tabs, losing one, finding it, then losing the other. But he gets it, tongue jammed between his teeth as he holds Liam down and attaches both tabs in the general vicinity of where they’re supposed to go.
I set the jammies on the bed beside Liam and grab the baby lotion on the nightstand. We discovered pretty quickly that Liam has super sensitive skin, with bumpy, dry patches on his back and arms. Luckily Beau put lotion on the list he gave Rhett.
Rhett sits Liam up and holds his arms out for me to lotion up. We did this last night too, but it’s still surprising how coordinated our movements are. I stand beside Rhett and rub lotion onto Liam’s little arms, Rhett bends him forward a little so I can get his back. Tilts him upright again so I can lotion up his tummy, making him squirm with laughter before I move to his little legs.
I’m close enough to Rhett to catch his scent. No cologne or aftershave—just skin, a hint of detergent.
Liam practically cackles when I get to his chubby feet, kicking out and sending my arm into a collision course with Rhett’s side. The contact is quick, my elbow and forearm meeting with his rib cage, but a spot of warmth blossoms inside my skin nonetheless, quickly spreading up my arm and down my torso.
“Sorry,” we say at the same time, and then we’re laughing when it happens again as Liam keeps kicking.
“It’s almost like he wants us to smush,” Rhett murmurs.
I hook my hands underneath Liam’s armpits and hold him still, taking half a step to the left to put a little space between Rhett and me. “Sorry, little man, that ship has sailed.”
“But oh, what a ride that ship did provide.” Rhett tugs Liam’s pajama top over his head. Then Rhett shoots me a look, one eyebrow lifted. “It was a good ride, right?”
“Decent,” I say, lips twitching. Liam’s arm is stuck in his pajama top now, and I reach down to help Rhett push it through the sleeve.
More contact. Fingers. A brush of wrists and forearms, his warm and firm in a way that makes the heat inside my skin pulse in time to my rising heartbeat. The small space between his body and mine comes alive, sparking with something I’m too chickenshit—too smart—to name.
