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She shook her head and held up a hand. “Not necessary.”
“See, you’re not so rusty. Need anything from the store?”
“I do. Joy’s down to eight diapers, and I need more…” She broke off and blushed. “We should come with you.”
“Don’t talk crazy. Just tell me what you need. You’re not going to shock me. I guarantee you, if men gave birth, not a single guy on the planet would hesitate to demand a lifetime supply of Lidocaine spray and Preparation H.”
She compromised by writing out a list, folding it, and handing it over, wrapped in two twenties. Women.
“Does pizza sound good for dinner?”
“Hunter, you don’t have to feed me.”
“I have to feed me, and I can’t eat an entire pizza by myself. In the meantime”—he pointed to the apple—“have a snack.”
A stare-down followed, but he held his ground until she picked up the apple and took a bite. He rode that small wave of success out of the house and mentally added apples to his list.
Getting the grocery and pharmacy items took a little more time than he anticipated. He’d been right about nothing on Madison’s top secret list shocking him, but he did a little phone-enabled research and took the liberty of adding a few recommended items.
After crossing the last thing off her list, he swung down the baby gear aisle and found something called a portable baby lounge. It looked like a giant bedroom slipper but was probably safer and more comfortable than letting the baby sleep in a dresser drawer. The next aisle led to the registers, eventually. He cruised through. Cards, wrapping paper, and gift bags passed by in a colorful blur, until he caught a glimpse of something big and pink in his peripheral vision. He skidded to a halt and then looked up. There, on the top shelf sat a row of teddy bears. An image of Madison’s empty hospital room filled his mind. Before he could talk himself out of it, he snagged one of the cotton candy pink bears by a paw and pulled it down. The tag read 0+ years. He put Pinkie in the cart.
…
“Okay, baby girl, are you ready? You ready?” Madison sat next to Joy, who lay on a blanket on the living room rug, giving her a look that seemed to say, Mama, I was born ready.
“All right then. Here we go.” She turned Joy over onto her tummy and then slowly let go. “What do you think? You like tummy time? The doctor recommends three minutes, three times a day, at first, so that beautiful head of yours doesn’t go flat in the back.”
Joy tucked her arms into her chest and drew her knees up in line with her hips—how in the world? Her little toes curled into the blanket. She seemed content, but Madison chewed on her cuticle and watched. Was she comfortable? Was the floor too hard? Were the frog legs normal?
The baby couldn’t supply any precise answers, so Madison stretched out on the floor next to Joy and rolled over onto her stomach. She turned her head to the side so she faced her daughter. The baby rewarded her with a soft cooing sound.
The floor felt okay. A little brutal on her breasts, but Joy wouldn’t have that complaint. And if she pulled her arms in, too… Yeah, not too bad. She couldn’t mimic the legs, though. She could bring one leg up, or the other, but both at the same time? Uh-uh. Humans were not meant to bend that way.
“Do I even want to know?”
The deep-voiced question came from behind her. She levered her body into an ungainly semi-pushup and twisted around to find Hunter staring at her, holding a bunch of big plastic shopping bags. She tried not to wonder how much she looked like a beached walrus right at that moment.
He dropped the bags onto the sofa and then strode toward her. “Slow your roll, Foley.” A smile slid across his lips. “You just got out of the hospital. No way am I clearing you for mommy and me yoga yet.” Before she could try to explain why she was sprawled all over his living room rug, he reached down and flipped her over in one smooth, controlled move.
The casual show of strength provoked a not-so-casual uptick in her pulse. Then he knelt by her hip and braced his hands on either side of her head, bringing his laughing eyes and sexy smile even closer, and she felt way too…susceptible…lying flat on her back with him leaning over her. She propped herself up on her elbows, hoping that asserting some control over her body would make her feel less vulnerable, but the move only brought their faces closer. Now she could see the shadow of whiskers on his jaw, a shade or two darker than his hair, and she fought a wayward urge to run her palm over his cheek and feel the scrape of his stubble.
Breathe. Clear your head. She drew in air through her nose and then took another quick, greedy inhale, because he smelled just like the imported green tea she used to drink as a treat during her breaks at work before she’d realized she was pregnant. Her mouth watered. A new urge took hold, to bury her face against the underside of his jaw and breathe him in deep—deep enough to taste his scent at the back of her tongue.
She forced a swallow down her tight, dry throat, which resulted in an audible gulp. Did he hear? Did the desperate, hungry sound tell him what sorts of inappropriate thoughts danced through her mind? For God’s sake, say something. “I wasn’t doing yoga.”
“No?” Under half-lowered lids, his eyes strayed to her mouth. “What were you up to?”
Her lips went warm and tingly, as if he’d run his rough jaw over them instead of just his watchful gaze. He brushed her hair off her shoulder. The casual gesture sent the warm tingles cascading into her chest.
“Tummy time.”
He had the most fascinating smile. A thin, strangely vulnerable strip of smooth skin outlined his upper lip and softened the almost cocky tilt at the corner of his mouth. As she watched, the cocky tilt tipped up a notch.
“You’re about twenty-one and a half years too late for tummy time.”
“Not for me. For her.” She pointed to Joy. “But then she did this froggy thing with her legs, and I got to wondering if it was normal…”
“It is.”
