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As she was trying to figure out how she could possibly kiss him on the lips without revealing her feelings for him, he added a sentence that sent her into a coughing fit.
“And you need to look like you enjoy it.”
Chapter 12
It was almost six o’clock by the time Jarrett pulled into the garage with their precious cargo. With Gabe’s arms and legs securely velcroed around her, Rylie could have carried him hands-free, but she hugged him like a precious bundle as she carried him inside. Jarrett brought the bags inside and shut the door, his heart too big for his chest. They were home, at last. His new family… at least for the next year. With Rylie’s help, he’d calmed down about the decorating mishap. It helped a great deal to see the family room back to normal when he walked in the door with Gabe.
“Are you hungry, buddy?” Jarrett didn’t bother to use his broken Spanish. From all the adoption resources he’d greedily consumed, he’d learned children Gabe’s age would quickly pick up the language simply from hearing it. Jarrett would reserve Spanish for times when they were unable to communicate any other way.
Rylie carried Gabe into the kitchen, his face buried against her chest. But he looked up with interest when Jarrett took some cheese out of the refrigerator. He hadn’t lost his hair yet, but that would happen. Jarrett knew from experience the best thing to do, once it began to fall out, was to shave it off. For the duration of his treatments, Gabe could live at home instead of the hospital, unless he got an infection. With leukemia, that was a constant threat. A brightly-colored elastic sleeve covered the PICC line on Gabe’s thin arm, a necessary inconvenience that would let him avoid being repeatedly poked with needles.
Jarrett was fully confident handling Gabe’s medical complications. It was the fatherhood aspect that made him nervous. Why did Rylie seem so calm about parenting?
She sat down with Gabe in her lap, and he twisted toward the table, accepting the piece of cheese Jarrett offered him and eyeing the jelly Jarrett spread on a piece of bread before retrieving the peanut butter from the cabinet.
“You know,” Jarrett said, “I’m used to being perfect at everything I do. But parenting… I’m feeling a little inept.”
“All we can do is read a lot, ask for help, pray, and do our best.”
“Have you ever thought about being a parent? I mean, before you got stuck doing it for Gabe.”
She scooted out from under Gabe, who barely protested, preoccupied with his dinner.
“There was a time when I hoped I would get married and have kids.” She opened the refrigerator and stared inside for a minute before closing the door and addressing him with a frown. “You don’t have any junk food. Guess we’re not as alike as I thought.”
“I have sweets, but I keep them hidden,” he said. “You hoped you would have kids? Past tense?”
“Well, I have to be realistic. I’m thirty-three. My chances of getting married are going down all the time.” She opened a cabinet and shut it. Then another. “How can you hide the sweets? You’re the only person who lives here, so you know where they are.”
“Yes, but I make them hard to get to, so I won’t eat them all the time,” he said. “You could always adopt.”
“I’ve no desire to be a single mom.” She looked inside another cabinet. “Where are the sweets?”
“My stash is low. I think I’m down to one bag of dark chocolate.”
“Perfect. Where is it?”
“It’s a secret.”
“We’re married,” she said. “We shouldn’t have secrets from each other.”
“But this secret is for your own good.”
She grunted, her lower lip pushing forward in an adorable pout.
“Why don’t we both eat something healthy, and then I’ll bring out the chocolate?”
“You’re as bad as my sister.” Her eyes rolled up until he could see white at the bottoms. “Fine, I’ll gnaw on some vegetables and swallow a kale-yogurt shake if I can have some chocolate afterward.”
“I’ve got something a lot better than that. How about chicken pot roast?” He pulled an aluminum pan out of the refrigerator and stuck it in the oven. “I pay one of Juanita’s friends to cook for me. She makes frozen meals for the week and delivers them on Sundays. That reminds me, I need to let her know I’ll have company next week. Mom’s going to want to cook for us most nights, I’m sure.”
“I’ll eat this, for now.” Rylie snatched a lone peppermint from a tray on the counter. “I hope your mother doesn’t expect me to cook. The only things I can make are cookies and zucchini bread.”
“I promise… Mom will love you.”
“Hope you’re right.” She peered into the oven, as if she could make their dinner cook faster. “Wouldn’t the microwave be faster?”
“Yes, but this gives us time to talk about that thing we were discussing earlier today…” Hopefully, he could coax her into a dialogue.
