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“All fresh,” he called, appearing from the hallway with Teagan in his arms. Her wet hair had been brushed back and she was in her footie jammies, her thumb in her mouth. She was angelic, her blonde hair a halo. She was the very picture of contentment in his arms, and when he kissed the top of her head before gently handing her over to Kennedy, my ovaries exploded like a piñata. I felt the pop, sure I’d find confetti in my underwear later. Because the only thing hotter than Adam Beckman was Adam Beckman holding a baby and lookinghappyabout it.
Ugh, that was so inconvenient.
I sidled up to Kennedy and gave her a one-armed squeeze, kissing Teagan’s warm, chubby little cheek. “Goodnight, sweet baby girl,” I said softly, thanking Kennedy for a beautiful day before scooping up the tote bag on her counter that she’d filled with containers of food.
“I have one for you too, Adam.” She pointed to another tote bag. “Somehow I always overestimate how much food we’ll actually eat.”
“Like I’m complaining.” He smiled, giving Kennedy a quick hug and cradling Teagan’s head in his big hand before scooping up both tote bags. “Coming, Madelyn?”
You could have heard a pin drop in the kitchen. Even Teagan was silent as she watched us with big, round blue eyes.
“Uh…” I felt like a memo had been put out that I hadn’t received. “Yeah, sure. I guess I am.”
“Night, Mad.” Steve pulled me into a hug as he came down the stairs, and I clapped him on the back.
“Night, Adam.” He gave Adam the same hug, with a dash of “bro” to it to keep things manly: less squeezing, more clapping.
I pulled Adam’s coat out of the hallway closet to hand to him, then slipped into my own. I held out my hand for the other tote but Adam, already in his coat with both totes in one hand, shook his head.
He followed me to my rental car, waiting for me to unlock the door. Only then did he hand over the tote, before he said the words that made my blood pressure skyrocket: “I’m following you home to make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay.” It was all I could get out, the questions swirling through my head but getting stuck before they came out of my mouth. I didn’t know what that meant, or why he felt the need to do it, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to argue.
Steve waved to us from the porch as Adam backed his truck out onto the street and waited for me to back the car out in front of him. It wasn’t more than a ten-minute trip, but my heart was in my throat the entire time as my eyes flicked up to the rearview to see his headlights.
Beckman is following me home. Will he come inside? Does he want to stay?
I’d left a lamp on in the living room before I left the house that afternoon, and I smiled as I realized how warm and cheerful it made the space. Thankfully the driveway was long, the house set back far enough from the road that I wouldn’t have to worry about people easily seeing in through the walls of windows, a completely impractical design for upstate New York.
The two-stall garage was connected to the house by an enclosed breezeway and I hit the buttons on both of the door openers I’d clipped to the visor, my heart in my throat.
If he pulls into the garage, he means to stay.
He pulled into the stall, killing the engine and hopping out easily as the doors closed. “Won’t stay long–don’t want to inconvenience you. My dad said you talked about having some work done while you were away; thought I’d get a quick look so we can get a handle on things.”
Somehow my house was turning into a real family affair.
He said nothing when I led him into the space, just scrutinized things carefully. He peered into cabinets and flicked light switches, turned on faucets and pressed his foot into certain sections of the floor.
“Basement?” he asked and I shook my head.
“You are completely insane.” He shook his head. “The hell are you gonna do if a tornado comes tearing through?”
I decided not to point out that I was pretty sure his place didn’t have a basement either, something that wasn’t entirely normal for a northern home.
He wandered through the house slowly and I busied myself putting the containers into the fridge, making some tea and piling wood into the fireplace.
“Your heat’s not on yet,” he observed and I almost bashed my head against the fireplace surround as I leaned over it, trying to get it started.
“I’ll drain the pipes before I leave,” I said. “The boiler’s being inspected tomorrow and I didn’t want to take any chances. I’m used to worse.”
Something in his eyes softened. “You are a real trip, VanBuren. I don’t know anyone who’d move into a house without heat in November. You are definitely not a princess.”
That felt like high praise, coming from him.
“This is a cakewalk compared to some of the shit I’ve seen,” I said, pushing myself up into a standing position and shoving my hair back over my shoulder. I hated that it was always in the way and I grabbed for the hair tie I perpetually wore around my wrist, looping my hair up at the back of my head. “It beats hunkering down in a Chilean rainforest any day, tell you what. It’s one of the most beautiful, dangerous things you’ll ever see…cold as fuck…and the big cats are scarier than any organized militia.”
“I don’t like you heading back into dangerous situations.” The way he was looking at me made my stomach do backflips. “The thought that you could be hurt and there’s nothing I can do to help makes me crazy.”
