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“Yeah, man, anytime,” Harris said honestly.
“You’ve packed again, I see,” Greyson said stiltedly, and Harris nodded.
“I’m flying out to Australia on Wednesday. I should have gone in March,” he said pointedly, a reference to the fact that Greyson had used the Perth incident as an excuse to avoid the last stage of Libby’s pregnancy and had missed Clara’s birth as a result. It had always been Harris’s responsibility, but his brother had pulled rank. Greyson averted his eyes and nodded.
“Yes.” His voice was quiet and filled with regret, and when he brought his gaze back to Harris’s, it too shone with remorse.
“So what time tonight?” Harris asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit.
“Seven? At Tina’s place.”
“That’s cool. Where are you taking Libby?”
“There’s this restaurant on Leisure Isle. Right on the lagoon. Spencer told me about it. Quite romantic, apparently. Great food, so my little food snob won’t have much to complain about in that department.” Harris’s jaw dropped at the affectionate possessive pronoun, but he managed to pick it back up before Greyson noticed. His brother was still talking about the restaurant and the table he’d reserved; he was like a dizzy teen, drunk on his first crush. It was both alarming and kind of endearing to witness.
Endearing was not a term he’d ever thought to associate with Greyson, and he couldn’t quite believe it had come to mind now. But he couldn’t be anything other than happy for Greyson. He hoped, for his brother’s sake, that the guy did not screw up again.
Tina wasn’t sure why she had agreed to this, but she had been so damned grateful that Libby had trusted her enough to look after Clara that she didn’t even care if it was only under supervision, so to speak. As a result, Tina had felt incapable of nitpicking about Libby’s choice of babysitting partner. She and Harris were adults; they would deal.
Now, as she watched Harris and Greyson set up Clara’s crib, and while she listened to Libby go over her list of “dos and don’ts,” Tina found herself feeling absolutely terrified. What was she thinking? She couldn’t do this. She could not do this.
She was on the verge of telling Libby that she had changed her mind when Harris picked the contentedly gurgling Clara up from her baby seat and gently rocked her back and forth. And the words froze in her throat.
“Tina? Tina?” Libby prompted, and Tina jumped, her eyes darting back to her friend’s concerned face. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”
“I’m fine.”
“I know this is a huge step for you. And maybe adding Harris into the mix is a bit insensitive. Considering . . . everything. But I had no one else to ask, and I knew you’d feel overwhelmed looking after her by yourself. I know I could have asked Harris to do it alone, but . . .”
“Libby.” Tina reached out and grabbed her friend’s hand. “It’s okay. I know why you asked Harris to help. And you were right to do so. We’ll be fine. Are you sure? About tonight?”
Libby, who had told Tina that she was going to present Greyson with divorce papers tonight, nodded somberly.
“It’s inevitable,” she said quietly so that the men could not overhear them. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “He knows it too.”
Tina drew her in for a fierce hug.
“It’ll all work out, Libby. I promise.”
Tina fell apart. The second Clara started crying, she fell completely apart. Up until that point she’d been okay. Making stilted, painstakingly polite conversation with Harris and watching from a respectable distance while he cleaned and changed Clara. Tina didn’t once offer to hold the baby, and while she sensed Harris’s confusion, he thankfully didn’t comment on her strange behavior.
But then Clara started crying, and Harris, who was in the kitchen warming her bottle, looked over his shoulder at Tina.
“Pick her up, will you? She’s hungry and cranky. I’m just going to get her bottle warmed, and then I’ll feed her.”
Tina froze. Caught halfway between the kitchen and Clara’s baby seat. Her eyes were trained on the baby’s screwed-up face as she started crying louder and more passionately, and Tina could not bring her feet to move.
“Tina!” Harris called, clearly irritated. “Pick her up.”
Tina shook her head.
“Can’t,” she whispered under her breath.
“What?” he snapped, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he tested the milk temperature on the inside of his wrist. He winced and opened the cold-water faucet, holding the bottle beneath it.
When Clara’s crying didn’t subside, Harris looked up, annoyed that Tina could just continue to let her wail like that. Tina stood in the middle of the living room. She had her arms wrapped around her torso as she rocked back and forth, staring at the crying baby yearningly, as if she wished it were Clara she were rocking. While looking wholly incapable of actually moving to pick the infant up.
