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He kisses my cheek. “Deal.” And then he whistles for Gus.
We decide to set out on foot. There’s a children’s boutique just a few blocks from our apartment building. It’s probably pricey, but I figure we can start to make a dent in our shopping list.
As soon as we step inside, my gaze goes right to a rack of adorable baby clothes. I naturally zero in on the little dresses in pink, white, cream, pale yellow, and aqua. They’re adorned with charming patterns of baby animals. Immediately, my heart aches because Jamie can’t see these darling fabrics for himself. I can describe them to him, of course, but I don’t think it’s the same as seeing them for himself.
We end up purchasing a white wicker bassinette, mattress, and fitted sheets. We pick out some onesies, sleepers, a few dresses, socks, knit hats to keep her head warm, receiving blankets, burp cloths, a bottle warmer, glass baby bottles, and diapers. We arrange to have the heavier items delivered to our apartment later in the week. We take the lighter items with us.
After we leave the shop, we walk another block to our favorite bistro, where we stop for sandwiches and coffee.
“Are you sure you’re okay with moving to the family compound?” Jamie asks as we start eating. “There’s room for a studio at the new house. You can paint there, and Christy can manage the shop.”
I pour some cream into my coffee. “I think it’s a good idea. I’ll need to give Christy a raise as she’ll have more responsibility if I’m not there as often. I can do most of my painting at the house, which is a win-win because it means I’ll be home with you and with the baby. We might need someone to help out while we’re both working, or we can take turns juggling our work schedules and childcare.”
Jamie nods as he chews. “I know Mom and Dad will want to help out with childcare when we need an extra pair of hands. And I’m sure your parents will want to help as well.”
After we finish our sandwiches, we split a giant chocolate chip cookie. We pay the bill and then head back toward home.
Jamie’s carrying most of our bags. I have my arm linked through his so I can guide him down the sidewalk and around any obstacles.
Up ahead, directly in our path, I spot a rough-looking young man in a heated discussion with a much older couple. The older man, clearly well into his eighties, has his wallet out. His hand shakes as he counts out bills, while the woman with him, presumably his wife, looks worried.
“Jamie,” I say sharply as I tighten my grip on his arm.
“What is it?” His voice is even, matter-of-fact now. My tone of voice has put him on alert.
“Ahead of us, a young man looks like he’s accosting an elderly couple. I’m not sure, but I think he’s robbing them in plain daylight.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“He’s probably in his late teens and wearing ripped jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket. He’s got a lot of facial tattoos—I think they’re gang symbols. He’s gesturing aggressively at the man’s wallet. The man’s hands are shaking, and the woman looks scared.”
“How far ahead?”
“At the end of the block.”
“Take these.” Jamie hands me our shopping bags. Then he rests his hand on my shoulder. “Keep walking. Stop a few feet away from them.”
I do as he says, but the closer we get, the more sure I am that this guy is robbing these poor people. When the kid shifts his stance, I catch a glimpse of a wicked-looking knife tucked into a sheath attached to his belt. “He has a knife in a sheath on his right side.”
When we’re about ten feet away, I stop. Jamie stops with me.
“All of it, old man!” the kid says. “Now!”
“Molly, step back,” Jamie says.
I hate leaving Jamie in harm’s way, but I know he’ll be preoccupied with my safety if I don’t. He needs to focus on what’s in front of him. So I do as he asks, moving back several yards.
“Everything okay here, sir?” Jamie asks, clearly addressing the elderly man. I watch Jamie’s body language, the way he loosens his shoulders, how he balances his stance. I’ve seen this before. He’s preparing for action.
“I—I don’t know,” the white-haired man says in a shaky voice. “We were just walking—my wife and I—and this young man—”
“Please,” the man’s wife whispers as she clings to her husband’s arm. “We just want to go.”
“Who the hell are you?” the kid asks Jamie. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”
“Move along,” Jamie tells him in an even voice. “Leave these folks alone.”
The kid laughs, his tone harsh. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
