Page 106 of Fierce-Baker

That was fine. The fact that Baker introduced Tasha to any family member meant that the next phase was falling right into place.

She nodded her head and took a step backwards. “Then I can pat myself on the back.”

He laughed. “Your work is done.”

“Nah,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s never done.”

Then she got out of there before she said too much.

When to push, when to take, and when to know she did the right thing.

31

A HELPING HAND

“Baker. Bakeeerrrr,” Micah hollered, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“He’s coming,” she assured her son on Saturday afternoon, crouching to his level. “He just ran home to change. And maybe,” she poked him playfully in the belly, “you shouldn’t have painted his shirt.”

Micah giggled, lifting his freshly scrubbed hands high in the air like proof of innocence.

Or maybesheshouldn’t have let him finger-paint knowing they were headed to her parents’ house shortly.

She straightened, blowing out a slow breath. She was way more nervous than Baker.

It had been years—years—since anyone she’d dated had met her parents. Long enough that the idea alone made her stomach flutter uncomfortably. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the inevitable lecture if they didn’t like him.

Or worse—the pressure if they did.

She glanced at the clock for what had to be the tenth time in five minutes, then forced herself to stop before she wore a hole through the wall with her vision.

“Okay, buddy,” she said, clapping her hands together with more energy than she felt. “Let’s get you changed.”

Micah zoomed past her down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the floor on the way to his room.

She hoisted him up and put him on the changing table, pulled his jean shorts off, grabbed another diaper, then unfastened the one he was wearing that was soaking wet, and swapped them out.

The minute she pulled his shorts back up, she saw the blue paint on the bottom of his red shirt.

“Ready!” Micah shouted.

“Not quite. You got paint on your shirt.” She lifted him off the changing table, grunting while she did. He was getting heavy to keep doing this.

He let out another giggle as if he knew and was trying to hide it from her.

His arms went in the air, getting in position for her to lift it over his head, which she did, sending his hair up with it.

Just another thing she’d have to take care of.

She found his blue T-shirt with the little dump truck on the front.

She helped him into his sneakers, tying the laces while her thoughts spun. What if her parents asked too many questions? What if they liked Baker more than she was ready for them to? What if they saw something she was trying not to think too hard about herself?

“Mama,” Micah said, touching her cheek. There was red paint on the inside of his arm. Good lord, it was no wonder Baker got it on his shirt. She missed so much.

“We need to get you washed up better.”

He took off toward the bathroom next to his room, then reached for the tub, but she pulled his stool closer to the sink, letting him know where she wanted him.