Page 20 of Something Like Shelter

My thoughts weren’t.

And my body was reacting.

I dropped my hand to find her wide-eyed and hazy. Dare I even think it? Also turned on.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. I was trying to find you to say hi without waking up the baby. Who has a very enraptured babysitter right now, by the way.”

“He’s the sweetest dog in the world.”

“Gracie headed out, by the way. While threatening to steal my dog. I’m starting to think I should retire my handyman business and just rent Tuna out to people who want to spend time with him.”

“But then who would fix the thousand other parts of my house that are bound to break?” she asked, shaking her head at the absurdity of the house she’d decided to keep living in, despite all its various—and expensive—quirks.

“At this rate, your house is my retirement plan.”

“I know, right? Insane. Well, I don’t want to keep you any later than necessary. I’ll just, um, go grab some clothes.”

The problem was that she had to head into the primary bedroom to do that. Which meant I got to watch how her ass moved beneath her towel as we both walked in the same direction.

I was just setting out some of my tools when I felt her presence in the doorway.

Turning, I found her standing there in a buttery-soft-looking baby blue pajama set. I decided not to notice the way she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I don’t know if you need to know this sort of thing, but I emptied the dehumidifiers midday.”

“I’m not surprised. That was a lot of water. Plus, it’s been humid. I’m gonna keep them running, but they should be slowing down. I know they make it hot as hell in here…”

“I’m not worried about that. I barely ever see this room anymore,” she admitted. “I was going to make some coffee. Can I get you some?”

“Sounds good,” I agreed. I didn’t usually drink coffee so late. But some part of me was looking for an excuse to see her again. “Thanks.”

“I’m assuming I can’t talk you into any flavors?”

“You’d be right on that.”

“Fine. Plain, boring coffee it is. I’ll be right back.”

I heard her feet on the stairs until Adelaide let out a shriek. A whine from Tuna followed.

I was going to have to wait on that coffee, but that was fine by me as I finally got to work, listening to the soft hum of Willa’s voice as she sang and talked to her daughter and my dog.

There it was again.

That weird feeling of rightness I couldn’t really wrap my head around.

I didn’t know what to make of that feeling.

I’d spent enough time around babies to know they were supposed to trigger something in people. A protective instinct, at least. A sense of awe, even. Whatever it was that made grown adults willingly spend months surviving on two hours of sleep a night.

But this felt different.

Or maybe it only felt different because of where I was standing.

In Willa’s house. Holding Willa’s baby. Watching Willa try to keep her professional life from falling apart while simultaneously trying to soothe her small baby.

For one brief, strange second, it felt less like I was standing in someone else’s home and more like I’d somehow wandered into a life that could have been mine.

The thought was so absurd that I immediately shoved it away.