Page 25 of Something Like Shelter

“I’m aware.” His voice was clipped.

“Okay. I’m willing to do a video call with Dave. From home. Then handle whatever changes we want to make. From home. Before going back to full maternity leave.”

There was a long enough pause that had me thinking he thought this might be his way back in. “Fine. I will inform Dave.”

He ended the call.

No ‘thank-you’ or anything.

“Looks like Mommy needs to get herself presentable today,” I told Adelaide, who’d been lying on my legs, looking up at me with her big eyes, making little owl sounds, but thankfully not crying the whole call. “Let’s hope something I own fits over these giant boobs of mine.” I picked up Adelaide and pressed her to my shoulder. “I mean, I’m not complaining. They’re nice. But I know I’m going to be saying goodbye to them sooner or later. And that’s just a cruel twist of fate, don’t you think?”

Upstairs, I set her on my bed before making my way into the disaster area that was my bathroom. Owen cleaned as he went, but there was still dust and bits of tile and glass scattered around. He’d told me he would get it with a shop vacuum when he came again, but he didn’t want to wake up Adelaide with the sound.

I’d known Owen in an abstract way for a while. But I’d spoken to him more during the process of this bathroom renovation than I had all these years. Maybe that was on me. I usually just left him alone to do his work, knowing how frustrating it was when someone bothered me when I was busy. But some part of me had been craving adult interactions. So I’d been checking on him anytime that Adelaide would let me walk away from her.

He was every bit the laid-back, easy-going, everything-rolls-off-his-back guy I’d suspected he was. Just one of those stereotypical salt-of-the-earth, kind, hardworking blue-collar men.

He was clearly God’s favorite that he was not only a good man, but also devastatingly good-looking.

I’d noticed that right away, of course. But he’d never been my type. I liked suits and ties and strong investment portfolios. Maybe because that was what I related to most. Or because that kind of man would understand my drive.

I was noticing his attractiveness more, now, though.

And it all culminated in that little run-in that stripped me of my towel.

I hadn’t been prepared for the way desire would bloom through me, warming me from the inside out. I was acutely aware of the press of my breasts to his wide, strong chest, the feel of his fingers on my hip, and how well our bodies fit together.

It was startling and thrilling and, well, interesting. Because my body felt more mine than it had since I’d gotten pregnant.

It wasn’t until I got my towel back on that I remembered how I’d vowed not to get involved with a man again. At least not for a long time. Probably years. I’d done a lot of work, but I still wasn’t fully over the whole series of events that followed the stick showing me two pink lines.

I didn’t trust my heart or my judgment of men anymore. I owed it to myself to wait until I could again to get involved with a man. For myself, sure. But more so, for my daughter. While I was fully okay with raising her myself—and had no worries about a strong male role model, since I had my dad, brother, uncles, and cousins to rely on for that—I would love to model a healthy, happy, loving relationship for her.

One day.

Just not yet.

And not with my handyman just because he was nice and handsome. Or because he didn’t peek when I got my towel back on.

“Though, I am half-tempted to marry him just to get unlimited access to that dog,” I told Adelaide as she looked up at me from the center of the bed, arms and legs kicking. “You love Tuna too, don’t you?” I asked as I made my way to my closet, digging around for an outfit that would be forgiving of the changes in my body.

I decided on a pair of cream slacks that had always been slightly looser than I liked and a navy blue silk blouse that didn’t tug the buttons too much over my swollen breasts.

“God, I forgot how miserable these things are,” I grumbled as I struggled into one of my nursing bras that I’d abandoned once my family stopped living at my house.

There was a ding on my phone, telling me that Dave would be ready for a call in an hour.

“How about a quick feeding before?” I asked my daughter as I stripped out of my shirt again. “Just so I don’t leak. And, hopefully, you take a nice, long, milk-drunk nap.”

Once she was fed and changed, I got dressed again, shoving some extra pads into my bra, then slicking my hair back and putting on some concealer to hide my sleeplessness, mascara, and a swipe of blush to my pale cheeks.

I looked like my old self again.

I gathered up my baby, grabbed a coffee, and went to my living room to straighten up then set my laptop up near the window for good light.

Finally, I put Adelaide down in her bassinet and pulled it right near me, but out of sight of the camera before the call finally came in.

I rolled my shoulders, put on a smile, and feigned a confidence I didn’t feel as I answered.