“Oliver, and he’s the sweetest little thing, all wrinkly and tiny. He’s only three weeks old.”
“Well, maybe I’ll get to meet him someday,” Dad says. “Mack Cruz a dad. Never thought I’d see it,” he adds with a chuckle.
He’s not the only one. Mack wasn’t sure he’d ever want to be a father, not after his upbringing. His mom left when he was little, and his dad was an alcoholic. He was always losing his job, and there was never anything to eat in the house. Mack once told me when he was twelve, he helped stock at the small grocery store in the town square. The man who owned the business knew of Mack’s situation, and after catching him stealing a package of lunch meat and some bread, he agreed to let the young boy work in the back room for cash. Mack was able to use the money to buy food so he didn’t starve to death while his dad used all the money for cheap vodka.
But the truth is, Mack is a good dad. I can see it, even in the limited time I’ve witnessed them interact. He knows what it’s like to struggle, so he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Oliver has a better life than he had.
A loud wail drifts down the stairs, and I’m immediately on alert. “Dad, I need to go. Oliver is awake, and Mack went up to shower.”
“Well, don’t keep the boy waiting. I expect a few photos later, maybe?”
“Done,” I tell him with a smile. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you more, sweetheart. Tell Mack I said hello.”
“Will do. Bye.” The moment he bids farewell, I end the call and slip my phone in my back pocket. I’m already moving to the stairs and heading back to Mack’s bedroom.
When he didn’t come back down earlier, I quietly slipped upstairs to look for them. I found Mack passed out on top of his duvet, with Oliver sawing logs in the bassinet beside the king-sized bed. I didn’t enter the room but was able to take a few minutes to glance around and see how Mack has been living for the last few years. Obviously well, considering he owns a decent-sized home with a massive garage and expansive yard near Burbank.
Now, I’m actually stepping inside the room. Oliver is clearly awake and not the least bit happy, his tiny arms flailing around as his lungs exercise a healthy cry. Just as I bend down and scoop him into my arms, a door within the bedroom flies open, and a very wet, very naked—well, wrapped in a towel—Mack emerges in a flurry of steam and worry.
My eyes are so wide they hurt as I gape back at a very cut, extremely toned Mack Cruz standing across the room, a blue towel wrapped around his waist. His chest is all tanned, smooth skin, and I’m pretty sure I could count more than six abs if I were to stop and try. But what holds my attention now is the way that towel hangs low on his hips, giving me a perfect view of the V that disappears behind the terry cloth.
“Lena?”
My name startles me into looking up, my eyes connecting with his dark ones. “What?”
Mack is grinning from ear to ear, his hands now resting on his hips. “I asked if everything was okay.”
“Oh! Yeah! Right as rain,” I rush out, cradling Oliver to my chest. “I just heard him crying. I’ll just…” I point a finger toward the door, “…run down and feed him while you…” and wave my hand in front of me where Mack stands, “…finish your shower.”
Why am I breathing so hard?
He flashes me a quick smile. “Okay. Well, I’ll finish up in the bathroom and be down in a few minutes.”
“Yep! Great. Sounds perfect,” I blurt out, as I practically rush from the bedroom and down the stairs.
By the time I reach the main floor, I realize I didn’t change Oliver’s diaper. I read online to change the baby’s diaper before you feed them, as it often helps them fall back asleep easier with a clean diaper and a full belly. Glancing around, and resolved to heading back upstairs, I spy a diaper bag over along the wall. Inside, I find a few tiny diapers, a travel packet of wipes, and a pad used to protect the surface.
I spread out my loot on the floor, carefully setting Oliver down between my outstretched legs. “Now, listen here, Oliver. I’ve only done this like twice in my entire life, so if you could, you know, not pee on me or sprinkle the walls, that’d be great. And as soon as I’m done, we’ll get you some steak and eggs. Deal?”
The little boy’s dark eyes are open, and I’m not sure if he can see me or not, but I can sense we have an understanding. He still fusses, but stops the hard crying, and for that, I’m grateful. I do everything they did in the online video—yes, I watched instructional clips of all the important things likes diaper changes, baths, and feedings—and before I know it, I have a fresh, clean diaper on Oliver’s bottom.
“I did it!” I cheer happily. Oliver gazes up and I think he even smiles, but it’s so short lived, I could have imagined it. He starts pumping his fists, another angry cry ready to fly. “Okay, okay. We can celebrate my victory later. Let’s get you an omelet.” With the baby back in my arms, I head to the kitchen to fix a quick bottle. It goes decisively quicker than earlier, and before I know it, I’m sitting in Mack’s rocker recliner, getting ready to feed a baby for the very first time.
I place the bottle against his lips, just like I saw Mack do earlier, just like I watched in the video, Oliver’s head cradled in the crook of my arm and slightly elevated. “I can do this,” I whisper as he latches on
