At least, that’s what I thought. In the parking lot, I find that big black truck I parked beside belongs to him. He’s standing at the tailgate with a still-full cart, talking to a guy in another big truck. As I get closer, I see there’s a Beckett Construction logo on the side.
“Kendall, hey, you remember Seth, right?” Ridge says as I approach my car.
“Seth, hi. Good to see you,” I reply politely, trying like hell to hide my embarrassment.
“Kendall?” Seth asks.
“She was in Reagan’s class.”
“Yes!” Seth exclaims. “Sorry, darlin,’ it’s been a few years. Good to see you,” he says with a wink.
“You too. Well, I better get going. Ridge, I’ll see you soon.”
He nods with a wave, and I don’t give him time to say anything else as I climb into my car. Lucky for me, the spot in front of me is empty, so I put my car in drive and pull out of the lot, leaving the hotness of Ridge behind me.
Seth and I talk for a few more minutes. I try to concentrate on what he’s saying, but the lovely Kendall seems to have taken up residence in my mind. She’s gorgeous and sweet as hell. Fuck my life for not being able to pursue her. I love my son, but damn. I shake away thoughts of her and focus on Seth.
He and the guys are going to stop by tonight. I told him that was fine, but they needed to bring food. Apparently, their moms bought some things for Knox. I’ve never been more thankful for our close knit group. It’s nice to know that I have so many people in my corner.
Once home, I unload all the bags, put the food items away, and go in search of my sister and my son. I find them out on the back deck, Knox sleeping soundly in one arm while Reagan holds her Kindle with the other. She’s so engrossed in the book she’s reading she doesn’t even realize I’m watching her.
“You should be more alert when you have my son,” I say.
My voice startles her and she jumps, causing Knox to open his eyes before closing them again just as quickly.
Stepping outside, I shut the patio door and walk toward them. Leaning down, I take him from her. She juts her lip out in protest, but I need to hold him.
“You weren’t gone long,” she comments.
“I was gone for four hours, sister.” I laugh.
She grins, holding up her Kindle. “It’s really good,” she defends.
I just shake my head. She’s always loved to read. “I stopped by the office, talked to Dad, answered a few e-mails then went to Walmart.”
“How was Dad?”
“Good. He’s going to talk to Mom. I just need some time with him, you know?”
“Yeah, we’re just a phone call away. You got this, brother.”
“Hey, I ran into Kendall.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she was behind me in line. Speaking of, I have a ton of shit—” I look down at my son sleeping in my arms. “I mean stuff that I need to unpack for him. You feel like helping?”
“Sure, I love all the little baby stuff. I had a blast when Mom and I went shopping for him,” she admits.
I stand and lead the way into the living room, where I left the remaining bags.
“Holy shit, Ridge. Did you buy the entire store?” She laughs.
“No, but he needs stuff, and I’m his dad. It’s my job to provide for him. I just got him a little bit of everything—more clothes and blankets and towels and stuff.”
“I can see that.” She starts unloading bags and comes across the tiny sweatpants, holding them up. “Too damn adorable.”
“Tiny,” I reply.
“You did good. I’ll unpack these clothes and throw them in the washer.”
“Thank you. I need to put his pen thing together and the bouncing seat. Can you hang out for a while? I’d like to have that done before I brave my night alone.”
“You got it. It’s almost time for him to eat anyway.”
“I’ll do it. Then I’ll get started.” I need as much practice as I can get; that way, when it’s just me and him, I’ll feel more comfortable.
I strap Knox into his car seat, not taking any chances, and carry him to the kitchen. I quickly mix up a bottle, something I’ve mastered in just a few short days. Little man is snoozing away, so I set the bottle next to his seat on the table and make Reagan and me a sandwich. I inhale mine, just shoving in the last bite when he starts to fuss.
Perfect timing. I got this dad thing down.
Knox takes his bottle like a champ. I piss him off when I stop to burp him, but it’s for his own good. I hate to hear him cry, but I know this is important or he’ll get a bellyache later; the nurses at the hospital stressed it, as has my mom and Reagan. I’m still not sure how Reagan knows so much about kids. I think it’s just a woman thing. She played house growing up, feeding and taking care of her dolls while I played cowboys and Indians and pretended to have shoot-outs.
Four ounces, two burps, and a diaper change later, my little man is content and snoozing away. I fold up an old quilt and make a small square on the floor next to me, gently laying him there to nap.
Reagan comes into the room. “Hey, all the clothes and blankets and all that are in the washer. What’s next?”
“I’m going to start putting stuff together. You can just relax unless he needs something.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She plops down on the couch and crosses her legs. “Carry on.” She waves her hand at me.
I chuckle at her. I love my sister. Surprisingly, the bouncing seat—or bouncer, as Reagan calls it—has very little assembly; I just snap the legs in and the toys bar, and we’re good to go. I add the four batteries as needed, and it roars to life. Reagan hops off the couch and picks Knox up from the floor. He stretches his little arms and legs and grunts; he was sleeping well.