Page 24 of One Pucking Life

She points toward the back of the house where the office resides. “You have it saved on your computer. Don’t worry. I did lots of research and bought the safest style and brand, and I had it rush delivered.” She looks at me expectantly. “I know I should’ve asked, but I didn’t want to bother you on your first day back to work, and your computer isn’t password-protected or anything, so I didn’t think you’d mind.”

My tired brain takes a second to register everything she said. Do I find it a little weird that she went on my computer and used my credit card to buy something? I don’t know if I do. It was for Caroline, and that is her job.

“Right, okay.” I shake my head and return back to the note. “But why do you have to take a car seat to a bar?”

“I’m not. I’m taking it toThe Station.There is usually someone trained to check car seats for proper installation at all firehouses. I’m almost positive I did it correctly, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”

“Are you talking aboutThe Stationthat is a few blocks over? Tall windows, old-school firetruck in the parking lot?”

“Yeah, I drove by it on my way here.”

“That’s a bar.”

“No, it’s…”

I chuckle. “Laney, I’m telling you…it’s a bar. The team goes there quite often. All you’ll find there is Betty, the bartender, who doesn’t have kids and probably has no idea how to install a car seat, a few servers, and the bus boy Gus, who is high twenty-four seven and can barely clear a table without breaking a glass. That’s not the place you want.”

“Oh.” She pouts out her lips, which I find completely adorable. “SoThe Station,which looks like a firehouse and has a fire truck in the parking lot, is a bar?”

“Yup. It used to be a firehouse decades ago. Great bar. It’s our favorite.”

She blows out a breath and shrugs. Reaching toward me, she pulls the note from my hand. “Okay, fine. I’ll google a real fire station, but the note stands.”

“Sounds good.” I smile, but it fades quickly when I think of Caroline. “Did she go down okay?”

“She did,” Delaney says gently. “Out like a light.”

I exhale through my nose and drop my head back against the couch. “I missed it.”

“I know,” she says, and a small frown forms on her face.

There’s a long pause. I stare at the ceiling and try not to let the guilt pull me under. “I’ve never missed bedtime. I mean… not since she got here. It seems too early for bed.”

She nods. “I’ve started aiming for a set bedtime—seven to seven. It’s ideal for her age. Helps with brain development, and it makes the days more predictable.”

“Seven to seven,” I repeat.

“Yep,” she says. “Babies her age need a lot of sleep. And consistency.”

I process that. It makes sense. Logical. Still hurts that I missed saying good night.

“I just hate that I missed it,” I admit.

Delaney’s voice softens. “She’ll have many more bedtimes. Don’t worry.”

I raise a brow. “How do you know she’s going to stay down until seven in the morning?”

She grins. “I don’t, and honestly, she probably won’t tonight. It will take her a few days to get used to it. But we were very intentional about naps today. I kept her stimulated in betweenso she wasn’t taking little catnaps whenever she wanted. So, hopefully, she’ll sleep well.”

I look at her. Really look at her. She has to be around my age with no kids of her own, yet she’s freaking Mary Poppins. “How are you this good at this?”

She chuckles under her breath. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve just always been good with kids. I didn’t have any younger siblings or cousins, so I don’t know where it came from. I kind of fell into this line of work and read everything I could about raising kids. Plus, lots of trial and error.” She shoots me a wink. “You’d be surprised how motivated one can be when they’re desperate to do right by someone else’s child.”

“Well, you’ve barely been here a day, and I can already tell you’re a pro. You’re doing great,” I say quietly. “Better than great. I’m serious. This house feels… different. I didn’t realize how tense everything’s been until I walked in, and it wasn’t.”

Delaney doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she pulls at an errant string on the hem of the blanket. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. The kind that’s easy and heavy at the same time. There’s a lot to unpack in this new arrangement. She’s a new roommate and an employee at the same time, yet… it feels like more. Maybe a friendship. There’s no denying we have chemistry. She’s so easy to talk to and be around, which is crazy, thinking about the first time we met outside that grocery store.

---