Page 8 of I Knead You Tonight

The day she came in with tears streaking down her face, her lips bleeding from her biting at them through an anxiety attack…I knew.

I had to step up.

The only blessing in her situation is that she’s easily distracted. I’ve been using it to my advantage for weeks now, getting her riled up about something at work so she doesn’t notice me slipping my tips into her apron.

Either she never counts her money during her shift, or she’s just walking around thinking she’s an extraordinary waitress.

Not that what I slip her is a lot, becauseI’ma horrible waiter, but it’s something, and something goes a long way when you have a baby and no one else to help.

Sometimes I feel guilty about that.

Drew stops at a door, knocking twice before shooting me another cautious glance.

I ignore her, eyes locked on the door, eager to see who is on the other side.

We can hear movement and it’s pulled open just a crack, a face looking back out at us.

Her face is slim, eyes big, and cheeks rosy. She’s young, that’s for sure. Still a teenager if I’m not mistaken.

The young girl must recognize Drew because she pulls the door open farther, but she hesitates to open it wider when she sees me standing behind her. Her brows lift in a silent question.

“He’s with me,” Drew answers.

The girl nods, pulling the door open completely. Low music drifts from within, and I note that it’s dated for her age.

“I amsosorry I’m late, Doris. My car broke down.”

“Again?” the girl says, sounding just as exasperated as Drew.

“I know.” Drew holds her hand up. “I know. Don’t even get me started. It’s been a long week, but never mind all that and my dramas. How’s my sweet boy doing?”

Doris smiles widely. “He’s wonderful. He just fell asleep about an hour ago.”

“Aw, I hate to have to wake him.”

“I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing his mama.”

“I—” Drew looks back at me, like she forgot I was there for a minute, all her attention having shifted to her son. “Here.” She hands her lanyard to me. “It’s apartment 4B. The key with the flowers on it will open the door. I’ll meet you up there in a few minutes.”

I grab the keys from Drew’s outstretched hand, figuring the girl who can’t be a day over sixteen—whose name is dated right along with her musical taste—looks harmless enough.

Racing up the steps two at a time, I slide the lock into the door and push it open, unsure what I’m going to see on the other side.

My throat begins to close as soon as I step into the room.

Because that’s all it is—a room.

Drew’s been living in this tiny-ass apartment—with her baby—while I’ve been living it up in a fucking two-bedroom house.

I’m a jackass.

Not only is the apartment—or more accurately, the bedroom—small, it’s just as cold in here as it is outside.

I close the door.

Nope, still too cold.

Especially for a baby.

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