Page 4 of Jaime
When I looked up again, the man in the back was looking at the floor, seemingly absent from the goings-on. Again, I wondered why he had come.
I stood and began my rounds, taking time for all the parents and children who wanted a moment to talk to me.
Without realizing it, I was working my way across the room toward him.
He didn’t notice me coming. Just as well, since I had no idea what I even wanted to say to him, if anything. Only my curiosity wouldn’t allow me to leave it.
As I got closer, seeing in more detail the forlorn look on his face, I found myself hoping it wasn’t a baby he was holding at all.
His eyes were still glued to the floor when I reached him, and so utterlysad. And tired. He didn’t look up, didn’t even seem to notice me, so I forced a casual remark, attempting to keep my voice light.
“What have you got there?”
I may as well have shot him, the way he jumped.
His wide, doe eyes landed on me like I was a ghost, and immediately a baby’s scream tore through the air.
He looked down, gasping as the small baby started to thrash in his jacket, kicking small, pink-socked feet free.
“Sh, sorry, baby,” he muttered, bouncing her, his gaze shooting to mine in panic.
“Let me see?” I asked, instinctively stepping closer.
His breath caught as I reached for the baby, but he carefully extracted her from his jacket and passed her into my arms.
My breath caught at the sight of her.
She was so small—only a couple months old at most. She was in a cute pink onesie, kicking and reaching in that wild infant way.
I forced a smile, calming my voice.
“Hello sweetheart,” I said, “did you get startled?”
I lifted her to my shoulder and patted her back gently while I rocked her.
“There, there.”
To my relief, she calmed down almost at once.
Her father—or guardian or whoever he was—was biting his lips, watching. When she stopped crying, a gentle smile pulled his lips.
“She’s looking around,” he said, as though surprised and my unease grew.
“Is she yours?” I asked.
He nodded, swallowing.
“Yeah, this is Evie.”
He couldn’t quite look at me, his gaze focused on his little girl. He reached out, rubbing her back gently.
“This is the bookstore,” he said to her. “Do you like it?”
She made a gurgling sound, and his smile grew, gaze flickering to mine for only a moment—almost shyly. “This is Mr. McIntosh,” he said to Evie. “From the TV.”
My stomach swooped unexpectedly. Why was it the textbook bad boys who always had those sweet, charming smiles? This guy’s lips, full and pouty, looked even better curved up like that.
I swallowed.
