Page 23 of Good as Gold
“So was mine.” He grins. “Luckily for the rest of us, Zara produced two. And she was alone at the beginning, right? I didn’t mean that you couldn’t handle it.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “But people will judge me. I’m not going to tell a soul until I’m sure it’s happening.”
“You just told me, though.”
Yeah, I noticed that.
He nudges me playfully. “Good thing I’m a vault.”
“Good thing.”
He gets off the bed. “Let me find you a pair of Zara’s sweatpants, and I’ll give you my extra T-shirt.”
“It’s getting late. I bet the baby wakes up at six.”
“Six?” Matteo shudders. “You’ll help me with that, yeah? One of us can make the coffee. I don’t think I can keep a baby alive without coffee.”
“It’s a deal,” I promise him.
* * *
As I’d foretold, the baby wakes at dawn. I hear him cooing to himself over the baby monitor before I even open my eyes.
“Do-dle,” he says. “Da-da-da-dee.”
I sit up. Beside me, Matteo is passed out on his stomach, the pillow curled under his face, the golden skin that covers his back muscles rippling…
Okay, not rippling. But now I know firsthand that the man is capable of ripples. When he took off his shirt last night, I almost swallowed my tongue.
“Doba doh,” the baby says, so I turn the baby monitor off and hurry into the upstairs bathroom. By the time I emerge again, he’s whimpering.
“Hey, fella,” I say as I walk into his room. “Are you up?”
He babbles at me from the crib, where he’s pulled himself up to stand, chubby hands clutching the wooden rail.
“What a big boy,” I whisper, and he gives me a drooly smile.
When I lean over the crib, he raises his short arms trustingly. He’s warm and heavy in my arms as I transport him to the changing table to switch out his diaper.
“You’re so cheerful in the morning,” I cluck. “What a great guy. I bet you could use a bottle, right?”
He babbles enthusiastically, his arms windmilling while I tape up the clean diaper and snap his PJs closed.
“Let’s get to it, then.” I heft him easily, taking care to hold the banister on my way downstairs.
In the kitchen, I find the bottle in the refrigerator with a sticky note.Remove the top. Microwave for thirty seconds and then shake gently. Nipples are on the counter.
I follow these instructions, noting that Zara uses glass baby bottles and natural rubber nipples exactly like the ones I’ve guiltily bookmarked on an all-natural baby store site.
That’s putting the cart ahead of the horse. It will be a long time before I need to buy any of this stuff. But sometimes I can’t help myself.
Micah grabs a handful of my hair and gives it a tug.
“You’re being very patient,” I say, kissing his fat little cheek. “Just twenty more seconds.”
“Dodle-do,” he says.
When the milk is warm, I screw on the nipple and carry him into the living room, where I settle myself into the corner of the couch.
