Page 8 of Rock the Cradle of Love
Taylor’s gaze lingers on Noah and it’s almost uncomfortable because Noah has no idea what’s going through Taylor’s mind, but then Taylor asks, “Is Emma a secret then?”
Emma a secret? He frowns. The change in topic is abrupt and odd. “No. Why?” He hadn’t planned on keeping her a secret, although he hasn’t had a chance to think about telling anyone, much less actually do so. People send announcements when they have babies, don’t they? Maybe he should have Taylor take a picture of him and Emma and send some. He doesn’t know a lot of people though. Just his team and his mom. And Jules. But sending an announcement to Julia or her mother wouldn’t be the right thing to do.
Anyway, he hasn’t even talked to Julia since she’d dropped off Emma. He needs to do that before he does anything else.
“Then I bet you can call around to some of the wives who stay home with their kids and see if one of them’ll watch Emma for you.”
Noah blinks before he registers what Taylor’s talking about. Team meetings next week. “Yeah. Good idea.” He’ll do that Monday.
Their food arrives and they don’t talk for a few minutes as they each prepare their meals for consumption. Noah’s got a huge omelet filled with meat and veggies and a side of toast. Taylor digs into a short stack of pancakes with sides of bacon, sausage, and ham. They’ve both got orange juice and coffee.
“So you’re keeping Emma?” asks Taylor. “For good?”
Noah gives him a look. What part of the stress of the last week doesn’t equate to him keeping her for good? “Yeah. Why?” He knows all the reasons why keeping Emma is a crazy idea, but nothing’s going to change the fact that Emma needs a family or that Noah wants to be that family—will beher family.
“Well, Little Miss needs some baby furniture.”
Oh. Right. His relief at not getting lectured is immediately superseded by his confusion. “Little Miss?”
“I was trying out hockey nicknames on her.” Taylor grins. “We tried Sippy and Little Miss.”
“Sippy?” Noah asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Well, her last name’s gonna be Drinkwater, I assume. And you’re Thirsty. And it’s not that great, I know.” Taylor shrugs one shoulder.
Noah shakes his head. “What about Puck Baby?”
Taylor laughs, all sparkling eyes and booming laugh, and Noah smiles, feeling warm inside.
“Where’d that come from?” asks Taylor.
“The woman who drove with Jules and Emma called me Puck Daddy.”
Taylor giggles through his two even rows of creamy white teeth. “I love it. Yes, I’m calling you Puck Daddy from now on.” Taylor sips his coffee and asks, “How does Sunday sound?”
“For?” Noah raises a brow.
“Furniture shopping? I mean, the kid needs her room put together since you’re keeping her, right?”
Noah smiles. “Yeah. Sunday. Sure.”
Emma makes an irritated sound, drawing Noah’s attention. A knot of worry forms in his stomach. She’s arching her back and waving her fists. “Hey, Emma, what’s the fuss?”
Several more random syllables erupt, and he hopes this isn’t the start of something unpleasant. He lifts her from her seat and settles her on his lap, and she calms immediately. His own anxiety dissipates as well. “Hand me a toy or something, would you?”
Taylor holds out a small stuffed frog to Emma and looks at Noah with an expression Noah can’t quite read. “What?”
“You’re a good dad, Noah. I mean, you’re a natural, and you…you look good with a baby in your arms.”
Noah certainly doesn’t know what to do with that piece of information. There’s something behind it, but it’s beyond his comprehension right now. The awkwardness is interrupted by yet another woman approaching the table. She’s tall and pretty, wearing slacks and a white button-down shirt.
“Hi, there. I just couldn’t help noticing your baby. She’s got gorgeous eyes.” The woman kneels next to Noah and Emma, hand on the table for balance. “Hey, little one. You’re a cutie.”
Emma kicks her feet and snuffles into her frog, but she’s smiling behind the small green plushie.
The woman makes small talk with them for a minute and leaves again, and Noah’s shaking his head. He just doesn’t get it.
Taylor’s eyes are glued to the table, and Noah follows his line of sight. A business card. Their gazes meet, and Noah’s eyebrows rise.
