Page 2 of Spring Break With a Baby Daddy
He’s had this effect on me from the moment we met, and while I tried—unsuccessfully—to ignore the way his looks send a jolt of electricity through me, I can admit our attraction seems to be more than sexual chemistry.
I like him.
He’s funny, and fun, and genuinely caring even when he’s rejected repeatedly.
“Please.” His gaze drills into mine. “I don’t know where he came from or why, but I can’t call the authorities. Not until I know why his mother thought leaving him here was the right thing. It can’t be random.”
“Maybe if we search the carseat and bag we’ll find a note or something,” I offer as I move past Easton as he rocks the baby.
It’s only a few steps to where we pulled everything inside his front door a few seconds ago. Right before the storm that chased us from the restaurant let rip.
I love a good storm. But not when there’s an unprotected baby out in it. In a race to beat the weather, Easton broke every speed limit between the restaurant on the south side of Love Beach and his house in the north.
Crouching, I search the carseat first, although I’m honestly not expecting to find anything. Easton would have seen it when he lifted the baby out.
I have to admit, I would never have predicted our date turning out like this. Not that I had any expectations or plans. I like to go with the flow. Although that has gotten me into difficult situations in the past.
My penchant for following leads is how I ended up in Love Beach.
The last time I got involved with a child was when my friend Laney reached out for help.
Help not too different from what Easton is asking for.
Finding nothing in the seat, I move on to the bag. It’s faded and tattered and not really a diaper bag at all, more of a small gym bag. The first thing I see when I unzip it is a can of formula and four bottles.
“At least he’s not breastfed,” I murmur, pushing them out of the way.
“What? He’s what? What did you find?” Easton crowds over the top of me where I’m crouched beside the baby’s things.
“Formula.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t I take the bag to the kitchen and unload everything on the counter so you can see?”
“Okay,” he murmurs as he continues to rock the baby. “I think he’s asleep again.”
When we arrived, the baby was stirring for the same reason we rushed out of Easton’s Range Rover to the front door. Glancing through one of the windows flanking the door, I’m glad Easton isn’t afraid to break a few laws.
The spring storm is moving through the area with a ferocity the weatherman did not predict. “Lucky we got to him before that hit.”
Easton grunts, before saying in a deep growly voice, “Fuck. What the hell was she thinking?”
“Same thing everyone else who checked the weather forecast.”
“Huh?”
Looking at Easton, I see the edges of panic filling his eyes, creasing his brow. “Take a breath, E. He’s safe.”
“But—” He sucks in a breath, blows it out. “You’re right.”
I smile. “Let’s take everything into the kitchen. See what we can find in his bag, then maybe, if he stays asleep, I can whip us up something to eat.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Ruining our date.”
