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Gabe’s gaze stays intent on Isa. “She’s really something, Ava. I bet she’s going to be blonde like you.”
“Maybe.” She’s practically bald except for a light coating of bee fuzz on her scalp. While I run my fingers through the soft, silky, pale hairs, Gabe’s eyes don’t stray from her.
“And she has amazing eyes…they’re so big and blue.”
“All babies have blue eyes,” I say, gazing at his. The bluest of blue like a tropical ocean. “They’ll probably turn dark brown…the color of Ned’s.” Or green, I add silently, the color of the eyes I inherited from the father I can barely remember.
He flinches slightly at the mention of my husband’s name and changes the subject.
“I hope you liked my baby gift.”
I stiffen. Embarrassment sweeps over me. “Oh my God, Gabe. I’m so sorry. I should have sent you a note.” I bite down on my bottom lip. “I’ve been so out of it.”
My husband’s business partner sent over an incredible gift—a hand-painted bookshelf filled with every possible children’s book a little girl could ever want—from Madeline to Little Women. Some, rare signed editions. The shelf occupies a corner of Isa’s nursery. Our housekeeper, Rosita, organized it before she left.
“A big belated thank you! I love it!” With the baby in his arms, I resist giving him a hug and settle for a peck on his cheek.
A bright smile lights up his face. “The gift was my mom’s idea…she’s a children’s librarian…a big believer in books. She picked them all out.”
A reciprocal smile blooms on my face. As soon as possible, I’m going to teach Isa the joy and importance of books. Read to her every night from an early age on. I doubt Ned will join me unless he’s reading from the latest script he’s optioned.
While Gabe continues to feed Ava, I take a sip of my protein shake. It tastes like concrete. If I didn’t trust Nurse Marley as much as I do, I’d think she was poisoning me.
“What does your dad do?” I ask Gabe after forcing myself to swallow.
“He was a handyman. I swear he could build and fix anything. And still can. He’s retired now but likes to stay busy with projects. He Zoomed with me and helped me build Isa’s bookcase.”
My hand flies to my heart. “Oh my goodness, Gabe. You made Isa’s bookshelf yourself?”
“Yup.” He nods proudly and rotates his bottle-feeding hand so it’s facing me. There’s a small raised scar below his knuckles. “And here’s the scar to prove it. I hammered a nail into my hand.”
“Ouch!” I say with a grimace.
“A trip to urgent care, a tetanus shot, and two stitches.” He chuckles. “Guess I wasn’t meant to follow in my father’s footsteps.”
My heart flutters. I long to take his hand in mine and rub the imperfection. Kiss it. It takes all I have to refrain, and luckily, I’m stopped when a booming voice enters the room.
“Hey, man…”
Ned…who wouldn’t know which end of a hammer to hit a nail with.
Well rested and impeccably dressed in head-to-toe designer tennis whites, the Ralph Lauren polo hanging neatly over his matching ironed shorts, every hair gelled in place and held back by a white terrycloth headband, he strikes a pose in his brand-new Adidas, holding his titanium racket. It’s as if he’s auditioning for the cover of GQ. Image is everything, says my husband. Glancing down at myself, I wonder what my disheveled appearance says about me.
Gabe sets down the baby bottle. Her eyes closing, Isa’s almost asleep.
Ned strides up to us and smacks a kiss on my head, before patting a still-seated Gabriel on the back. “So you’ve met Isa. Our baby. She’s perfect, isn’t she?”
He tickles her toes with his free hand.
A wistful smile spreads across Gabe’s face. “Yeah, totally perfect.”
Beaming, Ned twirls his racket like a tennis pro. “Ready to lose, bro?”
He’s no longer paying any attention to me or my baby. My spirits sink as Gabe half-heartedly says, “May the best man win.”
He carefully hands a contented Isa back to me. His body, his hands, brush against mine. A spark flies between us. Then explodes into oblivion.
The two of them head to the sliding glass doors that open to our yard. Gabe turns his head and looks back at me. He gives a weak smile, his expression otherwise forlorn.
