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“Fury, why are you here?” I ask, also wondering why he brought a toolbox with him.
“Wait a minute,” he says to Noah. Then to me, he says, “Your mother asked me to stop by and fix your washing machine.”
I will kill her.
Except, that would be mean when she’s just trying to help me.
But still, she must die.
“Oh.” My command of the English language is sorely lacking today.
Fury’s lip twitches as if he finds this amusing, but he manages to keep his laughter on the inside. “Do you mind if Noah watches TV while I fix it?”
“Absolutely.” I smile at Noah. “Do you wanna come and help me find something for you to watch?”
He nods eagerly. “Yes!”
Thank goodness for the couch and television I had delivered yesterday.
Noah follows me over to the TV and together we find a show for him to watch. I’ve no idea about suitable shows for three-year-olds, but he recognises one, and when I turn the sound up, Fury calls out from the bathroom, “He can watch that.”
I settle Noah on the couch and then pop my head in the bathroom to see Fury. “Do you—” My mouth snaps closed when I find him lying on the floor inspecting something in the bottom of the machine. It’s arm-and-ab-porn heaven because he’s taken his jacket off and his T-shirt has ridden up.
He looks up at me and grins when he catches me staring at his stomach. “What’s up?”
“Umm”—my brain loses all ability to process words—“I was just, well, do you want me to get Noah a drink or anything.”
His grin stays fixed in place. “No, he’s good, but can you keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get into anything?”
I nod. “Yes. But just let me”—I step towards him and reach across to collect my dress I’ve been drying and my hairdryer—“get this.”
As I move back, the dress falls from my grip and lands on Fury. When he grabs it to pass it back, understanding crosses his face. “That’s why you’re not dressed.”
I take it off him. “Yeah. I washed all my clothes and none are dry yet.”
He moves up off the floor. “I’ve got a spare hoodie in the ute; I’ll grab it for you to wear while you dry your dress.”
“Thank you.” That will be so much warmer than this towel.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
I follow him out of the bathroom and watch as he tells Noah he’ll be back soon. Noah is so engrossed in his show that he pretty much just waves his dad off.
As Fury’s almost out the door, I reach for my apartment key and say, “Wait. Take this.”
Our hands brush, sparking a whole lot of memories to flood my mind. If the way his eyes cut to mine is any indication, he feels it, too.
We’re caught in this moment when Noah starts talking excitedly about something, dragging Fury’s attention away.
“Daddy!” he says, his face animated as he points at the TV, “Look! Bob!”
“Yeah, buddy,” Fury says. “I’ll look when I come back, okay?” The tenderness he shows his son is everything. It’s another ovary explosion in the making.
“I’ll go check it out with him,” I say.
“Thanks.”
As the door clicks shut, I sit with Noah. “What are we watching?”
