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“Dinner is served every day at six in the evening. Breakfast and lunch are served at seven and noon, respectively. Of course, you’re free to use the kitchen at any point if you’re feeling a bit peckish.” Mrs. McBrindle turns to me and winks. “And I’ve purchased a whole crate of Sriracha as per your instructions, Mr. Winthrop.”
I chuckle. “Thank you very much.”
“I’ll give you two some time to settle in. I’ll be in the kitchen getting dinner ready.”
The old woman leaves us to wander around the room. Eve immediately goes to the bed to sit down on the edge, sighing in relief to finally be off her feet.
“A whole crate of Sriracha?” she asks me, amused.
“You’ll want for nothing here,” I reply, very proud of myself.
She giggles. “Thank you, Nate. This is all so wonderful.”
I come over and press my lips to her forehead. “Stop thanking me. It’s the least I can do.”
“I guess this gives us the perfect opportunity to come up with some more names.”
“Where did we leave off last?” I ask as I begin unpacking our bags.
“I think it was a toss-up between Max and Edward.”
“I like Edward better. We can call him Eddie.”
Eve crinkles her nose in that cute way that makes my heart swoon. “I don’t know. We can call him Max for short, and when he does something bad and you need to ground him, you can call him Maximilian in your big, tough dad voice.”
I laugh. “Why am I the one grounding him?”
“Because I’m the parent who’s going to spoil him rotten, so by default you have to be the strict parent.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree. You should be the strict parent, and I’ll be the one to spoil him.”
“A-Ma suggested we call him Leonard.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Leonard?” I echo. “Like Cohen?”
“Yeah. She’s kind of in love with him.”
“Leonard’s an old man’s name.”
“I think it sounds dignified. Definitely better than Eddie.”
“I love you, but no. Eddie’s a fantastic name.”
Eve throws her head back and laughs. “I love you too.”
“We’ve got the whole week to figure things out. Tell you what, we’ll draw up a list of our top tens.”
“We’ve already tried that.”
“What do you suggest? Names out of a hat?”
Eve rises from the bed and shrugs, patting her stomach. “Maybe we can consult him. We’ll read out names one by one, and if he kicks, that’s what we’ll go with.”
I chuckle and take her hand. “Whatever you’d like, darling. Whatever you’d like.”
“Max.”
“Anything but that.”
Dinner’s lovely.
Mrs. McBrindle’s prepared us a steak dinner —Eve’s is obviously cooked well-done— with baked green beans, buttery mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots. Even though I normally enjoy a light beer with dinner, I’ve taken to drinking sparkling water with Eve as a show of solidarity. Pops jokes that it’s a huge sacrifice on my part, but I honestly don’t think it’s that big of a deal. If Eve can do it for nine months straight, so can I.
The dining room is big enough to fit at least twenty other people, but Eve and I only take up the far end of the table. Mrs. McBrindle’s insisted on giving us some privacy, attending to some work elsewhere in the house. There’s a line of hanging lights over the long dark wood dining table. In front of each chair is a placemat—hand embroidered, by the looks of it. But the only two placemats in use are our own. The rest don’t have any cutlery or dishes set up.
There’s a china cabinet just behind me. It’s full to the brim of delicate porcelain teacups, matching saucers, large plates with intricate blue patterns around the edges, and a tray of polished silverware. There’s a lock on the door, a wise security precaution given how many strangers pass through this bed and breakfast on a monthly basis.
I find simple pleasure in watching Eve eat.
It’s weird, I know, but it’s also the truth. I adore how she always eats her vegetables first before trying anything else. She’s disciplined in that she won’t help herself to dessert until her plate is wiped so clean that it looks fresh out of the dishwasher. I try not to think about why this might be, but the thought remains despite myself.
She didn’t grow up with very much. Maybe she’s used to clearing her plate because wasting food wasn’t an option. I already know money was tight for the Lees, but I truly can’t imagine it.
I frown to myself and silently promise to ensure Eve will always eat her fill. I’ll work hard for the three of us. I don’t want to do it out of some archaic sense that the man of the house needs to be the breadwinner. I want to do it because Eve and the baby deserve that kind of life.
“How’s working with Philip?” she asks as she finishes off her sliced carrots. “Adjusting well?”
