“I’m scared,” I say into her ear.
“I know, honey, but don’t be. Let things fall how they’re supposed to. If the two of you get together, then let it happen; if you don’t, then it doesn’t, but for god’s sake, Deidre, don’t fight it. The two of you made a beautiful little boy. Not to mention Aidan stepped right up to the plate. There aren’t many men who wouldn’t demand a paternity test or go right ahead and claim that the baby is theirs. That right there should show you what kind of man he is. ” Our arms stay locked around each other, confusion written on my face.
“How do you know all this?” The only one who knows anything is my mom. And she’s as tight-lipped as they come.
“Aidan called Roan the minute he left here. Told him everything. He’s happy about the baby. Not to mention he’s here, sweetie.” I stumble away from her and reach for a bottle of wine and a glass out of the wine rack.
“He’ll be a great dad,” I reply unsteadily as I uncork the wine and pour half a glass.
“Don’t be so stubborn.” Alina grabs the glass from my hand, taking her own healthy sip.
“You ready, baby?” Roan peaks into the kitchen.
“Yeah.” She hands me my glass back, kisses my cheek, and squeezes my arm. God, I’ve missed her. She’s always been the level-headed one in our friendship. I sigh once more and take another sip, contemplating her words. Aidan didn’t deny our son. He never questioned me once. It’s just that for once in my life, I need more than sex from a man. I want a family. Someone to take care of and for him to take care of me. I’m not sure if Aidan is the man for it.
We undoubtedly have a physical attraction to each other, which is important in any relationship. But the question is if he ever wants more than that.
By the time I make it back to the living room, everyone is gone. The room is quiet. My boy isn’t on the floor anymore, either.
I place my glass on the table and walk down the hallway, stopping short of the spare bedroom when I hear Aidan talking to Diesel about the first bike he’s going to buy him.
It’s cute, really, listening to him carry on like he’s having a conversion with someone who understands what he’s saying.
I back away soundlessly, deciding it’s time for dinner. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually cooked a meal. It’s what I went to school for. Cooking and baking were something my mom and I have always done together. I’m overly passionate about it. There were days when I was growing up when I would start dinner the minute I returned home from school. Other days, I would create my own recipes. I miss my job at Buttercup Bakery, which is over on 2nd Street. Thank god, my uncle owns the place and my job is there for me whenever I’m ready to return. I would give anything to be able to go back to work, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to leave Diesel, yet. I know the time is coming soon, but the idea of anyone else taking care of him all day long doesn’t sit well with me.
I throw my hands up in frustration over it all. I’m not going to worry about any of it tonight. There’s already too much rattling around in my scatter-brained head, tugging and pulling me in every direction. Especially the man who’s entertaining our child while I’m out here pulling items out of the fridge to cook… I look down at the food in my hands. Of course it’s his favorite, my raspberry chicken. Now I’m sub-consciously as well as consciously thinking about the man.
You know what? I say to myself. Fuck it. I’m making it. He deserves it, especially after everything he’s done in one day to prove to me he’s going to be around to help raise our son.
I remember all too well how Aidan would praise my cooking and baking when he stayed with me. Like with everything, I need to make the chicken and maple carrots with brown butter. I begin chopping and dicing food. The feeling of having my knife in my hands is phenomenal. The smell of the spices in the air steadies my unstable mind, and I float away. Concentrating, preparing, and setting the oven and the heat on the stove. I’m so in my element that I jump when I see Aidan standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms spread wide, clinging onto the jamb.
“I promise to kiss you goodnight if you tell me you’re making that chicken I love.” I could totally get used to this, especially if his drop-dead handsome smile and those pulse-pounding eyes land on me every single day.
“I am making the chicken, but you don’t have to kiss me for it.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. It really isn’t. He knows from while we were trapped in my apartment last year, how much I enjoy doing this. Hell, it was the only thing that kept me from losing my mind. It was the only time we weren’t at each other’s throats.