Destiny grinned, while Zachary’s cries increased.
Amber jiggled harder. She was growing exhausted. “I swear, if I had Cole Parker’s phone number, I’d call him up and beg him to come over.”
“He’s the other Alaska guy?”
“Yes, the one who put Zachary to sleep Sunday morning without lifting a finger.” Amber knew she should feel miffed by that, because it sure didn’t seem fair.
Destiny picked up her phone. “I’ve got Luca’s number.”
“Yeah, right,” Amber chuckled.
But Destiny raised her phone to her ear. “Luca? It’s Destiny.”
“Don’t you dare,” said Amber.
Destiny stopped talking and smiled. “Thanks.”
Amber shook her head in warning.
“That’s not why I’m calling,” said Destiny. “No. It’s really not. I’m looking for Cole.”
Amber shook her head more frantically, moving closer.
“Not even close,” said Destiny. “Tell him Amber needs him to put Zachary to sleep.”
“She’s joking,” Amber called out, causing Zachary to cry louder. She turned away, walking toward the living room. “Shh, shh, shh,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hi, Cole,” said Destiny from behind her. “Yes, Amber needs the baby cavalry. Can you come?”
Amber couldn’t believe this was happening. Cole was a stranger. You couldn’t ask a stranger to drop everything, drive over and soothe your baby. The world didn’t work like that. With any luck at all, he’d be bright enough to say no.
“They’re on their way,” called Destiny.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
Destiny set down her phone and moved to the wine rack recessed in the kitchen wall. “How’s Zachary been doing with the nanny?”
“Sometimes he’s good with Isabel, sometimes not. Evening is always the worst. We’re been helping each other, but tonight’s her night off.”
Perusing the shelves, Destiny chose a bottle. “Do you think maybe we could give him a little of the merlot?”
“I wish. But definitely pour me a glass.”
Destiny located the corkscrew, peeled the foil and opened the bottle. She moved two glasses to the center of the island and poured, placing them next to the two plates of linguini.
Then she slid onto a stool while Amber jiggled her way back to the island.
Amber knew there was no point in sitting down. Zachary had a built in altimeter. His preferred height was precisely five feet off the ground, not four feet, not four and a half. And his preferred swaying arc was approximately nine inches. Any deviation from the pattern brought an immediate vocal protest.
Luckily, Amber had become adept at simultaneously standing, swaying and eating. She lifted her fork and swirled a bite of the seafood linguini.