Susanna was alone in the apartment. While the baby napped, she took out her
small pad and some pencils and began to sketch. First she drew Junior, then the
palm trees from the terrace. So lost was she in her art, she didn’t hear Quinn
come in around five o’clock.
“You’re an artist?”
Susanna jumped, dropping her pencils
and pad. He bent down and picked them up. Their voices woke Junior, who began
to cry. With a worried brow, she rushed into the bedroom, placing her hand on
his forehead before all else. He was warm but not hot.
“More medicine,” she muttered,
hugging the little boy to her chest. “Come on, little J. Let’s get you changed
and have a snack.” She returned to the living room in time to see Quinn put his
sport jacket on a chair and rip the tie off his neck. He slumped down on the
sofa and gazed out the window.
She busied herself in the kitchen,
setting Junior in the highchair while she prepared a bottle of Pedialyte . She injected the fever
reducer into the liquid then opened some baby applesauce. Quinn came in as she
was spooning the fruit into the tiny mouth.
“How was your interview?”
“Which one?” He ran his hand through
his hair.
“More than one?”
“Yeah. The interview was okay. I met
with two producers about the book.”
“How’d you make out?” She offered
the baby the bottle, and he sucked on it hungrily while his tiny fingers curled
around a finger of her other hand.
“Negative. Both times.” His voice
sounded weary, defeated.
“What’s the deal? You’re famous.
You’re a draw. People will come to see it just because you’re in it. Slam dunk
to me.” She turned her attention back to Junior.
“They don’t think I can pull it off.
Joe Martin image and all that crap.” He threw his tie on the kitchen table and
straddled a chair, resting his chin on the back, watching her feed the baby.
“How is he today?”
“Better. Stomach is still a
little…well, you know. But his fever is lower, and he’s crying less.”
“You were amazing last night. Knew
just what to do.” He squeezed her hand.
“Me? Hah! I knew nothing. Annie is
the one who saved us a trip to the emergency room.”
“Let’s send her flowers, okay?”
She smiled broadly at him.
“Perfect!” Damn, he’s so nice!
“Give me the address. I’ll call
right now.” He pushed to his feet and pulled out his phone.
Susanna scribbled the address
quickly on a paper napkin while Junior fussed. “I’m coming, little one. Hang on
a minute.” His eyes followed her movements while he made a soft whining sound.
“Roses…” she heard Quinn say as she
turned back to the fretting baby. A tap on the shoulder got her attention.
“Red?” Quinn looked at her.
“Peach or pink,” She corrected.
He nodded. “Make that peach, if you
have them, or pink if you don’t. Yes. Right. Two dozen. Yes, in a vase.” He
hung up and returned to his chair.
“In a vase? That wasn’t necessary.”
“She’s got a couple of kids? No time
to arrange flowers,” he chuckled.
“How would you know?” She looked up
at him while pulling the empty spoon from the infant’s mouth.
“Taking care of Junior is a full
time job.”
“Does that mean you don’t want more
kids?” She put a spoonful of fruit in the baby’s mouth.
“More?”
“I mean, more than just Junior.” She
cocked an eyebrow at him.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Changing the subject?”
“You guessed it.” He sighed. “I’m
not as bad as you think I am.” He stood up.
When she didn’t agree with him, he
left the room. The silence was deafening. “I think I messed up, Junior.” The
baby stared at her with big, brown eyes. A line of drool dripped out of his
mouth as he made a gurgling sound. “Maybe I should give him another chance.
What do you think?” The baby smiled at her, squeaked, and then spit up down his
front. “Crap!”
Quinn ducked his head into the kitchen.
“Any word on dinner…holy
small pad and some pencils and began to sketch. First she drew Junior, then the
palm trees from the terrace. So lost was she in her art, she didn’t hear Quinn
come in around five o’clock.
“You’re an artist?”
Susanna jumped, dropping her pencils
and pad. He bent down and picked them up. Their voices woke Junior, who began
to cry. With a worried brow, she rushed into the bedroom, placing her hand on
his forehead before all else. He was warm but not hot.
“More medicine,” she muttered,
hugging the little boy to her chest. “Come on, little J. Let’s get you changed
and have a snack.” She returned to the living room in time to see Quinn put his
sport jacket on a chair and rip the tie off his neck. He slumped down on the
sofa and gazed out the window.
She busied herself in the kitchen,
setting Junior in the highchair while she prepared a bottle of Pedialyte . She injected the fever
reducer into the liquid then opened some baby applesauce. Quinn came in as she
was spooning the fruit into the tiny mouth.
“How was your interview?”
“Which one?” He ran his hand through
his hair.
“More than one?”
“Yeah. The interview was okay. I met
with two producers about the book.”
“How’d you make out?” She offered
the baby the bottle, and he sucked on it hungrily while his tiny fingers curled
around a finger of her other hand.
“Negative. Both times.” His voice
sounded weary, defeated.
“What’s the deal? You’re famous.
You’re a draw. People will come to see it just because you’re in it. Slam dunk
to me.” She turned her attention back to Junior.
“They don’t think I can pull it off.
Joe Martin image and all that crap.” He threw his tie on the kitchen table and
straddled a chair, resting his chin on the back, watching her feed the baby.
“How is he today?”
“Better. Stomach is still a
little…well, you know. But his fever is lower, and he’s crying less.”
“You were amazing last night. Knew
just what to do.” He squeezed her hand.
“Me? Hah! I knew nothing. Annie is
the one who saved us a trip to the emergency room.”
“Let’s send her flowers, okay?”
She smiled broadly at him.
“Perfect!” Damn, he’s so nice!
“Give me the address. I’ll call
right now.” He pushed to his feet and pulled out his phone.
Susanna scribbled the address
quickly on a paper napkin while Junior fussed. “I’m coming, little one. Hang on
a minute.” His eyes followed her movements while he made a soft whining sound.
“Roses…” she heard Quinn say as she
turned back to the fretting baby. A tap on the shoulder got her attention.
“Red?” Quinn looked at her.
“Peach or pink,” She corrected.
He nodded. “Make that peach, if you
have them, or pink if you don’t. Yes. Right. Two dozen. Yes, in a vase.” He
hung up and returned to his chair.
“In a vase? That wasn’t necessary.”
“She’s got a couple of kids? No time
to arrange flowers,” he chuckled.
“How would you know?” She looked up
at him while pulling the empty spoon from the infant’s mouth.
“Taking care of Junior is a full
time job.”
“Does that mean you don’t want more
kids?” She put a spoonful of fruit in the baby’s mouth.
“More?”
“I mean, more than just Junior.” She
cocked an eyebrow at him.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Changing the subject?”
“You guessed it.” He sighed. “I’m
not as bad as you think I am.” He stood up.
When she didn’t agree with him, he
left the room. The silence was deafening. “I think I messed up, Junior.” The
baby stared at her with big, brown eyes. A line of drool dripped out of his
mouth as he made a gurgling sound. “Maybe I should give him another chance.
What do you think?” The baby smiled at her, squeaked, and then spit up down his
front. “Crap!”
Quinn ducked his head into the kitchen.
“Any word on dinner…holy
Similar Books
