Coming around to greet her little man, Natalie kneels in front of James and kisses his rosy cheeks. “Did you have fun?”
He shakes his head and then spots Jackson, his eyes lighting up and a big smile. “Jack. Jack.” Jackson squats down and holds his arms out.
My ovaries are currently intact, but they’re on the verge of bursting watching this big hunk of a man embrace this kid.
Jackson swings him into the air and then catches him, settling him on his hip. Eyeing me, he says, “This is my friend Marlow.”
“Hello?” I say, holding out my hand.
He grabs my index finger. “Hi,” he replies shyly and then tucks himself against Jackson’s neck. I smile because it’s the sweetest sight. And because I get that same feeling of comfort from Jack Jack, too, kid.
Tatum comes around, and we finally hug. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too.”
Natalie says, “I could have had dinner catered, but I wanted to cook. I actually love cooking but don’t get to do it as much as I like lately with our family’s busy schedule.”
“What can I do to help?” Jackson asks.
“I’d love it if you could take James upstairs and get him out of that outfit. I have a sitter coming over to keep the kids while we have dinner.”
“I’m on it.” Jackson starts toward the stairs.
“How can I help?” I ask, knowing I don’t know anything about cooking or kitchen stuff in general. I shift, anxiety kicking up a storm watching Jackson leave and wondering if I’m about to make a fool of myself in front of his sister and Tatum.
“Marlow?” Jackson stops two steps up. “Do you want to come with Jimmy and me?”
Tatum laughs, though Natalie doesn’t look that amused. Handing Natalie her glass of wine, she says, “It’s just a nickname.” Tatum’s gaze lands on me, and with a smile still on her face, she says, “You go ahead. I’ll help Natalie with dinner.”
Phew! Close call. “Okay.” I hurry to the stairs and follow Jackson up to the top floor, where there’s not only a nursery but also a playroom and office.
We leave our shoes on the wood floor of the hallway before entering the carpeted room. It takes a minute to peel James out of the suit, but when we do, Jackson’s face scrunches. “He needs a change.”
I head for the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Marlow?”
When I turn back, he chuckles. “You can stay. Do you want to learn how to change a diaper?”
“Nope. I don’t.”
“Won’t you need to know this one day?” The devious glint in his eye would give him away if I weren’t already onto him.
“I see what you’re doing, St. James.”
This kid is really great, perfectly entertained with a stuffed rabbit while Jackson hoists him onto a small blanket on the lower half of a full-sized bed.
Jackson asks, “What am I doing?”
“If you want to know if I want kids, just ask.”
“Do you want kids?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, wandering around the room and looking at stuff. The room is decorated so sweetly with a mountain mural on one wall with little goats on ledges.
That makes him laugh. “You tell me to ask, but when I do, you don’t know anyway.”
Instead of leaving, I walk to the chair near the window and sit. Soon, I have my feet kicked up on the ottoman, and I’m rocking. “Do you know?”
“I know.” James is free and runs to his bookcase.
“Boo,” he says, bringing me one with puppies on the cover.
I take the book and say, “Book,” softly emphasizing the hard sound of the ending for him. Tapping the cover, I add, “Puppy.”
His eyes are set on the cute cover, and he says, “Puppy.”
I look up at Jackson. He stands with a wadded-up diaper in his hands and sticks it in some contraption by the door. I say, “James is so cute that it’s tempting to get on the floor and read with him.”
“What’s stopping you?” It’s not a harsh judgment but a genuine question that has curiosity flickering in his eyes.
James is content to babble through the words as he points at each puppy on the book in my hands. “I’ve never been around little kids. Like ever. What if I screw it up?”
“Screw up reading a book with a kid? I don’t think it’s possible.” He sits on the floor next to the chair and says, “It will be good practice for when Cammie has her baby.”
That is a good point. I look into the handsome little brown-eyed guy’s eyes, and ask, “Want to read a book with me?”
I slide to the floor next to Jackson. James lands with a thump in my lap unexpectedly like we’re old buds. Glancing at Jackson, he grins, and whispers, “He’s pretty shy, so he must like you.”
I like him. We don’t get three pages in before the sitter pokes her head into the room with Tatum’s daughter, Poppy, on her hip. “Where’s my little Jamie?” He shoves away from me like I’m boring news when he sees the two of them and takes off across the room. Glancing up at us, she says, “Hi. I’m Larissa.” Picking him up, she blows raspberries on his cheeks. “I get to hang out with this little guy sometimes. It’s even more fun when it’s the two of them together. They are so funny.”