“—I think he gets the point,” Rossi interrupts.
“But her floral arrangements are to die for,” Carina continues, unfazed. “All of her college friends had her do their weddings because she was cheaper and better than most of the local floral places. Honestly, I don’t know why she went into boring genealogy when she could’ve been hanging out with roses and peonies all day.”
That explains the abundance of flora and fauna outside.
Someone gave me a succulent once. Told me it was impossible to kill.
It was dead within a year.
“Carina, would you mind grabbing Lucia? I think I hear her waking from her nap.” Rossi clears her throat and nods toward the hall before returning her attention to me. “I can show you around if you’d like. Will take two minutes if that.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Following her down the foyer, we take a right down a short hallway.
“This first door is my office,” she says. “I work from home. This second room is Lucia’s.”
Peering in, I spot Carina scooping the baby up from a white oak crib. A giant giraffe is propped in the corner, next to a pale pink rocking chair and a gold floor lamp. On the table beside the chair is a stack of books, a pacifier, and a couple of rattles.
“On the left is the hall bath.” Rossi reaches into the dark room and flicks on a light. “This is technically Lucia’s bathroom, but you’ll be using it while you’re here.” Turning the light out, she ducks back to the opposite side of the hall. “The room next to Lucia’s is the guest room. It’s probably a little smaller than what you’re used to …”
Swinging the door open, she reveals a room easily the size of my walk-in closet—for comparison’s sake. A queen bed covered in a million pillows anchors the far wall and a single window with navy curtains offers a view of the front yard.
“I put your sheets and pillows on here,” she says. “The ones your assistant sent.”
“Thank you.” I wheel my suitcase to the foot of the bed, which is a narrow two feet from the dresser. It’s tight, that’s for sure. But I’m not here to be pampered.
“Someone wanted to see her mama,” Carina appears in the doorway, Lucia on her hip.
Rossi reaches for her daughter, a smile engulfing her entire face, one matched only by the one on the child’s face.
“Okay, I’m out,” Carina says with a wave. “See you next week, baby daddy.”
“Can’t wait,” I tease.
“Look at this bedhead, silly girl,” Rossi coos, running her fingers through Lucia’s silky dark tendrils. “You had a good nap, didn’t you?”
The thought of talking to someone who can’t talk back—hell, who can’t even understand you, has always struck me as funny and unnecessary. Like people who talk to their pets. Or their plants.
Repositioning the baby toward me, Rossi says, “Look who’s here?”
I’m fully prepared to offer an awkward, appeasing semblance of a smile when out of nowhere the baby reaches for me.
Frozen in place, I study her then Rossi.
“She wants you to hold her,” Rossi says, nodding and moving closer.
“She remembers me?” I ask.
“She must.” Gently, Rossi hands her to me. “Here.”
Taking her in my arms, I attempt to make this the least amount of awkward as possible, but I have no fucking clue how to hold a baby. It was different last week when I was already sitting on the sofa and she could just sit on my lap, but now I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing or if I’m doing it right.
“Am I supposed to support her head or something?” I ask.
Lucia chuckles. “No, she’s past that stage. You’re doing great.”
The baby squirms, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m holding her too tight, so I loosen my grip and relax my stance.
Now what do I do? Rock back and forth? Bounce? Stand here like an idiot?
“You want to go for a walk or something?” Rossi asks, much to my relief. “Get some fresh air? I can give you a tour of the neighborhood …”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.” She takes Lucia back, and I grab a ball cap from my luggage along with the pair of sunglasses I’d hooked onto the neckline of my polo.
“Does that really keep people from recognizing you?” she asks when we head out to the garage. A second later, and with Lucia on her hip, she impressively unfolds a black and yellow stroller using only one arm and one foot.
“Sometimes,” I say. “If people aren’t paying attention, they’ll walk right by me.”
“Can you hit that garage door button over there?” She points behind where I’m standing.
I get the button and we wait for the door to grind open.
“I’ve always thought it was funny how movie stars would wear those huge, enormous sunglasses because they wanted to hide,” she says. “But all it does is draw more attention to them because normal people don’t wear sunglasses that take up half their face, you know?”