“Anything. Everything. Does she sleep all night?”
I pace the length of my bedroom. I don’t recall ever asking Valerie how Emma sleeps but I’m sure that she’s offered that information. She tells me a lot of stuff that I don’t recall.
“I don’t know.”
“Does she feed well?”
My skin stretches across my forehead tightly in what I recognize as the beginning of a headache. “I don’t know. Mom, I’ve only seen her a couple of times since she was born. I don’t live with her.”
My mother doesn’t respond at first and when she does, her voice is laced with disbelief. “Logan Watson, I’m ashamed of you.”
I hang my head even if she can’t see me. “There’s nothing you can tell me now, Mom, that I haven’t told myself.”
“What are you going to do about it?” she says.
“I don’t know. I need time to figure it out.”
There’s nothing else left to say after that and we say a not-so-warm goodbye and disconnect the call. I’m sweating and I pop into the bathroom to wipe my face. I probably shouldn’t have told my parents about Emma before I’d decided what to do. My siblings have been awesome though. Each of my brothers and sister has called offering to help me with anything I need. The only problem is that they can’t teach me how to take care of a baby.
I dry my face and head to Vanessa’s, determined to enjoy the evening. I compartmentalize the problem of my daughter to be revisited later. For now, Vanessa needs someone to celebrate with and an adrenaline rush comes over me as I anticipate the evening ahead.
Outside, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets and the low, repetitive drones of bull frogs. That’s the beauty of having a garden. The flowers attract all sorts of small creatures and birds during the day.
I knock lightly on Vanessa’s door, afraid to wake up her child if she’s sleeping. Soft footsteps sound on the other side of the door before it swung opens and she appears. My breath hitches as I take in her appearance. She’s dressed in a black minidress that shows off her shapely legs and her curves. She looks amazing and I can’t hide my admiration as my gaze lifts up back to her face. Her lips curve into a welcoming smile.
Vanessa has a beautiful mouth, lush and made for kissing.
“Hi. For a while there, I thought you’d changed your mind,” she says.
“I always keep my word,” I tell her. “You look very pretty.” I’m glad I picked a buttoned casual shirt, rather than a t-shirt.
“This old thing,” she says, gesturing at her dress, and we both laugh. “Come on in. Dinner is ready.”
I follow her into the house and to the small dining table. Its size means that when Vanessa sits down opposite me, our knees are almost touching.
“It looks delicious.”
“Thanks,” Vanessa says and invites me to serve myself.
I spoon a healthy helping of the roast potatoes and vegetables and two thick pork chops.
“I forgot the wine,” she says and begins to stand.
“I’ll get it.” I jump to my feet. “Just tell me where.”
“The glasses are on the top shelf above the microwave,” she says. “And the wine is in the fridge.”
I get the wine and glasses and bring them to the table. Vanessa shows me where to get the corkscrew and I open the wine and pour the glasses.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
I take a bite of the pork and nearly groan with pleasure. “This has got to be the tastiest pork I’ve ever tasted.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she says, and we eat in companionable silence for the next few minutes.
“So, how did you end up in this city, or were you born and bred here?” Vanessa asks.
I grin. “I’m one of the rare ones who were actually born and bred in LA. My parents live less than twenty minutes from here as do my siblings.”
Her chocolate brown eyes light up. “Me too. My sister and I grew up here and we both live here. Wait, I’m forgetting that you already know Lexi.”
“Yeah, I even attended her wedding.”
“We might have met then and forgotten,” she says.
“I would never forget meeting you.”
Our gazes lock and the click of attraction I felt when we first met turns into a current of electricity that zaps between us. Her lips part slightly, and I remind myself that how she would taste is none of my business. I’m her landlord, not a potential lover.
She reaches for her wine and takes a sip. I follow the movement of her lips as she wraps them on the glass. I tear my gaze away, disgusted with myself. The best thing I can do is pray that the evening goes by quickly so I can escape to my house.
I finish the rest of my dinner, trying to ignore the simmering sexual tension in the room.