Page 6 of Only for Tonight

I push the cart to the next aisle and find what I’m looking for. “Does she use one of these?” I ask, selecting a pacifier.

“I’m not sure. My ex-roommate left me with almost nothing. It’s worth a shot.”

I toss a couple of them into the cart and then grab a Boppy pillow. “What about one of these?”

Ryleigh’s delicately arched eyebrows lift. “What the hell is it?”

I laugh again, amused by her honesty. “It’s a special pillow. She can do tummy time on it. Sometimes the crying is due to gas bubbles. This could help.”

She takes the pillow from me and turns it over in her hands, studying it like it’s an artifact from another planet. “Tummy time,” she repeats, deadpan. “You’re telling me babies have scheduled tummy time? Like it’s a workout.”

“I mean, they’re basically just tiny humans who can’t do anything yet. Tummy time is their version of the gym.”

She stares at me for a long beat, and then the corner of her mouth twitches. Not a full smile, but close. I’ll take it. “How do you know so much about babies?” Her eyes widen and lock onto mine.

I shrug, pushing the cart toward the checkout. “I have a couple of nieces and nephews. I babysit them sometimes.” Whether I want to or not. I smile, thinking about my sisters shoving one or more babies into my arms at every family gathering. Tracey’s youngest still grabs fistfuls of my hair whenever I hold her. Last Thanksgiving, my niece spit up directly into my mouth. That’s a memory I’ll carry to my grave.

“Oh,” Ryleigh says, shaking her head. “So you’re, like… a professional uncle.”

“Something like that.”

We work together unloading the contents of the cart onto the conveyor belt. When the cart is empty, I pull out my gold card and hand it to the cashier.

Ryleigh stiffens. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ve got this, no worries.”

“Seriously, I can—” She reaches for her purse, and I can already tell the gesture is mostly symbolic. Whatever tip money she made tonight probably wouldn’t cover half of what’s on the belt.

“Ryleigh.” I say her name calmly, and she stops mid-reach. “You can pay me back if you want. But it’s really not necessary.”

She looks at me, and I can see the wheels spinning. She wants to trust me, wants to think I’m being chivalrous and gallant, but she’s wary because she’s likely never had a white knight ride in and save her. I see the underlying distrust, and for some reason, I want to prove to her that tonight, her white knight is real.

Besides, I’m not letting her spend whatever tip money she made tonight on this. I’m sure she needs it for other things, like fixing her car or feeding herself, not for taking care of a baby unexpectedly dropped off on her doorstep. I still need to get to the bottom of that story, but I sense that now’s not the time.

The cashier is watching our exchange with narrowed eyes, glancing between the two of us like we’re her entertainment for the night. Ryleigh must notice too because she exhales through her nose and gives me a tight nod.

“Fine. But I’m paying you back.”

“Sure.” I won’t hold my breath, and something tells me she knows it.

The cashier rings up the items, and I accept the bags after sliding my credit card back into my wallet.

The cold hits us like a wall when we step back outside. Ryleigh hunches her shoulders and walks fast toward the car, that thin jacket doing nothing. I hit the unlock button from a few feet away so she can get inside faster.

Once I have the bags loaded into the back seat, we set off again. The car is warm, and in the quiet, I’m aware of her again—angled slightly toward the window, her breath fogging the glass. Her knee bounces, and I don’t think it’s about me. I think she’s thinking about what comes next: going home to a baby she didn’t ask for, in an apartment she can barely afford, in a neighborhood that would make me uneasy—and I’m twice her size.

She hasn’t asked me a single thing about what I do for a living. She hasn’t asked about the car or the gold card or why a guy like me is walking around this part of the city alone at midnight. Any other woman would have Googled me by now, or at least tried to figure out if I’m someone important. Ryleigh’s just sitting there, watching the rain-slicked streets pass by, lost in whatever worries are crowding her brain.

It throws me off more than it should.

A few minutes later, we’ve arrived, and when I park on the street and step out of the car, I get angry.

Really angry.

And my anger only intensifies with every step toward Ryleigh’s apartment.

Chapter Two