“Hi, angel.”
“So …” Finley prompted.
I resisted the urge to tilt my head to the side and pop my neck, despite the headache I could feel building. Focus, Grey. She might not like me, but her daughter did. I had to use every angle to my advantage.
“I know we’ve talked about this, and you made it very clear where you stand. But I have a proposition for you. Let me be here for her.” I tipped my chin toward Maple.
She narrowed her eyes on mine. “Why would you want to do that?”
I knew she was thinking this was some strange brotherhood-bond thing, but it was more than that. Something inside me just wanted to be around them. It made me feel … normal. It gave my life some much needed spice. “She needs a father figure in her life, Finley. It’ll be good for her.”
She made a little hmpf sound in her throat, but she didn’t argue. She couldn’t, because she knew I was right, even if it was only about that one thing.
And from that point forward, I started coming twice a week, like clockwork. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’d bring dinner by and hang out with Maple for a couple of hours before bedtime. We read stories, played make-believe, fed her baby doll from a spoon, and watched cartoons on my iPhone while she curled in my lap.
I didn’t change diapers, didn’t try to play the hero, and I definitely didn’t try to engage Finley in any deep or meaningful conversations. But it worked. Slowly things started to become less awkward. Slowly I felt the walls that Finley had constructed around her and her daughter begin to slip. And the knots of tension that had trapped us in place began to unravel.
And today, three weeks later, here I was again, pulling up to the apartment with a bag of groceries. Only this time, in addition to the takeout, I had a bottle of red wine tucked inside the bag too. I hadn’t pushed Finley for more, hadn’t pressured her again about quitting the club, but of course it had been lurking in the back of my mind. Tonight, I planned to give her a gentle nudge.
“Chinese?” Finley asked with skepticism, removing the white cartons from the bag and setting them on the table.
“A man can only eat so much macaroni and cheese.” I grinned at her. Usually I opted for getting Maple’s favorite foods, but tonight I wanted to try something different. Fuck, I needed to if my taste buds were to survive. “There’s fried rice and egg rolls and a few other things, hopefully that’s okay.” I shifted Maple to my other arm. When I was here, she often clung to me like a little koala bear, which Finley assured me was not the norm. She didn’t go to strangers, didn’t let just anyone hold her. Which of course made me feel like the luckiest man in the world. She trusted me. Her mom, on the other hand … I was pretty sure I’d moved only from lurid hatred to mild irritation on her barometer.
Finley’s tone softened. “This is perfect. I didn’t want to complain, since I know you’ve been making such an effort, but I don’t think I could have eaten another bite of macaroni.”
I chuckled at her, but my laughter stopped short when I saw her holding up the bottle of wine with a look of confusion etched into her pretty features. Since I’d been coming here, I hadn’t done anything remotely romantic, nothing to suggest our time together was a date. No, I was here for Maple. Plain and simple. But the wine, the non-toddler food—it was different than my usual MO, and she picked up on it right away.
“Merlot?” she asked, inspecting the bottle. It wasn’t expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either.
“What? Does French wine not pair well with Chinese? I can never remember these things.”
She made one of those hmpf noises I was coming to know meant she was annoyed, but wasn’t going to argue. Then she set the bottle down. “I’ll look for my wine opener. It’s been a while since I used it.”
Interesting. Not only was she not going to fight me, she was going to indulge in a glass with me. It felt like a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I fixed Maple’s pink princess plate while Finley poured the wine.
She set our plates out while Maple dug in. I grabbed the sippy cup of milk in the fridge. It wasn't lost on me that Finley’s routine had expanded to include me. Despite her reluctance about letting me into their life, we had gotten into a comfortable groove, our interactions slowly becoming less awkward and more sincere.
As we took our first bites, Maple was still busy inspecting her food with chubby toddler fingers. When she picked up the egg roll and shoved a big bite into her mouth, Finley’s eyes lifted to mine and we both let out a laugh.
After dinner, I decided to hang around while Finley gave Maple her bath. Usually this was the time I’d cut out and leave them to their mother-daughter evening routine. But we still had a mostly full bottle of Merlot, and so I decided to test her. It was now or never. I refilled both our glasses, and was waiting on the couch when Finley reemerged from the hallway.
“Oh.” She stopped in her tracks. “You’re still here.”
Ouch. Maybe Maple loved me, but her mother sure didn't.
After all the hours I’d invested trying to win Finley over, it was clear that I was still sitting at square one.
“Sorry, I’ll …” I made a move to stand.
But Finley crossed the room to place one hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t have to rush off.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself, then slowly pulled her hand away. “God, I’ve been a total bitch to you. It’s just that …”