Page 26 of Trusting You
9
Carter
Locke opens the door to his apartment, and I’m behind him, Lily on my hip. She’s been scrambling to get down since the restaurant, but I’m afraid to drop her feet onto a floor that could contain STDs.
I don’t care if most STDs can’t survive on inanimate objects. If there’s even a small chance, Lily will find it and put it into her mouth.
When Locke steps aside, the smell hits my nose first.
I scrunch my nose. “Is that…?”
“Citrus? Lemon?” Locke tilts his head. “The scent of cleanliness? Why, yes, it is.”
Tentatively, I put one foot forward. Lily’s head is past my chin, craning to discover what environment she’s plopped into next.
The wooden floors shine with varnish. His couch is free of debris and women’s underwear. Even his coffee table—a cushioned ottoman—doesn’t have anything except a few silicone coasters. His TV is mounted into the wall, no wires dangling, and do those electrical plugs have baby-proof outlet covers?
“Yes, yes, and yes, to everything you’re thinking,” Locke says, shutting the door quietly behind me.
“You’ve done your research,” is all I can think to say. Lily shouts and wriggles, so I set her down. Immediately, she’s on the move.
And there’s nothing dangerous I can think to swipe out of her way.
“Quit looking so gobsmacked,” Locke says. “Wanna beer?”
I whirl to face him. He laughs then puts his hands up. “Kidding. But we’re really going to have to find you a sense of humor if you’re living here.”
I’m still surveying his apartment. “I’ll let you know when it’s located.”
He’s still chuckling. “Fine. I’ll grab you a glass of Perrier in the meantime. Ice?”
“Sure. So…where’s Lily staying?” I ask as he clinks ice into glasses in the kitchen.
“I outfitted the second bedroom as a nursery.”
“Oh?”
I can feel his exasperation even though he’s nowhere near me. “Yes, Carter, I have a second bedroom.”
He comes up beside me and hands me the drink. Lily is pulling herself up on the ottoman, jabbering at the coasters.
“I’ll show you,” he says.
Locke puts his water down and grabs Lily, picking her up with a surprising swing. He carries her with us to a door that upon initially entering this place, I hadn’t seen. It’s hidden in a small L in the wall to the left of the couch.
Locke opens it, and I’m aghast.
It’s been painted a pale pink, with piglets adorned with wings flying along on a wallpaper border. The crib is white wood with a mattress and pastel pink chevron pattern. Beside it is a simple white changing station with drawers underneath for clothes, blankets, and the like. On the other side of the wall is a cream futon, and peppered among the big ornaments are small toys, stuffed animals, wooden blocks, and a Neapolitan colored play mat.
Lily squeals, smacking Locke’s shoulders.
“You like it?” His grin is almost as wide as Lily’s head.
“She likes it.” I agree with her.
“Awesome, dude,” he says to Lily, then lets her down and she beelines for the wooden blocks, gripping, chewing, and muttering as she smacks them together.
“That kid is cute,” Locke says to me, but his attention doesn’t stray from the baby in front of us. It gives me an excuse to study him, from his freshly-laundered clothes to the clean-shaven face. His hair is slightly longer, sun-bleached blond, but mostly brown, and it falls across his brow until he slides the strands back with his fingers. His lashes contradict his coloring—pitch black, exactly like Lily’s, and plush with genetics that mascara has been competing with for generations.