Their Baby Blessing. Heidi McCahan

      “Oh, look at this.” Skye brought Connor a bright-colored shape sorter from the toy bin beside the sofa, and thankfully he dialed back his cries to a pathetic whimper. While he examined the plastic shapes inside the rectangular box, Skye hurried to put plates and silverware on the table.

      A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. No. A jolt of adrenaline zinged through her. She wasn’t ready. She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear and glanced at her plaid button-down shirt and favorite skinny jeans. She’d meant to change before Gage—

      Wait. Why did it matter how she looked? A relationship with him apart from their shared interest in Connor wasn’t even on her radar.

      She opened the door and Gage stood on the other side. His sandy-blond hair gleamed in the light from the porch, and the skin beside his hazel eyes crinkled when he smiled. A stunning smile that she was working hard not to stare at right now.

      “Hey.” That voice. Deep. Confident. Smooth. How could one simple word make her heart pound so easily?

      Great. While most normal humans might return his casual greeting, Skye couldn’t find her words. Or ignore Gage’s shoulders, which seemed broader than she remembered. Or was it the green winter jacket that added bulk? Instead of speaking, all she could think about was how that shade of green emphasized the flecks in his eyes and—

      “Skye?” Gage’s brow arched. “You did say five thirty, didn’t you?”

      “Yeah, hi. Sorry, I was, uh...” Just thinking about your amazing shoulders and gorgeous eyes.

      Oh brother. Warmth rushed to her face. “Please, come in.”

      She stepped back and pulled the door wide, while another wave of anxiety washed over her. Was she doing the right thing—allowing Gage to meet Connor? He’d been through so much in his first year of life. Introducing another stranger, even one with the best of intentions, made her uneasy.

      * * *

      The aroma of something delicious—soup, maybe—enveloped Gage as he toed off his boots inside the Tomlinsons’ front door. Definitely smelled more appealing than the canned chili he’d planned to fix for himself.

      “Thanks for coming.” Skye took his jacket, and his heart skittered at the way those pink lips of hers curved into a tentative smile.

      He quickly banished those thoughts. “No problem.”

      “Hello, you must be Gage.” A petite woman with salt-and-pepper curls and wearing black pants and a red blouse walked slowly from the kitchen to the nearby table, her eyes focused on a small basket balanced precariously in her hands.

      “That’s my mother, Rhonda Tomlinson,” Skye said.

      Before Gage could respond, Connor squealed so loud that Skye winced. “That’s Connor’s way of welcoming you.”

      Gage glanced at the little boy sitting in the middle of the living room floor, and his breath hitched. He’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere. They were a carbon copy of Ryan’s. He swallowed hard and glanced at Skye again. “Mind if I say hello?”

      “Please do.” Something undecipherable flashed across Skye’s features. “Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

      Gage approached slowly and sank onto the beige shag carpet. “What’s up, little dude?”

      Connor stared at him, wide-eyed, then babbled a string of unintelligible words while offering Gage an orange plastic dump truck.

      “Thanks.” Gage gently took the truck and drove it across the carpet and up Connor’s leg, while making the appropriate truck noises.

      Connor giggled and playfully pushed Gage’s hand away.

      Gage’s heart expanded at the bubbly sound of Connor’s laugh, and he drove the truck along Connor’s gray sweatpants again, making him laugh louder. This time Gage laughed right along with him, and they repeated the cycle. He quickly surveyed his surroundings—casual furnishings, floral curtains framing the windows, and shelves nearby lined with books and knickknacks indicated the Tomlinsons lived comfortably but didn’t seem pretentious.

      Feeling the weight of their stares, Gage glanced up to see Mrs. Tomlinson and Skye watching him, their mouths open.

      Uh-oh. What had he done? “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing’s wrong. It’s amazing.” Skye’s smooth brow furrowed. “We just haven’t heard him laugh that much before.”

      Oh. Gage shifted his focus back to Connor. How sad. “He’s got a great laugh. I’d want to hear more, too.”

      While Skye and her mother put dishes on the table, Connor offered Gage more of his toys, coupled with enthusiastic sounds, and Gage admired each car, plastic tool and rattle.

      “I hate to interrupt the fun,” Skye said, “but dinner is ready.”

      “All right.” Gage stood, and Connor’s lower lip wobbled.

      Oh no. Gage hesitated. He’d made the kid cry already.

      Connor’s expression crumpled, and he stretched both arms toward Gage as if asking to be held. What should he do? He’d made his promise to Ryan without ever spending much time around children. Especially babies.

      Gage shot Skye a panicked look.

      Skye gave him a sympathetic smile. “That means he likes you and wants to keep playing. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll put Connor in his high chair?”

      So this crying was good? “Let’s eat, bud.” Gage angled his head toward the dining room table. Connor’s response was a painful cry that knifed at Gage’s heart. He groaned inwardly at his ignorant assumption that such a young child would make the transition to his high chair without complaint. Man, he had a lot to learn if he was going to make good on his commitment. What if Skye realized how inexperienced he was and refused to let him spend time with Connor?

      Mrs. Tomlinson had already sat down. Gage waited until Skye had scooped Connor up and carried him to his high chair. The little boy arched his back and screeched, making it difficult for Skye to secure the harness and buckles.

      “Wow.” Gage grimaced. He might not be able to talk, but he’d made his preferences quite clear.

      “He keeps us on our toes.” Mrs. Tomlinson shook her head while Skye finally buckled Connor in and latched the white plastic tray in place. She straightened, her cheeks flushed, and claimed her place across from Gage.

      “He’ll calm down in a minute.” Skye reached for her napkin. “Would you like to ask the blessing, Mom?”

      Connor cried the whole time Mrs. Tomlinson prayed, drowning out most of what she said.

      When she’d finished, Gage surveyed the meal. A basket of dinner rolls, green salad and a generous helping of beef stew in his bowl made his mouth water. He glanced at Connor. “Are you ready to eat?”

      Connor paused his tirade long enough to consider Gage’s question.

      “Can he have some bread?” Gage asked Skye. He really had no idea what babies Connor’s age could eat.

      “Sure. If he throws it, he may not have any more, though.” Skye fired a warning glance in Connor’s direction.

      “Got it.” No roll tossing at the table. Although it did sound a little fun.

      Gage took a roll from the basket and pinched a small bite to share with Connor. “Here.” He set it on the tray. “This bread looks yummy.” His voice sounded goofy. And when was the last time he’d used the word yummy? He didn’t dare look Skye’s way.

      Connor picked up the bread and popped it in his mouth.

      Then his blue eyes widened, and he pointed toward the basket of rolls, while he bounced up and down against the high chair’s