Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Look at you, bud,” I say softly, into the now quiet of the room. “I think someone needs a bath.”
“No baf.” He shakes his head.
“Yes, bath,” I tell him, working to free him from his highchair quickly. He’s long overdue for a nap, and I have a feeling I’m about to see cranky Camden in full swing. Hopefully, I can diffuse it. “You have those new tugboats you need to play with,” I remind him of one of his birthday gifts.
“Swoan, pway,” he says, and even his tone sounds sad as I lift him into my arms, and he snuggles into my chest.
“Of course, I will. Come on, you.” I make it a point to walk past Baker, and with my free hand, I reach out and give his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got him,” I whisper. He nods, but I’m not even sure he really hears me or understands what I’ve just said. He seems to be in a state of shock.
I make a quick stop in the living room for the new bathtime tugboats that Amanda got him and slowly make my way upstairs. I head straight for the bathroom, turning on the water so it can warm while I strip Camden out of his birthday-cake-covered clothing.
“Are you so excited about your new boats?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light and airy. Whatever has everyone up in arms downstairs doesn’t need to touch him. This is his special day.
“Boat,” he says, rubbing his eyes.
“Somebody is sleepy,” I coo, testing the water before placing him in the tub. I don’t add bubbles because I can tell he’s crashing. This is going to be quick, and I hope it doesn’t turn into a battle of wills when I tell him it’s time to get out of the tub.
I try like hell to keep a happy smile on my face while giving Camden his bath, all while my mind races with what could have elicited that type of reaction out of Baker. And I can’t figure out why I want to run to him and hold both him and his son in my arms. Sure, we’ve spent a lot of time together this week, but this need to be the one to hold them both steady rocks me.
“All clean,” I say in a cheery voice. “Now, it’s time for jammies and a book.” I widen my eyes dramatically, and Camden gives me a sleepy smile, tossing his boats to the side and holding his hands up for me. The trust this little man has put in me has my insides feeling like mush.
“How about your football jammies?” I suggest, pulling them out of this drawer.
“Ball,” he says.
It’s a bit early to put him in jammies, at late afternoon, but I don’t know what’s happening downstairs, and this will be one less task Baker has to think about later tonight.
Once Camden is all snuggled in his jammies, we both climb into his new big-boy bed that was delivered this week. It’s essentially a full-size mattress placed on the floor, surrounded by a bed frame that somewhat resembles a gate. Camden seems to love it, and it’s nice because we can snuggle up with him to read his books when putting him down. That’s the first thing Baker said when he saw it, which sold him on it.
Once next to him, Camden cuddles up to me, and I wrap my arm around him and begin to read. In just a few minutes, I feel his little body relax, and when I look down, he’s fast asleep. I keep reading a little longer, just to give him time to fall into a deep sleep before I move and risk waking him up.
“Did he go down okay?” a whispered voice asks, one I’d recognize anywhere.
“He did. I think the bath helped, and I put him in his pajamas,” I reply, keeping my voice soft. Discarding the book, I start to move gently, but Baker’s voice stops me.
“Stay,” he says, his voice like gravel.
I instantly freeze and relax back into the mattress. Baker closes Camden’s bedroom door and walks toward the bed. My eyes widen when he moves to the foot of the bed, steps over the railing, and lies down on the other side of his son, on his side, facing me.
On instinct, I, too, turn to my side to face him, tugging the soft blanket up over Camden to ward off the chill of the air conditioning, before my eyes lock on hazel ones, which are so full of sadness.
“Whatever it is, I’m here.” My words are soft, but he nods, letting me know that he heard me. I want to press for more, but instead, I remain quiet as we stay locked in a staring contest.
“He loves you,” he finally says, his eyes darting to his son, then back to me. “It’s been a week, and you’ve captured my son's heart.”