Page 34 of Best Friends

(One month later)

I’m sitting on the couch feeding Jamie when I sniff the air, wincing. “Oh, no. Not again.” I glance down at my innocent looking son. “I literally just changed you an hour ago, you little rat.”

Jamie just wiggles and continues feeding as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Malcolm,” I call toward the kitchen, where he’s making coffee. “Your son just exploded.”

“My son?” Malcolm appears in the doorway with a grin, dish towel slung over his shoulder. “Funny how you stress that point anytime he dirties his diaper.”

“Why, I don’t know what you mean.” I bat my eyes innocently and he laughs.

I look down at Jamie, who’s staring up at me with serious dark eyes that definitely resemble Malcolm’s. At one month old, he’s finally starting to look less like a wrinkled alien and more like an actual baby. His hair has grown in thick and dark, and yesterday I swear he almost smiled at me.

Malcolm comes over, already rolling up his sleeves. “Come here, little man,” he says, gently taking Jamie from my arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling sheepishly. “It’s a bad one. Maybe you should wear a hazmat suit.”

“I would if I had one. But it’s fine. You just changed him. It’s my turn.” Malcolm winks at me as he carries Jamie to the changing table we set up in the corner of the living room. He talks to him the whole time in a soft voice. “You need to stop doing this so often. Diapers are expensive, Jamie.”

The doorbell rings just as Malcolm is lifting Jamie’s legs to get at the worst of the mess. “I’ll get the door,” I say.

“Thanks. I have my hands full over here.”

Malcolm has taken to fatherhood like a duck to water.

His attitude is amazing. Better than mine some days, honestly.

Malcolm was a nervous wreck the night I went into labor, but he’s been my rock ever since.

Once we got the baby home, while I was panicking about every little cry and hiccup those first few weeks, Malcolm seemed to know what Jamie needed.

He’s the one who figured out that Jamie likes to be bounced in a specific rhythm when he’s fussy.

He’s also the one who discovered that Jamie is apparently a fan of Taylor Swift.

If Jamie is crying, all it takes are a few Swift songs and he’s suddenly in a much better mood.

I open the front door to find Cheyenne standing on the porch with a bag from our favorite deli and a huge grin.

“Aunt Chey comes bearing gifts,” she announces, holding up the bag. “I assume cooking is tough with a newborn. I thought I’d bring a delicious treat we could all share.”

“Oh my god, yes.” I step aside to let her in. “Malcolm and I haven’t eaten anything but frozen burritos the last week.”

“He’s not wrong,” Malcolm calls from across the room, not looking up from Jamie’s diaper change.

Cheyenne laughs, taking in the scene. Our living room looks like a baby supply store exploded. There are burp cloths draped over every surface, a bouncy seat in the corner, and at least three different types of baby monitors scattered around. “How are you guys doing?”

“We’re tired,” I admit, following her into the kitchen to unpack the food. “But happy.”

“You look happy,” she observes, pulling out sandwiches and soup containers. “Happier than I’ve seen you in... well, ever.”

I think about that as I get out plates. She’s right. Despite the exhaustion and the constant worry about whether I’m doing everything wrong, I am happy. Stupidly, overwhelmingly happy.

“Ta-da!” Malcolm announces from the living room. “One clean baby, ready for his adoring public.”

We carry the food into the living room, joining Malcolm on the couch. He’s got Jamie dressed in a fresh onesie and looking considerably more comfortable. Malcolm has his shirt off now which gets a whistle from Chey.

“To what do I owe the honor of a burlesque show?” she asks teasingly.

He grins. “Thanks to Jamie, I got a little poop on my shirt. I didn’t want to wear that around company.”

She laughs. “Otherwise you don’t mind?”

He shrugs and grabs a clean T-shirt from the pile of laundry on the couch. “If we didn’t have guests, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed.”

I sigh. “He’s not wrong. Baby poop is part of our life now.”

“I don’t envy you.” Cheyanne smiles as she settles beside me. “Jamie’s getting so big. Can I hold him? I’ve had lots of practice with my sister’s kids.”

“Don’t you want to eat first?” I ask, gesturing to the food on the coffee table.

“Nah, let’s visit a little, then eat. I gotta get my Jamie time in.”

I laugh. “Have at it.” I carefully transfer Jamie to her arms, watching as her face immediately softens. “He’s been more alert lately. Yesterday he tracked a toy with his eyes for ten whole seconds.”

“He’s pretty much a genius baby,” Malcolm says proudly, sitting on my other side. “Definitely gets that from me.”

I snort. “Please, you’re the eye candy in the relationship, not the brains.”

Malcolm grins. “I can live with that.” He leans over and grabs a plate of food. He slurps some soup, making a happy sound.

“Look at those little hands,” Cheyenne murmurs, letting Jamie wrap his fingers around her thumb. “God, I can never get over how tiny a newborn’s fingernails are. How do you even cut these things?”

“Very carefully,” Malcolm and I say in unison, then laugh.

“We had a major panic attack the first time,” I explain. “I had to do it. Malcolm was convinced he’d accidentally chop an arm off.”

Malcolm grimaces. “I didn’t want to chance it. But C. was brave and he did it. No limbs were lost, thank goodness.”

We eat lunch while passing Jamie around, and I’m struck by how normal this feels. How right. A month ago, I was worried about everything—whether I’d be a good parent, whether Malcolm and I could handle this together, whether having a baby would change everything between us.

It’s changed things, but not in a bad way.

If anything, watching Malcolm with Jamie has only made me love him more.

If that’s even possible. He gets up for the 3:00 a.m. feedings so I can rest. He helps with bath time and feedings.

And he does it all with a smile. I’m still not sure how I got so lucky, but lately, I’ve stopped questioning my luck.

I just embrace it. Turns out, I’m a lot happier that way.

“So,” Cheyenne says eventually, bouncing Jamie gently as he starts to get fussy. “When are you planning to come back to work? I miss you, plus, everyone’s been asking.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure Harlan misses me terribly.”

Malcolm snorts a laugh. “He misses having you around so he can give you a hard time.”

“Well, Harlan’s just a jerk. He can go to you know where. But everyone else is asking.” She smiles. “So, when are you coming back?”

It’s a question I’ve been mulling. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Originally I was thinking I’d just take four weeks after Jamie was born.”

“But now?” Malcolm prompts gently.

I look at Jamie, who’s now calm again in Cheyenne’s arms, his eyes starting to drift closed. “Now I don’t want to leave him. Not yet. I think I’ll take the other four weeks too.”

There. I said it. I’ve wrestled with wanting to be home and also wanting to work. But I’ve come to the conclusion that work will wait, while Jamie will change every single day. I don’t want to throw that time away.

Cheyenne smiles. “I don’t blame you. This is a special time with your baby. Why not take the full eight weeks?”

I sigh. “It’s weird because, before Jamie was born, I was already planning my return to work, worried about losing my edge.

I thought I’d be climbing the walls after a few weeks at home.

Instead, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

I still love my job and want to go back, but I also want to spend this precious time with Jamie. ”

“I think that’s great,” Malcolm says softly. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me. You could quit completely and I’d be fine with it.”

I grimace. “I don’t want to quit my job. I love my job. But I’m also loving being home with Jamie for now.”

“That’s why they give omegas time to be with the babies.” Malcolm shrugs. “Bonding is important.”

I grin sheepishly. “Did either of you ever think I’d want to stay home longer with the baby?”

“I thought you might,” Cheyenne says with a smile. “My sister said the same thing after her first. She was so career-focused before, and then suddenly all she wanted was to spend every minute with the baby.”

“I’m not quitting my job,” I say firmly. “But I want to spend this time with Jamie while he’s so little. Plus, it’s paid leave. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.”

“I’m glad you made your decision.” Malcolm reaches over and takes my hand. “I know you’ve been struggling with it.”

“It helps that you’re supportive, Malc.” I smile.

“Of course, C.” He kisses my knuckles. “I’m always going to support you.”

“Awww.” Cheyenne sighs. “You two are adorable.”

My cheeks warm. “Can you be adorable when you’re covered in baby spit-up twenty-four-seven?”

She grins. “Yes.”

“Speaking of which,” Malcolm points to the shoulder of my shirt. “Jamie left you a gift a bit ago.”

I look down at my shirt, which does indeed have a suspicious wet spot on the shoulder. “When did that happen?”

“He nailed you about ten minutes ago,” Malcolm says. “When you were holding him so Chey could eat.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I grumble, dabbing at the spot with a burp cloth. “I would have changed my shirt.”

“We’re running out of shirts.” Malcolm laughs. “It’s a losing battle. The spit up monster is winning.”

Jamie makes a small sound and opens his eyes, looking around with a serious expression as if he knows we’re talking about him.

He starts fussing, making little mewling sounds that mean he’s getting hungry.

I take him from Cheyenne, settling him against my chest, and he immediately calms down, recognizing my scent, my heartbeat.

We visit a while longer with Chey, then she takes off. Malcolm take Jamie in for his bath, and I sit on the couch and close my eyes. When I wake up, it’s raining and the room is dark. Malcolm is beside me, his arm around my shoulder and our son sleeping peacefully in the curve of his arm.

“You’re awake,” Malcolm says softly, smiling down at me.

“Yep.” I smile back.

He lowers his head and we kiss. I feel that same spark and hunger that hit me the first time we kissed in the elevator.

The first touch of our lips was chaotic and terrifying, and it came very close to destroying our friendship.

When I think of how scared I was to love Malcolm as more than a friend, it’s mind boggling to me.

Because now, I can’t see him as anything but my alpha. Being his omega feels right. Perfect.

Meant to be.

When the kiss ends, he licks his lips. “Mmmm. Maybe we should put this little one down and go to bed.”

I laugh. “And you say I have a one track mind?”

His lips twitch. “I never said it was a bad thing.”

I touch his stubbled cheek, my heart aching. “I love you so much, Malc. I’m so happy. Sometimes it scares me how happy I am.”

“Why?” He frowns.

“You and me? It feels too good to be true.”

“Nah.” He sweeps his thumb possessively over his bite mark on my throat. “You’ve got that all wrong, C. When it comes to you and me? It’s too good not to be true.”