Page 57 of Denim & Diamonds

February

Two nights later, I decided to call Brock.

We hadn’t talked since we’d ended things, but I missed him like crazy and wanted to see how he was doing with the baby.

It didn’t feel right to completely abandon him, and it was clear to me that wasn’t what I wanted.

But all the complicating factors remained, and I still wasn’t sure what I could ultimately commit to…

So I talked myself into believing my call was just friendly, as we’d decided was best—not that I needed to hear his voice.

But I poured myself a glass of wine to settle my nerves before hitting the FaceTime button.

Brock answered wearing a soaking-wet T-shirt, which clung to his amazing, thick body.

I licked my lips. “Are you working at the cabin this late?”

He turned the phone, and Patrick’s cute little naked body filled the screen. Brock was giving him a bath in the sink. It made my heart squeeze. “Oh my God. He’s adorable. ”

“He likes to splash his old man. Hang on a second, let me prop the phone up in the dishrack. I need both hands with this slippery little fish.”

I couldn’t stop smiling as I watched the two of them together. Patrick’s legs were jumping all around, and he made this cute little squeaking sound.

“Watch this,” Brock said. He leaned over and put his mouth on the baby’s stomach and blew a big belly fart.

Patrick went crazy, his arms and legs flailing around as he screeched in laughter.

It made my heart full to see them happy together, and it hurt like hell that I wasn’t there, wouldn’t be part of that sweet little family.

I hated myself for being too afraid to take a chance with them.

“He is so precious, Brock.”

“He had a checkup yesterday. The butterball is almost eleven pounds already. The doc was nice, but she told me babies don’t usually laugh or smile in response to interactions for at least six to eight weeks.” He raised an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me my boy isn’t reacting to me.”

“He definitely is. I think doctors tend to give averages and probably lean toward the long end of things when they give people milestones, so parents don’t worry.”

Brock lifted Patrick’s foot, pressed his lips to it, and blew again. The baby shrieked in delight. There was no mistaking the smile on his face. “Is he that happy all the time?”

“For the most part. Though he tends to be happiest when he’s naked.” Brock winked. “Takes after his pop in that way, too.”

I couldn’t stop smiling. I watched as Brock finished his son’s bath, dried him off with an adorable green, hooded dinosaur towel, and dressed him in footie pajamas.

This was supposed to be a friendly check-in phone call, yet I think I fell a little more in love instead.

But that still came paired with a spike of fear.

He set Patrick in a bassinet in the living room, and thirty seconds later, the little guy was fast asleep. Brock sat down on the couch and let out a big sigh. He looked happy, but tired. “He knocks out after all the bath excitement.”

“I can’t blame him. I love a good bath, too.” Brock didn’t respond, and it felt awkward. “Is this okay?” I asked. “My calling, I mean?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m just not sure how to do the friend thing with you. You said bath, and I pictured us in the tub together, you sitting between my legs, resting your head against my chest.”

That sounded amazing. Clearly, I wasn’t sure how to manage this new friend zone either. “I wasn’t even sure I should call. But I’ve been thinking about you guys and wanted to see how you were holding up.”

Brock smiled sadly. “I think about you a lot, too.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Anyway, what’s new in New York?”

“Same old, same old. There was a rat in my subway car this morning.”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t know how you do it.”

I laughed. “That was a little much, even for me. It was trapped and running from person to person.”

“Did you make a decision on the investor guy from Italy?”

I nodded. “I did. I’m going to accept his offer. I have a call scheduled for tomorrow morning to talk to him about some things, but I don’t think any of them are dealbreakers. ”

“So that means you’ll be totally rid of the board of directors that have been giving you such a hard time?”

“Yep. I’m a corporation, so I need to have a board, but it doesn’t need to be outsiders who don’t know anything about my business.”

“That’s good. Though the board did one smart thing.”

“They did?”

“They sent you to Meadowbrook.”

I smiled. “That’s true. I have them to thank for bringing you into my life. And in hindsight, I think I actually needed the mental break. So yeah, I guess they did one good thing.” I paused. “How about you? How are you juggling all your businesses with the baby?”

“I hired someone to cover my shifts at the bar. Terrance was our local sheriff for thirty years. He retired six months ago and was going stir crazy at home. Said he was getting a job or a divorce, so he started yesterday. I think he could be good for the place.”

“Oh, that’s great. That leaves you with only two full-time jobs then—building log cabins and being a dad. Actually, it’s three if you count building your own cabin, too. How’s that going? Your brothers were supposed to start helping you with that, right?”

Brock nodded. “They did. And even though they’ve been working their tails off, I’ve realized it would take forever to finish at the rate I’m going. So this morning, I bit the bullet and put a full-time crew on at my place to help finish up.”

“Oh wow. I thought you wanted to do it all yourself? That was your dream. You’d put every stone on that big fireplace and cut every log.”

“I did, but what I want now takes a backseat to what Patrick needs. This apartment is bursting at the seams already. I want him to have a home.” He shrugged.

“I guess dreams change. It’s funny because I don’t even remember why it was so damn important for me to build it myself anymore.

Everything seems unimportant now except making things good for my son. ”

That stabbed my heart a little, and it must have shown on my face.

“I didn’t mean you were unimportant,” Brock clarified.

“It’s fine. I get it.”

We talked for another half hour, until Patrick woke up and started to fuss. “I have to feed him. You want to hang on while I go make a bottle?”

“No, you go do what you need to do.” I smiled. “It was really good to talk to you. I’m glad everything is going well, Brock.”

He was quiet for a beat, then simply nodded.

“Give me a call when you have time,” I added.

“Actually, I’m going to christen the baby next week. It’s not going to be a big thing. Just my brothers and a few friends, some six-foot heroes and beer at the bar after. But I thought maybe…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I understand if you can’t. I just wanted to put the offer out there.”

“Can I get back to you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

After we hung up, melancholy set in. The silence of my apartment felt really loud, and after another glass of wine, I decided to call it an early night.

But ninety minutes after getting into bed, I was still staring up at the ceiling, thinking about something Brock had said.

Dreams change . Had mine? I’d been hung up on building an empire for as long as I could remember.

What was I reaching for anymore? My company was successful.

I owned my apartment. I lived a good life.

Maybe I wasn’t Christian Dior or Louis Vuitton, but I had a brand with value, a brand I was proud of.

What more would I need to feel like I’d made it?

To be able to stop running toward something and enjoy where I was?

I chewed on my lip. Had my dream changed?

Could I give up my life here and be happy being a stepmom?

Would I be content living a simple life in Maine?

Pushing a stroller on long morning walks instead of drinking my third cup of coffee while taking business calls from Europe at eight AM?

Could I give up everything I’d worked for?

Dreams change.

I supposed they could. But had mine?

With that thought still rattling around in my head, my cell buzzed from the nightstand. For some reason, I felt in my bones that it was going to be Brock. He was going to say something that made all the tough questions a little easier to answer. I just knew it.

Though when I picked up the phone, the message wasn’t from Brock at all.

It was another handsome man.

Matthew: Hey. I had a great time at lunch the other day. Would love to pick your brain about a few things. Could we possibly meet for lunch again one day next week?

I stared down at the phone, trying not to let myself think this was a sign—God was trying to redirect my attention. Though it felt even more like that when the next text came in.

Matthew: Or maybe dinner?