Can't Fight It - Kaylee Ryan Page 0,17
in his arms. “I was just about to get Milo here in his bathtub. For someone so small, he sure makes a big mess,” he says, pointing to the big wet spot on his chest. I’m guessing formula… or possibly spit-up. Either way, I smile.
“I’m going to head back to my place. I have a site I’m working on,” I tell him. As I pry my fingers from Milo’s grasp, I throw his dad a wave and head to my door. “Thank you for dinner. Tell your mom they were the best enchiladas I’ve ever had,” I add, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“I’ll tell her,” he says with a small grin.
“Goodnight, Colton.”
“Night, Hollis.”
I shut the door behind me, flipping the lock into place. I double-check the outside door as well, though I did that earlier. Call it a habit, I guess. Flipping open the notepad on the counter, I check my list of upcoming purchases. Curtains to cover the miniblinds on the windows, a small bookshelf, a couch, and chair, though both may not fit. I add waffle maker and Crock-Pot to the list, two things I’d love to own again since I enjoy cooking. I cross off lamp as it was one of the few things I picked up today at the secondhand store, and toss the list back onto the counter. I have a long way to go before this place has that homey vibe, but I know I’ll get there. With each job I take, I’ll earn more money to buy the things on the list. It’ll take time, but that’s okay. The end result will be worth it.
In the bathroom, I get ready for bed. I pop out my contacts and place them carefully in the case. I don’t have that many pairs left, so I need to be cautious with the ones I have. After washing my face and moisturizing, I slip on warm, comfy pajamas, pull my hair up in a high ponytail, and return to my makeshift bed. I add an extra blanket to the padding and slip under the covers.
It’s still early, and I’m not quite ready to sleep, so I grab my laptop and pull up the site I’ve been working on. I immerse myself in my work, adding the stock market widget to the main page, and grain and livestock on another. I scroll through the landing pages and make sure the images are right, based on specifics the company provided me. When I’m certain those are good, I click through a few other pages, working on the text and adding buttons for social media. I spend a good hour reading every line, looking for spelling errors and missing punctuation. Before the site goes live, I always send it to my client for a final set of eyes.
The only sound is the occasional clicking of my laptop keys, which is why, when I hear a loud wail, followed by that deep sexy timbre echoed through the wall, my entire body takes notice. They sound close, which means they’re in Milo’s bedroom again. I can picture them, Milo snuggled in one of those fuzzy animal towels with the hood attached, as Colton tries to wrestle a fresh diaper on him. Of course, Colton’s shirt is probably soaking wet too. Milo seems like the kind of kid who’d appreciate bath time.
Shaking my head, I try to push all thoughts of my landlord and the way his T-shirt would mold to his chest if it were wet—I bet it would be a magnificent sight—and finish up my work for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll comb the site one last time and send it to the customer for review. I know there will be changes, but I’d like to know if I’m on the right track.
Before I shut down my laptop for the night, I pull up my Facebook account. I have a few notifications, but most of them pertain to pages I follow, like authors and cute boutiques. My cursor hovers over the search bar, and before I stop myself, I type a name and click enter. Seven matches pop up with the name Colton Callahan, but it’s the first one that I find myself clicking.
The profile picture is of a slightly younger version of my landlord, with his arms around two others. Their hair is buzzed super short, and the trio sport wide grins and army green. Even though the picture is a few years old, I can see the resemblance in