not to think about how perfect this really feels. I try not to imagine what it would be like to fall asleep like this every night.
For the rest of my life.
If I do, I’m liable to get caught up in a fantasy.
***
I’m startled awake, the feeling of the motorhome moving beneath me overwhelming. I glance around, realizing I’m in Mack’s bed still, and I’m the only one. Even Oliver’s playpen is empty. Gingerly, I slip out of the bed and poke my head around the corner. I see the driver behind the wheel as we head down the interstate, and to my left, Fish sitting on the small couch, feeding Oliver. Mack is beside him, his head leaned back against the wall and his mouth hanging open as he sleeps.
It was a long night.
The moment we started to drift to sleep, Oliver decided it was time to party. He stayed up until four, only to drift off for another hour before waking back up again. Even after Mack insisted I go back to bed, there was no way I could fall asleep. Not with Oliver fussing on and off the entire time.
“You’re like a dream there, darlin’, except in my dream, you’re not wearing my buddy’s shirt.” Fish’s soft Southern accent makes me smile.
I step into the main area of the motorhome, while trying to conceal my bare legs. “How long has he been out?” I whisper, nodding toward Mack.
“Only about ten minutes or so. We’re getting close to home though, so his nap is short lived.”
“Why didn’t he wake me up?” I ask through a yawn.
Fish chuckles. “He tried when we were leaving about forty-five minutes ago. Not the way I’d prefer to wake a woman, but Cruz doesn’t have my suave moves.” The big guy throws me a wink and a big cheesy grin.
I backstep toward my little area, pointing at it over my shoulder. “I’m going to…you know…”
“Don’t put on pants on my account, Lena.” Again, he laughs, letting me know he’s joking.
Well, at least I think he is…
Ignoring the low hum of his laughter, I slip into my bunk and pull the door closed, throwing on the first pair of shorts I can find. We’re almost home, so I can worry about showering and actually making myself presentable later. Right now, I’d prefer to have on pants while engaging in conversation with Mack’s best friend.
When I slip out of the bunk, Fish is burping Oliver. I can’t help but stand and stare. The baby was very unhappy this morning, so to see him calm and content with Fish grinds on my nerves a little.
“I heard this little one was a ball of fire this morning,” Fish says, keeping his eyes on the task at hand.
“It was rough,” I confirm, sliding into the chair across from the small couch.
“That’ll happen. My baby sister, Daphne, she had her days and nights mixed up. When my parents couldn’t stand anymore from exhaustion, I’d step in and help. They called me the Baby Whisperer ’cause I could always get her to settle down and sleep.”
Even after just a few brief interactions I’ve seen between Fish and Oliver, I can tell his statement is true. He definitely has a way with babies. “You’ll make a great dad someday,” I tell him, pulling my knees up to my chest and tucking the large shirt around them.
His eyes dance with a fire I haven’t seen before. “Thanks,” he finally replies, glancing down at the little one in his arms. “I definitely want to be a dad.”
When we hit the 110, traffic starts to crawl along. I find it easy to sit and talk to Fish. He’s not judging me for my little walk of shame. He doesn’t seem bothered by my wild unbrushed hair or my lack of good oral hygiene. He just goes with the flow, talks about whatever’s on his mind, and holds Oliver while he sleeps.
Eventually, we finally reach Mack’s subdivision and pull into his long driveway. The driver pulls up and stops on the far end of the pavement, leaving plenty of room to gain access to the back garage. This is where they’ll leave the motorhome until we use it in two weeks for Portland.
“Home sweet home,” the driver, Randy, says as he shuts down the engine and gets out of the front seat. His personal vehicle is in front of the other garage, and he starts to load his bags into the trunk.