She was still weak, though, and grateful for Darcy’s arm as he helped her out to the round wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. A sliding glass door let onto the rooftop balcony. Outside, the setting sun had turned the sky pink through the trees.
Darcy started to ladle out a bowl of chicken noodle soup for her when Billy started crying. Automatically, Emma began to rise.
“Stay and eat. I’ll get him.” Darcy set the steaming bowl before her and left the room. He returned a few minutes later with Billy in the baby carrier.
Darcy moved around the kitchen with Billy, getting himself a bowl of soup, cutting bread. There was something really attractive about a man with a baby. Was it because the baby made the man seem even bigger and stronger? Or was it more emotional, the security of knowing that the father of your child was taking care of both mother and child?
She wasn’t under any illusion, though, that just because Darcy had cared for Billy for the past few days that he wanted to be in her son’s life permanently. He’d stepped up because that’s the kind of guy he was, but it wouldn’t last. He was also the kind of guy who slipped away when he wasn’t needed. Home and hearth weren’t exciting enough for him.
Nor did him taking her in when she was sick mean he wanted to return to them having a relationship. Or that he was ever going to be the family man Emma wanted and needed. Alana didn’t realize how good she had it.
“This soup is delicious. Did you make it?” After seeing Darcy with Billy she was ready to believe anything.
“I bought it from the deli. Cooking isn’t high on my list of domestic skills. I miss your cooking.” Darcy passed her the bread. “When you’re feeling better do you think you could teach me to make your chicken curry?”
“I’ll email you the recipe.” He met that with silence and she mentally kicked herself. That wasn’t what he asked. He didn’t follow recipes well, learning better by doing. “Or I could show you.”
Darcy smiled. “Showing me would be great.”
She was surprised to find she already looked forward to being in the kitchen with him. The ties that bound them had long, long threads. She and Darcy were woven together in ways she’d taken for granted when they were married. How long would it take to sever every strand? And how bereft would she feel when that happened?
“You’ve surprised me, carrying Billy around in the sling,” Emma said.
However, he had him facing out, the wrong way around for a baby of Billy’s age. His neck wasn’t strong enough. She bit her tongue, not wanting her first comment on his parenting to be a criticism.
“It’s the only way to get him to stop crying. Isn’t that right, mate?” He brushed Billy’s head lightly, almost absently, ruffling his fluffy baby hair.
For days she’d been so sick she was barely aware of what was going on. Now that she was awake and feeling a bit better, she burned to ask if Billy had been fed on schedule, if Darcy used zinc ointment when he changed diapers and a million other questions.
It didn’t seem right to start grilling him when he was clearly trying hard and when he’d done her a huge, huge favor. Darcy would take even well-meaning comments as criticism. He didn’t understand she only wanted to impart helpful advice so that Billy was looked after properly. She had the knowledge and the experience from Holly’s babyhood. Didn’t it make sense for her to pass that on instead of Darcy having to reinvent the wheel, so to speak? Even so, she bit her tongue.
Darcy seemed to have bonded with Billy, if his affectionate asides to the baby were any indication. She was glad. That’s what she’d wanted. But how had Darcy accomplished it so effortlessly when she, the mother, had struggled and failed?
She’d hoped Darcy would one day get to know Billy, but she’d envisaged him picking his son up on a Sunday afternoon and taking him fishing or to his parents’ house so he could meet the other side of his family. Staying at his apartment, sharing cozy, intimate meals, while she was grateful, reminded her too sharply of the good times when they were married. And of all she’d lost.