not in our New York townhouse, but rather at the Hamptons place. That explains the sound of the wind rattling the plantation shutters at the bedroom window.
Blake and I came over here after my shift last night because we need to get the place ready for the Social Services inspection tomorrow. If we do manage to become Ryder’s foster parents he’ll be visiting this house a lot, so of course they need to make sure it’s safe.
I can’t believe how close we are to making this a reality. The past week has been a complete blur of Social Service interviews, home visits, and the mandatory classes Blake and I needed to attend to become certified as foster parents. Normally we’d take those classes over a much longer period, but because Ryder’s health condition makes him a special case we were able to fast track everything.
Tomorrow is the last step. Once the social worker verifies our second home is a safe environment everything should be in order for Ryder to come home with us. And then, hopefully, one day, we can officially adopt him.
The space in the bed beside me is empty, which isn’t all that unusual considering Blake tends to be an early riser. After a few more minutes of snuggling under the warm covers, I manage to drag myself out of bed. I stuff my feet into a pair of UGGs and throw on one of Blake’s massive sweaters before wandering off to locate my husband.
I find him out on the deck, crouched on all fours and surrounded by a bunch of tools and lengths of plywood.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand. “It’s freezing out here.”
At the sound of my voice, Blake gets to his feet and comes toward me, a soft smile on his lips. “Morning.”
He leans down to kiss my cheek and I immediately smell the ocean on him; he must have been for a surf earlier. Because, of course, surfing in January is exactly the kind of thing my husband would do.
“Well?” I ask, canting my head toward the tools sitting on the deck.
“I’m making a gate for the deck,” he explains. “We’d need it anyway, what with Dylan walking now, and Chase not far away. I know Bax and Wyatt can get themselves down the stairs okay and are old enough to know they need an adult around if they want to go in the water, but I’d still rather not risk it.” He shrugs. “I was going to wait until it got closer to summer, but that’s not an option anymore.”
I offer a broad grin and lift my arms to wrap around his neck. “That’s so sweet of you. I had no idea you were so crafty.”
“Come on…you know I’m good with my hands.” He flashes me a teasing grin before cutting off my chuckle with a deep kiss.
“Do you need help?” I ask as we break apart.
“Getting off? Always.”
I lower my hands and step back a little, playfully hitting his bicep. “With the gate.”
He smiles. “I’ve got it. Why don’t you have some breakfast and then you can do your check of the rest of the house.”
The check of the rest of the house consists of making sure this is as safe, comfortable, and positive an environment as any social worker could possibly want for a child. We went through the exact same process earlier in the week with our brownstone, and honestly I think it’s a miracle we managed to pass; I never considered how not kid-friendly a house with about six flights of stairs and an elevator is before now. The stairs were reasonably simple—we just added gates…on every single level. The elevator though? That was trickier. Fortunately, Blake’s a genius and managed to come up with a cover for the call button so that only someone with longer, adult fingers can reach it. It wouldn’t hold up if Ryder got clever and used a pencil or something, but it seemed to impress the social worker and she passed us for the home visit.
Now we just need to pass this last test…
I lock away all our alcohol in a high cabinet, test all the smoke alarms, and check that the fire extinguisher in the kitchen doesn’t need replacing. I also childproof with gates for the stairs and latches for the kitchen drawers and cupboards that contain knives and other potentially dangerous items. And I put some little rubber stoppers on the edges of the coffee table, just in case