Anthony E-Book

Gabbi Grey

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Single Dads of Gaynor Beach
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 370

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Anthony

During my seven years as a social worker in Gaynor Beach, California, delivering orphaned twins to their unsuspecting father is the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced. These babies lost their mother and they need a loving parent, but is adorable Scott Wexler up to that challenge? Transferring custody is one thing—walking away is something entirely different, especially with the stress of Christmas bearing down on Scott too.

Scott

After escaping a miserable childhood, I’ve made a fresh start in California. I’m in charge at the Gaynor Beach Public Library, I love helping people, and I'm feeling like an actual functional human being. Then social worker Anthony Rodrigues shows up on my doorstep with twins I fathered through a sperm donation, and suddenly I'm responsible for two tiny lives. Accepting help from the gorgeous social worker is a no brainer—admitting I want him to stay is going to take a lot more courage.

This 74k word gay romance is a slow burn, mid-angst, instalove with a geeky librarian, a by-the-book social worker, adorable twin-toddler terrors, and a beleaguered cat named Crumpy.

Leseprobe

ANTHONY

SINGLE DADS OF GAYNOR BEACH

GABBI GREY

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Next in the Gaynor Beach Series

Also in the Gaynor Beach Series

Also by Gabbi Grey

Copyright © 2022 Gabbi Grey.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

References to real people, events, organizations, establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-7781514-7-7

Author Website

BLURB

ANTHONY

During my seven years as a social worker in Gaynor Beach, California, delivering orphaned twins to their unsuspecting father is the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced. These babies lost their mother and they need a loving parent, but is adorable Scott Wexler up to that challenge? Transferring custody is one thing—walking away is something entirely different, especially with the stress of Christmas bearing down on Scott too.

SCOTT

After escaping a miserable childhood, I’ve made a fresh start in California. I’m in charge at the Gaynor Beach Public Library, I love helping people, and I'm feeling like an actual functional human being. Then social worker Anthony Rodrigues shows up on my doorstep with twins I fathered through a sperm donation, and suddenly I'm responsible for two tiny lives. Accepting help from the gorgeous social worker is a no brainer—admitting I want him to stay is going to take a lot more courage.

* * *

This 74k word gay romance is a slow burn, mid-angst, instalove with a geeky librarian, a by-the-book social worker, adorable twin-toddler terrors, and a beleaguered cat named Crumpy.

Kaje

ELF

Wendy

CHAPTER1

ANTHONY

I should’ve called first.

I eyed the two car seats with sleeping babies at my feet. Everything’d happened so fast. One moment I was sitting in my office writing a report, and the next thing I knew, a pile of paraphernalia was being loaded into my SUV. But I was at my wit’s end.

This was probably a bad idea, but every other avenue I tried hadn’t panned out. So I’d given up, put the babies into my vehicle, and programmed Scott Wexler’s address into my GPS. A stack of papers in my messenger bag was supposed to explain this…whatever this was.

After ensuring the babies were still fast asleep, with the carriers rocking gently on the concrete front step, I rang the doorbell.

Zayden stirred, then quickly resettled.

Alicia didn’t move a muscle. Not even a twitch.

The door flew open, and my breath caught.

I’d met Scott several times during the six years I’d been a social worker at Gaynor Beach. Work or pleasure had taken me to the library where he worked/reigned/ran the show. We’d crossed paths there occasionally—but we’d never spent any significant time getting to know each other.

“Anthony?” Scott’s brow furrowed as he adjusted his glasses. His light-auburn hair stuck out in various directions, and an indentation adorned his cheek—like he’d fallen asleep against a pillow with piping. His bright-green eyes lacked focus, and he squinted in the bright morning sunlight.

And he wore tighty whities and a bright, white T-shirt with black lettering that said Who’s Your Daddy?

I nearly choked.

What am I supposed to say?

Before any words bubbled up, a disembodied, “Who the fuck is that?” came from inside the house.

Well, okay, then.

“Could you, maybe, put on some clothes? And then, may we come in?” I indicated the two car seats. The morning was still relatively cool, but the heat was coming, even this far into December.

He rubbed his forehead. “Let me put on my jeans.”

Even as he moved back, a scrawny young man came barreling out, yanking a T-shirt over his head while his jeans remained undone and shoes were unlaced. Once he straightened, the He’s My Daddy onhisT-shirt became clear.

“What the fuck, dude?” He stopped at the sight of me with the babies and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “This is so not my jam. I’m outta here.”

“Jerry, if you’d just—”

“You said you’d be my daddy. Not that there would be actual brats. This is way too creepy. I’m gone.”

He slung a backpack over his shoulder as he hotfooted down the driveway.

I swivelled back to stare at Scott.

A wince crossed his face. “It’s not what you think.” He rubbed his forehead again. “So you’re saying…” His eyes went comically wide. He glanced from the twins to me and back to the babies. “You have kids?” It might’ve come out as a squeak.

“Actually—” Rip off the Band-Aid or gently peel it back? If I were in this predicament, I’d prefer brutal honesty. I hoped he felt the same way. “—they’re your kids.”

He squinted. Then he removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put them back on. As if somehow his ability to see impacted his hearing. “Yeah. Uh, no. I hate to tell you this, but I don’t have kids. Trust me, I’d remember if I had kids.”

Yep, just what I suspected. “Eliza didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”

“Eliza Markham?” He scratched his head. “Well…” He coughed. “Oh, shit.”

“Yes…shit.” I wasn’t big on swearing in front of little ears, but today it felt appropriate.

“Yeah, but that was supposed to be anonymous.” He glanced down again. “I wasn’t ever supposed to know.” Again, he rubbed his forehead. “Like, I’m assuming she used my sperm—like from the sperm bank or something? Because she and I…”

He gestured with an inarticulateness that I found sort of endearing.

“We never hooked up or anything. So…yeah.”

Which got us precisely nowhere. “She’s named you guardian and given me paperwork.” I patted my messenger bag. “She also provided irrefutable proof that you’re the twins’ father. Matched through a blood test and a corresponding entry in the genetic ancestry database. Am I correct you put your name in there?”

“Yeah, but that was, like, for medical emergencies. Family history. Not for… She didn’t… This wasn’t supposed to happen.” More squinting.

This time, I squinted back. Then I sighed. “She told me she changed her phone number, and she refused to say where they were going.”

Scott made a strangled sound. “Well, shit.”

Again, we weren’t moving forward. I tapped my bag. “If you don’t want custody, then we can go to a judge, and you can relinquish custody. I know a foster family in Marina Park who can take them quickly. He’s a lawyer, and she’s a homemaker, with three children of their own. I’ve placed emergency cases with them before, and I know they’d be thrilled.” I winced. “Except the three kids all have chicken pox, so it’s going to be a few days. There’s no one else local.” I’d looked—hard. “I can see if there’s a family in Oceanside or San Diego. But cross-county/inter-county paperwork is always slow, and they might end up parked at the local hospital till a transfer goes through—"

He held up his hand. “Give me a goddamn moment. You drop this fucking bombshell on me and then you want to just, I don’t know, leave?”

“I understand this is a shock for you. Obviously, I’d prefer that Eliza speak to you herself. Perhaps you can email her? She’s likely only halfway to San Diego or LA. Or on her way to Las Vegas. Maybe you can convince her to turn around.”

“Was her husband with her?”

“Yes.”

A strangled guffaw escaped him. “Then no. I can’t think of anything less likely. Eliza’s that immovable object you hear about. If she’s decided she’s leaving with that asshole husband of hers, then she’s gone.” Yet another squint. “Did he sign the papers as well?”

“Yes. The documents are signed by both of them and notarized—there’s a power of attorney as well as medical and educational consent forms. This wasn’t a last-minute decision. Serious planning went into this.” Which was why it made no sense they hadn’t contacted Scott to let him know the plan. Maybe they were afraid he’d say no?

Maybe they don’t care one way or the other. Eliza hadn’t struck me as uncaring—but she hadn’t been emotional as she dropped off two babies and a ton of their stuff. Good quality stuff. At one point, the little ones’ d been well cared for. Been wanted. What happened? Perhaps the contents of the sealed envelope with Scott’s name on it might provide answers. No guarantee he’d let me see it, though.

I glanced down at the sleeping infants. “Are we coming in, or am I heading back to my office to see if I can find somewhere else?”

After what felt like an interminable amount of time, he opened the door fully. He stepped forward and grabbed the handle of Alicia’s car seat. “Well, discussing it on my front porch is only going to lead to potential speculation by my neighbors.”

His Willis Heights neighborhood was friendly and relatively safe, but lower class. Probably all he could afford on his public servant's salary.

I’d managed to snag a house in Conway Heights, but it’d been a stretch. Social workers weren’t raking in the dough any more than librarians. The private-counseling clients I took on during my downtime helped pay the mortgage.

I grabbed Zayden’s car seat and the diaper bag and entered the house.

The rancher appeared typical of the area—three bedrooms, one bathroom, living space with an open-concept dining room and a narrow galley kitchen. One of my other clients, Patricia Peterson, had a house with almost the same layout.

Former client.

A pang hit me. And my chest tightened. Sometimes I screwed up.

Pushing aside the guilt, I moved into the living room. I placed Zayden’s car seat next to the sofa.

A lithe and sleek cream-colored cat leapt from its perch on a dining room chair and headed over to investigate.

Scott placed the other car seat next to Zayden’s and stood back. “Twins?”

“Alicia and Zayden.”

“A to Z.”

“Huh?”

“Eliza said she wanted kids from A to Z. I always thought she’d name them in order. You know—starting with A, then moving on to B…”

“She wanted children?”

He met my gaze. “More than anything in the world. Not so much when I first met her in college, but, I mean, her entire existence for the past five years has been to get pregnant. We sort of lost touch a couple of years ago. She and her husband Mark were up in LA. About two years ago, she stopped responding to my emails. Stopped taking my calls. I mean, I was hurt, but we were never that close. I just figured she’d moved on with her life. Before that, she used to share all her infertility woes with me. I guess I thought maybe she wanted a clean break.” He eyed the twins. “I don’t think it ever occurred to me that she might be pregnant. You’d think that was news she’d share with everyone.”

“Especially the father.” I tried not to stare at his bare legs with their fuzzy red hair. “Why don’t you get dressed?”

He squinted—which he seemed to be doing a lot—then he looked at himself. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I can’t believe I went outside like this.”

I couldn’t either, but hauling both carriers inside would’ve been a challenge, so I hadn’t said anything. I’d assumed he didn’t care about modesty. Maybe I misjudged him on that score.

He scampered out while I eyed the room. The coffee table was neat as a pin with a folded Gaynor Beach Gazette sitting on it. An e-reader lay atop that. The green pile carpet looked recently vacuumed. A laptop sat on the dining room table. I didn’t spot any dust or mess. That relieved my anxiety a fraction.

An infinitesimal fraction.

Scott was a single man. Would be a single father if he took the twins. That kind of responsibility could overwhelm a well-adjusted couple. Some mid-twenties kid? The whole daddy thing aside, this was going to be a huge adjustment.

Not a kid.

No, he wasn’t. About half-a-dozen years younger than my own thirty-one, by my estimation. He’d been working in the library for three years and had, quite surprisingly, been promoted to head librarian five months ago.

Ms. Ducking suffered an unexpected heart attack while on the job. She’d gone to the hospital and, upon recovery, had moved to Tucson to live with a younger sister. After thirty years as head librarian, the woman’d earned her rest. Still, the town missed her.

Alicia’s eyes fluttered open.

My heart sank.

She took a deep breath, scrunched up her face, and let loose an almighty wail.

Scott scurried back into the room, pulling a T-shirt over his head.

Phew, the yellow T-shirt didn’t have any risqué logos or writing. I held up the diaper bag. “With babies, it’s usually hunger or needing a dry diaper. Or both.”

He snagged the bag. “Diapers?”

“Yes, and I can do bottles. Let me get some stuff from my SUV.” As I headed back out, a second wail carried. Great. Both babies. They’d slept through the entire ordeal back at the office. Their mother dropping them off, that was. And while she’d handed over the papers she brought and refused all my pleas to do this right, legally, through a court, her husband—Mark Markham—had unloaded a shit ton of baby stuff into the back of my SUV. Then, almost as quickly as they arrived, they departed.

With the babies secured in their car seat by my desk, I searched for an approved foster home while I sorted out this mess. I checked the paperwork. I confirmed the DNA and the power of attorney. But when every option other than the hospital ward struck out, there’d been nothing left except to strap them in the SUV too, and come here. Truthfully, I’d expected Scott to send me on my way. In my mind, I’d been trying to figure out what I was going to say to my boss. How I was going to explain all this. How I was going to try to find a foster home for the babies until things could get sorted.

I snagged the bag with infant formula and bottles. Okay—at least for now—I was going to be here a while.

Scott had a plastic sheet spread out on the floor with fresh diapers, wipes, and cream lined up.

Oh, and two squawking babies close at hand. It appeared Alicia was on the floor while Zayden continued to wail from his car seat.

I hustled into the kitchen and set about making bottles.

Soft cooing noises intermingled with high-pitched wails.

Crying wasn’t unusual in my line of work—plenty of infants cried. And toddlers. And kids and teenagers. Very few kids saw me and smiled. But my job was to ensure they were in the safest spot possible—and sometimes that meant not with their parents. I didn’t do removals often, but it happened. My goal was to keep families together and get them the support they needed. Sometimes, though, that wasn’t possible. I preferred the cries of hungry babies to the sobbing of a child I was taking from their home.

When the bottles were the perfect temperature, I made my way back to the living room.

The babies lay on their backs—in fresh diapers—and Scott bent over them.

He’d blow on one tummy, then quickly move to the other and repeat the process. Then he made goofy faces and talked nonsense.

The little ones appeared entranced.

So was I.

“I have bottles.”

He turned to meet my gaze, and two disgruntled little ones let us know what they thought of that.

“Here.”

I handed him a bottle, and he snagged a baby.

I scooped up the other one and settled it on my lap. Him? Her? They both wore identical onesies.

“You’ve got Alicia.” Scott stuck the nipple in Zayden’s mouth. “At least they’re not identical twins—I’ve never figured out how parents could tell them apart.”

“There’s got to be a way.”

Eventually, Alicia allowed me to entice her into taking the bottle.

Scott sighed. “Is this really happening?”

“Well, frankly, yes. It is happening.”

He slowly nodded. “And it’s all legal?”

“I’ll say your friend Eliza was as thorough as she could be on her own. This couldn’t have been a spur-of-the-moment thing.” My nose twitched as I resisted the urge to scratch it. “If you decide to keep the babies—and feeding them now in no way commits you—we’d still have to go before a judge as soon as possible to make this legal. And you’ll need a home visit—"

“Eliza’s a huge planner—she’d never do something on a whim or the spur of the moment.” He lightly skimmed a finger over Zayden’s hair. Sparse—but clearly red. Same as Alicia’s. And although their eyes were blue now, there was a chance they’d eventually turn green. Even without the DNA test I’d examined, Scott’s parentage was clear.

“And you had no idea?”

He winced. “None. I mean, I know they’ve been trying. And Eliza started asking questions more questions about my sperm donations. I thought she was maybe looking at in-vitro or something.” He gave me a wry smile. “My, uh, contributions helped pay my way through college. I donated to several places around the country. Also did blood and plasma whenever I could. I didn’t like taking money for that, but college isn’t cheap.”

“And you have a master’s degree?”

“Yes. I’m working on my PhD right now. But that’s online.” He scratched his nose with his elbow. “All I ever wanted was to be a librarian.”

“You’re not from around here.”

“Gaynor Beach? No, I’m not native.”

I considered his response. “I meant California.”

He met my gaze. “I’ve done my best to get rid of the accent.”

The mid-western one that snuck through on certain words. “Kansas?”

Crickets.

He finally said, “Oklahoma.”

Ah. Sore spot.

“Is Eliza from the Midwest as well?”

He shook his head. “She’s SoCal all the way. We met in college. Mark’s from Arkansas. I guess maybe that’s where they’re headed.”

And we’d circled around. “How would she have known which sperm was yours?”

His cheeks reddened. “She, uh, helped me write my bio. My pen portrait. The sum of me without pictures—what made me unique. Why people might want to choose me to be the biological father of their children. And, of course, she knew where I donated. I suppose it wouldn’t have been too difficult.” He sighed. “But why do that only to leave them behind? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You think it might have something to do with her husband?”

He bit his lip. “Mark was…fanatical. About a lot of things, but most especially about having biological children. I know he and Eliza were planning in-vitro. But I assumed they’d use his sperm.” He looked down at his child. “As you saw, Mark is blond, and Eliza has black hair. Mark used to make fun of my red hair—called it a sign of no soul. Probably means he didn’t have redheads in his family.”

“So if she snuck one past him, it could’ve been obvious…”

“Yeah, pretty much.” He pressed a kiss to Zayden’s forehead. “I suppose she figured Mark would either never know, or be too much in love with the kids to care. Jesus Fucking Christ, how can they walk away? Why is she doing this?” He looked up. “Was she under duress? Was he forcing her?”

I considered, but the answer came swiftly. “If so, it wasn’t obvious. He didn’t dominate the conversation, and he wasn’t afraid of leaving her alone with me. If she’d wanted to say something, she had every opportunity. Trust me, if I’d spotted anything amiss, I would’ve acted on it.” All that being said, emotional abuse was insidious and easy to hide. Her lack of affection had concerned me, but it could’ve been chalked up to stepping back now her mind was made up.

“And leaving two babies in a social worker’s office isn’t amiss?” No missing the disbelief.

“Did I wonder? Of course. Did I consider calling in reinforcements? Of course. But could I have articulated a single thing wrong? No. She gave me nothing to work with—despite my attempts to engage her. I had no doubt that if I didn’t take the babies, they were going to be dropped off somewhere else. At least doing it this way, I had some control over what happened to them.”

“She could’ve brought them here.” Defensive. Hurt.

“Would you have opened your home and let her come in? Let her just drop everything off and wave goodbye?”

“Well—”

“You’d have tried to talk her into staying. You would’ve offered her refuge. You would’ve tried to find a way to stop her from doing this.”

He nodded slowly.

Yeah, I had his number.

But what did that mean?

“We need to seriously discuss what you’re planning to do. Are you thinking about custody? Are you willing to work the steps?”

He blinked several times. “I…” He looked frantically around the room.

What’s going on? “Do you rent? Are you worried about a landlord?”

“No, nothing like that.” He wiped his brow with his forearm.

The room didn’t feel hot to me.

“I just…this place isn’t designed for kids. Ms. Ducking passed it on to me. She never had kids. I was renting a place in Oakdale, trying to save for a down payment. After her heart attack, she just wanted to get to Arizona. We worked out private financing, and I was able to buy this place. I never could’ve afforded it otherwise.”

“Fair enough.” Where is he going with this?

“One spare room is a sewing room, and the other is a library—crammed with a couple hundred books.”

Ah. “Well, the crib won’t take up much space. You have a garage, right? We can move some of the stuff out there. Or you can list it for sale or give it away. This close to Christmas, people’ll be looking for bargains.”

“Sell Ms. Ducking’s things?” His expression of shock morphed into pure horror.

“Is she coming back for them?”

“Well…no.”

“Has she asked you to hang on to them?”

“Uh…no.”

“Would she want you to take care of the little ones?”

“Of course.” He said this firmly.

Is he already thinking of them as his?

“I suppose the garage will work—for now. I, uh, actually like the idea of re-homing some of her things. Surely there are families in need.” His expression eased.

“There are, I promise you.” Several in my caseload came to mind. Whether they could use sewing gear or old books, though, was another thing.

He eyed me. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

I nodded toward the bundle in my arms. “This is working. If you decide to take custody of the children, you’re going to need support. To start with, I need to unload the baby gear from the back of my SUV.”

“Oh, my God. This is really happening.”

“You don’t have to do this—”

He shook his head vigorously. “Yes, I do. I really do. What if Eliza changes her mind? What if she comes back? If I’ve signed custody over to some stranger, it’ll be harder for her, right?”

Slowly, I nodded. “Yes, she’d have to petition the courts. And prove she’s a fit parent.”

“Well, then, I have to keep them.”

“But, Scott, she’s not coming back.”

“You don’t know that.”

Over the years, I’d had several women relinquish custody of their children—usually when they realized they were incapable of caring for those children. I’d seen that steely determination in Eliza. “No, I don’t know for sure. But I’ve seen enough in my line of work to distinguish between a mother who’s taking a break to get herself together and a mother who’s severing all ties. It’s rare, mind you, but it happens. Eliza’s not coming back. I might be wrong, but I’m sure I’m not. You need to move forward with that assumption.”

“You’re such an arrogant ass.”

His words struck me like an actual blow. He didn’t know me. How could he level such an accusation? And sure, he wasn’t the first—and he wouldn’t likely be the last—but his words hurt deeper than they normally would have.

Why?

Because a client had accused me of that once upon a time. And she’d died less than twelve hours later of a drug overdose.

Maybe I was an arrogant ass. But I believed in doing what was in the best interest of the children I was responsible for. I trusted my instincts and my experience. If that made me a jerk, I’d have to own it.

“So, am I unloading the SUV or am I driving the twins to the hospital?”

CHAPTER2

SCOTT

Time.

I need time.

Yet as I gazed at the baby in my arms, time slipped through my fingers like sand in an hourglass. I glanced at the old-fashioned mantel clock. Ten-fifteen. Of course, I had no idea what time Anthony’d arrived. I’d been up late last night—role-playing with Jerry.

Jerry.

I needed to find a way to get in touch with him. To apologize. Because as shitty as him taking off was, he was totally within his rights to do it. Last night was only our second scene. And since neither of us was looking for long-term, the likelihood of much more hadn’t been an issue. Plus, since I had today off, I hadn’t worried about staying up late. When my guests arrived this morning, we’d been fast asleep.

“Scott?”

I met Anthony’s gaze. His dark-brown eyes pierced me. Oh, I’d noticed him prior to him showing up here unannounced. With tanned skin, those memorable eyes, and his jet-black hair, he’d always caught my notice. “Hey, when did you grow a beard?” I squinted. “And your hair’s longer.”

He sat a little straighter, and the nipple slipped from Alicia’s mouth. She scrunched up her face, and I was about to speak, but Anthony caught the slip and quickly rectified it. “It’s been almost a year since I, uh, decided to change my looks.”

“You look older.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“More mature.” I made the correction quickly. Thank fuck I didn’t tell him how sexy I find him. I’d pretty much lusted after him since the first time we met—mere days after I arrived in Gaynor Beach. Standing behind him at the grocery store, I’d been…eyeing his gorgeous ass. Okay, I could admit it. The man was the whole package.

He’d turned in line and caught my gaze.

My cheeks heated, and I was certain I’d turned fifty shades of crimson.

He’d cocked his head, given me a nod, and turned back to greet the cashier just as his turn came.

When he was gone, the cashier, perhaps sensing my curiosity about the man who had just departed, had given me a recitation about Anthony—his job, his vital stats, when he’d arrived in town, and so on. Although I appreciated the information, the obvious curiosity of the clerk made me wary. I’d been in town all of three days, and when the woman started her inquisition of me, I was as vague as possible.

I learned that Anthony’s jeans and a distressed T-shirt was unusual attire for the man. He wore suits while working and tended to favor more formal wear when he was off the clock. Whenever I saw him, he looked polished and put-together.

I favored casual at work and even more casual outside of it. Sure, I’d wear a polo shirt or button down to the library, but off-hours I was happy to wear shorts and a T-shirt. A hoodie if it ever got cool. In SoCal, though, it rarely did. So different from Oklahoma winters. Twelve days from Christmas, and we were in the middle of a heat wave. Normally in the mid-sixties at this time of year, we’d hit eighty-five yesterday and were likely to see that again today. Thank God my place had air conditioning.

“Aside from me looking more mature—” His eyes darkened. “—I know this is sudden. I can try to find a foster home, but I can’t guarantee when you’d get them back in that case, assuming you wanted to.”

Damn. My mind had wandered again. I could focus at work—most of the time—but once I stepped out of the library, I struggled to keep thoughts in my head. Amazing I’d managed to obtain not one but two post-secondary degrees. And how was a scatterbrain like me supposed to take care of these infants?

If I said no, I could keep my life intact—stable, organized, and orderly. Or I could at least take time to consider all this—the implications of what such a monumental decision involved. Yet, as I caught sight of a soft, wispy red curl, my heart knew what I had to do.

“Bring it in. If you don’t mind watching them, I can move the sewing stuff into the garage. Thank you, that was a good suggestion. We’ll see if I can re-home it later.”

Zayden pushed at his bottle.

Oh, burping. I moved the baby to my shoulder and started to pat his back.

“You need a—”

The baby burped.

“—receiving blanket.”

Anthony’s words sank in as I felt warm liquid hit my shoulder and soak into my T-shirt.

Right.

I’d known that. Or I thought I must’ve. I didn’t do babies. As the second youngest of nine, I hadn’t had to help. Martha’d been eleven months younger than me.

My parents hadn’t believed in birth control, so Mom’d popped out kids with terrifying frequency. And there would’ve been more, but she’d hemorrhaged after my youngest sister.

They’d performed an emergency hysterectomy, and I’m not sure she’d ever forgiven the doctors who saved her life.

She believed her duty as a wife was to produce as many children as possible. She’d started at age nineteen and had popped out nine kids by age thirty-one. I suppose it helped she had two sets of twins, including myself. Still, my mother felt she had another fifteen years of fertility, and to have that abruptly ended hadn’t gone over well.

My twin sister, Scotia, planned to give our mother a run for her money. At twenty-seven, she already had five kids—or so I’d heard through the grapevine. All girls, likely much to her consternation.

They needed boys to continue and work the farm once she and her husband were too old.

My family never believed women could do a man’s work on the farm, though plenty around the country did.

She’d lose her shit if she knew I had a son.

Oh well, she never would.

Anthony snagged a receiving blanket and draped it over his shoulder. He positioned Alicia and started patting her back.

Her burp wasn’t nearly as delicate as Zayden’s had been. She belched loudly and produced quite a bit of spit-up.

Is that normal?

Kids should come with instruction manuals.

Wait, maybe they did.

“Did Eliza include any parenting books?”

Anthony met my gaze. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot of stuff.” He resettled Alicia and tried to coax her into taking the rest of her bottle.

Not interested. She wriggled, she squirmed, and, eventually, she scrunched up her face.

A few moments later, Anthony winced and an odor wafted my way.

I tried not to laugh. As Zayden sucked on his bottle, I took a moment’s comfort—but my turn was next.

Anthony, in his slightly rumpled suit, knelt on the floor by the plastic sheet.

“You know how to change diapers?” I asked.

“Yes. Occasionally I have infants in my care for more than a few hours, so I have done this before.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You seemed to do okay.”

I waved my hand in a so-so motion. “I babysat my eldest sister’s kids one time when she was desperate. Long story. Anyway, I changed my niece’s diaper a couple of times that night. It’s pretty straightforward. Oh, boys can sometimes pee when their, uh, comes into contact with air, so be prepared.”

“It’s called a penis.” Anthony removed the very-stinky diaper and wiped Alicia. A bit of cream and he had a fresh one on her. “I’ll redress her and put her back in the car seat. Hopefully she’ll go back to sleep and I can start hauling things in from my SUV.”

“That sounds deceptively easy.”

He managed to get her back into her onesie and looked inordinately pleased with himself.

“If you can watch the kids, I can move some of the stuff from the sewing room into the garage. Do you have empty boxes?”

“Yeah. I broke them down and stored them in the garage. There’s packing tape in the kitchen.”

Zayden pushed at his bottle.

I grabbed another receiving blanket and put it over my shoulder. A little late now, but at least I wouldn’t get wetter. I needed to change out of my damp T-shirt, but that thought felt like a distant dream.

Alicia continued to fuss, so Anthony rose with her and walked around. He tried jiggling and cooing and a bunch of other things, but nothing seemed to work.

She grimaced and let out an almighty wail.

Anthony’s brow was furrowed, and his dark eyes were wide.

Not good. I considered him the expert. He was a social worker, for crying out loud. That meant dealing with kids all the time. Right?

Zayden’s burp was more delicate than his sister’s.

I sniffed.

Nothing.

Nothing yet, I corrected.

Zayden looked at me for a moment, then he scrunched up his face.

I popped off the couch and tried to jiggle and coo and—

No use. His wail soon rivaled his sister’s.

Anthony met my gaze.

I pushed my glasses up my nose and tried to focus. “Any ideas?”

He cocked his head. “I think we need help.”

I’d be the last person to disagree. Problem was… “I don’t know anyone. Well, no, not anyone I could bother. No one who owes me that kind of favor. So, uh, do we look in the help-available ads?” I tried to grab for the Gazette, but Zayden wanted none of that, and started howling afresh.

Anthony managed to scoop up the pages as Alicia’d settled for a sniffle and a snort. He moved the newspaper to my dining-room table where he spread it out. “Does anyone even use newspapers anymore? I thought everything was online.”

My cell phone sat on the coffee table. Unlike most of my generation, I rarely used the thing. “Don’t you have a bunch of people you can call for baby advice?”

He winced. “Emergency foster parents and, like I said, their kids have chicken pox. Anyway, it’d be inappropriate for me to call when I’m just looking for advice, given they’re dealing with sick children.” He glanced down at Alicia. “Or whatever rescue we need. I think we’re on our own.”

That sounds ominous.

I’d been on my own for almost ten years now—so the idea shouldn’t have scared me. Anyhow, I wasn’t truly alone. For this moment, at least, I had Anthony.

But how long will he stay?

Likely long enough to unload his SUV. Maybe long enough to make sure I’d be a fit parent. At the moment, that didn’t feel realistic.

Zayden chose that moment to do his business.

Once I was certain he was finished, I knelt on the carpet and placed him on the plastic. “Did Eliza leave me that contraption that makes diapers disappear?”

Anthony’s brow knit. “Disappear? No. Smell less? Yes, I believe there is one of those.” He disappeared into the kitchen and soon returned with a plastic grocery bag. “Let’s put them in here for now, and I can run them out to the garbage in the garage when I put the boxes in there.”

Zayden, apparently pleased with the turn of events, yawned.

I scooped him up and put him in his car seat. I had no idea about the safety of letting a baby sleep in one of these, but airlines let babies sleep in them, and parents took their infants on long car rides all the time. Until we had a crib set up, this seemed a viable option. Perhaps the only option.

Alicia continued to fuss.

I opened my arms.

Anthony placed her in them with a grimace. Whether because he felt he should’ve been able to calm her, or whether he worried her howls might wake her brother, I wasn’t sure. What I was certain of was that the frown didn’t look good on him.

He headed toward the garage door and, after about five minutes, reappeared carrying a pile of broken-down boxes under his arm. He headed down the hall and was back moments later. “That’s a lot of pink.”

I shrugged. “I’m not big on gender stereotypes.” And I definitely didn’t care enough to repaint a room that didn’t need it.

He held up his hands with a grin. “I’m not saying Zayden can’t stay in there…I’m saying that color might frighten them.”

Well, he has a point. The bubble-gum color startled me every time I stepped into the room. Reminded me of my upset-stomach medicine. Something I was likely to need in the next few hours.

Anthony returned from the kitchen a moment later, with a roll of packing tape. He’d rifled through the recycling container and found a pile of newspapers for padding.

I should’ve taken them out to the curb, but I hadn’t gotten around to it. Well, I wasn’t a hoarder—I just didn’t do well with letting things go. Hence hanging onto sewing things and books that I’d never read in a million years.

The rhythmic sound of taping filtered through to me, and Alicia must’ve found the sound soothing, because eventually her eyes drooped. Moments later, she was down for the count. When I put her in the car seat, she didn’t stir.

I closed the drapes as quietly as I could and made my way to the sewing room.

The pink assaulted my senses. So did the dust, and I sneezed. Repeatedly.

Anthony looked up from his task. “You okay?”

I held up my hand, asking for a moment. Then I scurried to the kitchen where I retrieved the extended duster from the broom closet. A moment later I was back, holding the thing away from me. “It won’t solve all our problems, but it’ll help.”

He nodded and stepped to the doorway as I tackled dusting every surface.

This wasn’t a great solution, but it was a kindness to the people who’d come to take the stuff. Once I was finished, I stepped into the room I thought of as the library, and Anthony set to work on the sewing notions. I returned a moment later with my camera.

“We should photograph what’s going into each box. Then we can post the photo with a number and people can say which boxes they want. Might as well put all the like things together. If someone winds up with too much of anything, they can do what we’re doing.”

“If they’re fanatical sewers, there’s likely no such thing as too many.”

Point taken. Ms. Ducking appeared to have multiples of everything. Soon, though, we were snapping pictures of boxes.

“Oh, I forgot to ask, how old are the babies?”

Anthony’s gaze snapped to mine. “Nine months.”

“And you said she had all the possible paperwork?”

He nodded.

“That would’ve taken time to put together, right?”

“A good lawyer likely could’ve done it in a day or two. That being said, it’s thorough. Like every contingency is laid out. Except…”

“Except?”

“Except you saying no. It’s not legal until you agree and a court approves it. I tried to ask what I was supposed to do if you turned down this awesome responsibility. She said I didn’t need to worry about it—that you’d never say no.”

I pushed my glasses up my nose. “She might’ve been wrong.”

He stilled.

“I grew up surrounded by kids. Siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, schoolmates…everyone had so many kids. I didn’t want that. I swore I wasn’t going to get tied down like that.”

“Never?”

“Well, not until I was at least thirty and in a solid, permanent relationship.” I gestured. “Aside from living in a house that’s mortgaged to the hilt, I don’t have permanence.” I sighed. “The latter half of my twenties was supposed to be dedicated to a job I love, and making up for the fun I missed on my journey to get here.” I eyed the contents of the room before finally meeting his gaze. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I put my DNA in the database, given they may have used my sperm a number of times.”

“That thought had crossed my mind.”

“I wanted the kids—when they were older—to be able to connect with me. To get a medical history or to just know me. I was expecting curious young adults, not two babies requiring around-the-clock care.” Yet another sigh. “I don’t regret this, but I’m not sure I’m equipped for this.” Was expressing my doubts the right thing to do? Better now than later, right?

He put his hands on his hips. “You have a great job that you love. You’re a valued member of the Gaynor Beach community.” He held my gaze. “If you put out an SOS, I bet ten people will be on your doorstep by the end of the day, offering to help.”

“I…” Words failed me. Was he right?

“But you’re afraid to ask.” He pointed to the boxes. “You’re happy to give things away, but are scared to ask for things in return.”

Nailed it in one.

“I, uh, need to check on the babies.” Too much intimacy scared me. Sharing my fears overwhelmed me. Sure, Eliza and I’d been close, back when, but that was rare in my life. Most of the time I kept to myself. I’d go out of my way to help others but, as Anthony’d so neatly discerned, never asked for help myself.

Checking the babies was easy—sorting through my feelings was much harder.

Oh, Eliza…why did you do this to me?

I’d likely never get an answer—unless she came back. I didn’t know where Eliza might’ve gone. Mark’s family was from Arkansas. I couldn’t begin to guess the prevalence of Markhams out there. Surely I could track the couple down via social media. Unless they truly dropped off the grid. Anthony hadn’t said the words, but child abandonment was a thing. If Eliza’d prepared all the paperwork, did that mean she hadn’t abandoned her children? Or could they still go after her for not making it legal? For everyone’s sake, I needed to get this arrangement court-approved as soon as possible. But what if I could find her?

To what end?

I couldn’t very well show up on her doorstep and try to hand the babies back. She’d been so determined to be a mother, but… handing the babies to Anthony, the paperwork, the cancelled phone number—those made it pretty clear she wasn’t likely to change her mind. Unless she left her asshole husband. I knew, unequivocally, that I’d have walked out on the bastard. To force someone to choose between two helpless babies and himself was the height of selfishness. I’d always thought the guy was a prick. But I’d held my tongue because Eliza was head over heels for the asshole. I thought once she figured out his true nature she’d leave him. Turned out I was wrong.

Painfully wrong.

I dropped to the couch and stared at the babies.

Can I do this?

Do I have a choice?

Not really. Short of turning them over to foster care, I was the only person who could do this. Was I willing to take on a lifetime commitment, just because my ex-friend stalked my DNA and created two helpless little babies I hadn’t asked for? I just didn’t know.

I snagged the diaper bag and surveyed the contents. Hopefully the boxes contained more diapers as we’d likely go through them quickly.

How expensive was that going to be? Formula, diapers, clothes, and eventually beds and university. Holy crap.

Don’t panic.

Yeah, right. Panic was the only way to go. My salary at the library was good, but after my mortgage and car payments, I didn’t have much left over at the end of the month. Did the government provide child-support money? Hugh, my Canadian friend, once told me that parents in Canada received money every month to help support their young children and they also got tax credits on their income tax.

How did I not know about these things?