Chapter 5: Ian

The twins are napping when I put a load of baby clothes in the washer. I've never done so much laundry in my life. It seems like they're intentionally spitting up on their clothes, on burp cloths, and on me and Tyler, just so I have more laundry to do.

When I finally get a chance to make myself an iced caramel coffee and sit for the first time all morning, Tyler's mother, Ingrid, calls. One of the perks of marrying Tyler is that I inherited his mother. Ingrid is far more than an amazing mother-in-law—she's become a real friend. When I first started dating her son, she and I bonded over our favorite topic of conversation—Tyler. We both adore Tyler, and that automatically made us the best of friends.

"Ingrid! How are you?"

"I'm fine, darling," she says in her soft, slightly accented voice. "The important thing is, how are you ? And how are my gorgeous new grandbabies?"

I take a sip of my deliciously caramel-flavored coffee. "They're doing great. Both are sleeping right now. I finally got a chance to sit down after doing the breakfast dishes and putting a load of baby clothes in the washer."

"And where's my son?" Her voice is slightly sharper now. "Why isn't he doing his share of the housework?"

"Oh, he is, trust me. But actually, he's not here right now. He's out working a case."

"Working?" She literally sounds disappointed. "But I thought you two were on paternity leave."

"We are. But Kimi—you know, our office manager, you've met her—"

"The girl with the purple hair?"

"Yes, that's her. She asked Tyler for his help this morning. Her roommate didn't come home last night after clubbing with friends. Tyler offered to find her."

"Of course, he did," she says, sighing with affection. "I wouldn't expect anything less from my son. Would you be interested in some company? I'd love to bring you some lunch."

"Yes, please. Come cuddle babies with me."

* * *

Half an hour later, I catch a glimpse of Ingrid's gray Honda as she pulls into the drive. She parks behind my SUV and comes to the back door, where I'm waiting for her so she doesn't need to ring the bell. I don't want to risk waking the babies.

I open the door for her. "Ingrid, come in."

Ingrid Jamison is a beautiful woman, tall and slender and so graceful, with a creamy pale complexion that denotes her Swedish roots. Her silky, pale blonde hair is up in a stylish twist, and her blue-green eyes are as clear and bright as the Caribbean. She looks elegant, as always. Today, she's dressed in a pair of cream slacks with a pale blue silk blouse. A string of creamy pearls adorns her long, graceful neck.

She walks inside carrying a casserole dish in an insulated bag. "I made a chicken-and-potato casserole," she says as she sets it on the stove. "This should last you two a couple of days at least and save you some time in the kitchen."

I laugh. "Not after Tyler gets his hands on it. That man can eat."

"Don't I know it," she says with a grin. Then she gives me a full-bodied hug. That woman gives the best hugs. "Now, first things first." She turns on the kitchen faucet and washes her hands. As she's drying them, she asks, "Where are my grandbabies?"

"They're asleep in the living room but they should be waking up any time now to eat. I swear, that's all they do—sleep and eat."

She laughs. "I'm sure that's not all they do."

"Well, no. We've changed more diapers than we can possibly count."

"May I?" she asks as she takes a few steps in that direction.

"Of course!" I'm always eager to show our babies off.

I follow Ingrid into the living room and watch as she leans over the side of the playpen and gazes down at the newest additions to the family. She has three grandkids already, courtesy of her daughter, Beth. And now our two.

She smiles at the sight of our two swaddled bundles of joy. "Oh, Ian, they're so precious. So perfect. I swear, Will looks exactly like Tyler did at that age."

Hearing her say that tickles me to death.

I stop beside her and gaze down at two sleeping angels. They're lying about a foot apart. Will is swaddled in a pale green baby blanket, and Lizzie in a pale peach one.

Ingrid reaches down and strokes Will's hair. "Tyler had a lot of hair when he was born, too." Then she switches her attention to Lizzie, who also has Tyler's dark hair. "She's going to be gorgeous. I can already picture Tyler beating off her admirers."

When Ingrid straightens and turns to me, there are tears in her eyes. "I'm so happy for you both." She pulls me in her arms and hugs me again, and now I'm getting teary-eyed right along with her. "I'm sorry," she says with a soft chuckle as she releases me. "I get so emotional over my grandbabies. Just ignore me."

"You don't need to apologize, Gigi." That's the grandmother name she's chosen to go by. "I'm right there with you. I find myself getting teary-eyed over them at least once a day."

"All right," she says as she steps away. "I'll stop gawking at them so we can have lunch."

I set the kitchen table for us while Ingrid pours us two sweet teas.

"So, Ian, how are you doing, really ?" Ingrid asks as we dig into our casserole.

"I'm ridiculously happy." I take a bite of my lunch. "This is delicious, thank you. And I'm pinching myself every day."

"And Tyler? How's he handling fatherhood?"

"Beautifully. He helps out with everything, and he runs all the errands for me. I'm in nesting mode right now and hate going out if I can help it. The only time we've been out, as a family, since the babies were born was to take them to their first pediatrician appointment."

She takes a sip of her tea. "Do you mind that he's working a case this soon?"

"No, of course not. He wouldn't be Tyler if he didn't want to help those in need."

She smiles, but it's bittersweet. "He's so much like his father, always the hero. Always the first responder."

"Don't I know it," I say, remembering how he came running to my rescue when Roy Valdez—the one who'd killed my friend Eric—came after me on my own yacht, with the intention of killing me. And then there was the time Tyler sacrificed his own career to save my sister from sex traffickers. "Tyler wouldn't be Tyler if he didn't insist on saving people. It's in his DNA, and I don't mind one bit. It only makes me love him more."

But if he's a hero, what does that make me? I feel even worse for wanting to stay home with the kids while he goes out to investigate cases and potentially risk his life every day.

She studies me a moment. "Honey, what's wrong?"

I wave off her question. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Ingrid reaches across the table and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. "Sweetheart, you don't look fine. You know you can tell me anything, right? Becoming a parent can be pretty overwhelming. I totally understand what you're going through."

I take a bite of my food, chew, and swallow. It goes down like a rock, not because the food isn't good—it's fantastic—but because of my own guilt.

"Ian." She's using her mom voice, which makes me smile.

"It's not that. I mean, yes, babies are a lot of work, but it's fun. I'm enjoying them so much. It's just that—" Now I'm the one tearing up. "Having the babies has brought up a lot of deeply buried emotional stuff—my birth mom, my early childhood."

She tightens her grip on my hand. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." She knows I'm adopted, and she knows I was taken away from my birth mother for the first time when I was four, but she doesn't know the awful, disgusting, gory details. It's not something I like to think about, let alone discuss. Besides my own family, Tyler is the only one who knows the specifics of what happened. "I don't remember a lot, but what I do recall gives me nightmares. And the idea of my kids going through something like that—"

"Ian, that's never going to happen."

"Rationally, I know that. But, irrationally, it makes me want to ensure they have a safe and happy upbringing. I want them to know they're loved."

"And they will, honey. Of course, they will. You and Tyler are amazing parents."

I lean back in my chair and blurt out what's eating at me. "I want to stay home with them." There! I've said it. Out loud, for the first time.

"Stay home? You mean—"

"I mean, I want to be a stay-at-home dad."

She smiles. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

My confidence deflates. "You don't think Tyler will be disappointed? We were supposed to work together as PIs. We were supposed to be partners. I'm afraid if I tell him I want to stay home with our babies, he'll—"

"Ian Jamison!"

Hearing Ingrid call me by my married name makes me smile.

"I promise you, Tyler will be thrilled that you want to stay home with the kids."

"But it means he'll have to do all the PI work by himself."

"He won't mind. When he was with the police force, he often worked alone. Trust me, he's going to be pleased you want to stay home with the babies."

I want to believe her, but my stomach is in knots.

"You need to tell him, Ian. Get this off your chest. The sooner you tell him, the sooner you'll realize he's fine with you staying home."

The baby monitor on the kitchen counter crackles before we hear a faint squawk.

"That's Will," I say. I glance at the kitchen clock. "He's hungry. They'll both want to eat soon."

Ingrid stands. "Do you mind if I get him?"

"Please do. I'll get their bottles ready. Then you can help me feed them."

Once I have the bottles ready, Ingrid and I end up on the living room sofa, each of us holding a baby, as we feed them. I have Lizzie, and she has Will. I don't know what's more precious—my babies or the look on Ingrid's face as she can't keep her eyes off them.

She nods to Lizzie. "I burst into tears when Tyler told me you two had named your daughter Elizabeth, after her Auntie Beth. And naming your son after Tyler's dad—I can't imagine anything more perfect. William would be so honored, so happy to know his son is married and has children of his own." She gives me a tender smile. "You be sure to tell Tyler tonight, okay? Tell him how you feel. Get that off your chest so you can stop worrying."

I nod. "I'll tell him."

"Tonight," she insists. "Promise me."

"Yes, tonight."