10. Slice of Heaven

When Whitney reappears with the baby, I point to the setup on the table, proud of it. She puts Remy into the high chair and I note her every move, not just gifting my eyes with the sight of her, but to learn how to use it. There's a lot I realize I don't know about being a dad.

I sit while she's in the kitchen. "Hello, Remy. I'm Tucker." I hold out my finger to him and he takes it, then pulls it toward him into his mouth. His gums have me trapped.

"Remy, no. Sorry, he's hungry." Whitney pulls the baby off of my digit and she finally sits, opening a jar of organic baby food and stirring it with a rubber-tipped spoon. "Let's try butternut squash tonight, honey."

Yuck, not my favorite vegetable. Anything squash makes me want to hurl. She attempts a spoonful, but the baby isn't having it either, turning his head away. I feel for his misery.

"Remy, yum-yum. Time to eat," she prompts.

I, on the other hand, behold the sight of the pizza after opening the box, the scent wafting to my nose. Only I got cheese, because of her, but it doesn't matter. I'd devour any pizza, any time of day.

I put a slice on her plate, and a few on mine. "Eat all you want. There's plenty."

Remy watches as I take a slice to my lips and a big bite in. "Mm-hmm," I moan, considering myself a pizza aficionado. As he stares at me, Whitney gets a spoonful into his mouth, but after gumming it a minute, he makes a sour face and spits it out.

"When can he eat solids? I think Duke had his boy Hunter eating real food by one." He's quite the little ham.

"I just want Remy to eat healthy," she says. A little defensive, but I can't blame her for trying. She gives up and sets the spoon down. "I'm doing my best."

"Hey, I know you are." I reach across the small table and cover her hand. Fireworks explode at the feel of her skin, and I'm desperate to feel all of her under me again. But this isn't the time for that. "Here. Let me try."

"Have at it." She folds the slice of pie and munches on a corner.

I take over. "Oh, yeah. Squash. Mm. That looks so gross," I say, but in a totally goofy, happy voice, like it's the best thing ever. "You'll love it. Yeah, here it comes, a little train pulling into the station. Choo-choo, chugga, chugga."

Instead of landing in his mouth, though, I quickly put the spoon in mine, moaning. "Oh yeah, so good." My eyes water and I want nothing more than to spit it out, but I hold it in and swallow, taking one for the team.

He giggles at me, encouraging me on. "Gotta eat your vegetables, dude. You want to grow big and strong. Look at me."

I hold my arms up at ninety-degree angles and flex my biceps. It doesn't escape me how Whitney gets an eye full, biting her lip.

I try again with the spoon, silly noises and all, and to my utter shock, Remy eats and swallows, grunting, "Mm."

"Yeah, that's the stuff." For good measure, I swallow another spoonful, and we continue like that, Remy eating a good portion of the jar, me taking a few God-awful bites to encourage him, while Whitney and I make small talk.

My chest pokes out a little, proud of this moment I conquered. And now, I hope to God I get to be his father. Or I ate that squash for nothing.

"Nice work, little dude. You did it, finished your squash," I praise the baby. Grins flash between Whitney and I, and for a brief moment, this feels so fucking good to be here with her. I reach across the table to cover her hand with mine again, but then the moment passes and it's like she gets nervous and pulls away.

"Well, I should clean up. It's getting late and we should do that test." She picks up our plates and heads to the sink, like she's trying to cut our time short. I eye her backside; I can sense she's hesitant about me.

She wasn't in Montana, though. There, she was different, letting inhibitions free. Here, she's wound up tighter than a spring. How can I uncoil her, get her back to that version of herself?

Yeah, I know how. This baby mama needs a man's touch.

Remy babbles, taking my attention off of Whitney. He holds out his arm toward the pizza box, squeezing his hand open and closed, begging for some like he knows his mother isn't looking.

"Here, little dude," I whisper, and slip a tiny bit of cheese with sauce onto his plate. He picks it up, and it goes straight into his mouth.

"You didn't." Whitney's suddenly at my elbow, glaring over us, her hands on hips.

"Just a taste. Dairy and tomatoes are healthy, right?" I give her a shameless grin that should melt her panties off.

She chuckles and shakes her head at me, while Remy closes his eyes and moans, tasting his first slice of Heaven—pizza—convincing me we must share the same genes. Now for the test to prove it.