17. Clay

17

CLAY

I step through the front door, the weight of the day heavy on my shoulders. The click of the latch echoes in my ears as I toss my keys into the wooden bowl by the door.

The aroma of garlic and herbs dances through the air, making my stomach rumble. I pause, surprised. The scent of home cooking is not what I expected to come home to.

Intrigued, I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the coat rack, then loosen my tie as I stride down the short hall to the kitchen. I stop in the entryway, blinking in surprise.

Ayla stands at the stove, her long dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, a few loose tendrils framing her face. She stirs a steaming pot, humming softly to herself.

“Hey, you’re cooking.” The obvious statement falls from my lips before I can stop myself.

She glances over her shoulder, one hand resting on her hip. A playful smirk dances at the corners of her mouth. “Brilliant observation, Sherlock. What gave it away, the apron or the spatula in my hand?”

I chuckle and step further into the kitchen, peering into the pot. Shrimp, linguine, and vegetables swim in a creamy sauce. My mouth waters.

“Smells amazing. You didn’t have to do this, you know.” I meet her eyes, noticing flecks of gold amidst the green.

“I wanted to. Besides, it’s just pasta.” She shrugs, turning back to give the pot a stir. “It’s something my mom used to make. Figured I’d treat you guys to a home cooked meal for once. All of the ingredients were already here anyway.”

I lean against the counter, studying her profile. There’s still so much I don’t know about Ayla, about her past, her family. But I’m glad she’s here, glad Piper has her.

“Well, I appreciate it. We all do,” I say sincerely. And I mean it. Having Ayla here, caring for Piper, keeping the house running smoothly - it’s been a godsend. I don’t know what we’d do without her.

I peek into the living room and see Piper on the floor. Instantly, my heart leaps into my throat. I take the remaining steps two at a time, rushing into the living room.

“Is everything okay? Why is Piper on the floor?” The words tumble out, laced with urgency.

Ayla looks up at me, a hint of amusement playing on her lips. “Relax, Clay. She’s fine. It’s just tummy time.”

I blink, confusion momentarily overtaking concern. “Tummy time?”

“You know, when babies lay on their stomachs to strengthen their neck and arm muscles.” She quirks an eyebrow. “Might want to brush up on your baby care knowledge, Dad of the Year.”

Her gentle teasing eases the tightness in my chest. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Right. Tummy time. Got it. I’ll add it to my ever-growing list of what I’m supposed to do with a baby.”

I crouch down beside her, catching Piper’s eye. She gurgles happily, tiny fists pushing against the colorful play mat. Pride swells in my chest. She’s growing so fast, changing every day.

“She’s getting stronger,” I murmur, gently stroking Piper’s back.

Ayla nods, a soft smile playing on her lips. “She is. Before you know it, she’ll be rolling over and sitting up on her own.”

The thought is both exciting and terrifying. I’m not ready for her to grow up just yet.

As if on cue, a timer chimes from the kitchen. Ayla enters the living room, brushing her hands on her jeans. “That’s my cue. Tummy time’s over, and dinner’s ready.”

She scoops Piper up, cradling her against her chest. I follow them into the kitchen, the aroma of the meal growing stronger with each step. My stomach rumbles in appreciation.

“Smells incredible,” I say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard.

Ayla flashes me a grin over her shoulder as she settles Piper into her high chair. “Just wait until you taste it. It’s been a while since I’ve made it, but I figured tonight was a good night for comfort food.”

I nod in agreement, my gaze drifting to Piper, who’s happily gnawing on a teething toy. “Every night feels like a good night for comfort food these days.”

Ayla chuckles, a warm, rich sound that fills the kitchen. “I hear you. Parenting is no joke.”

She turns back to the stove, giving the pasta another stir before reaching for a colander. I watch as she drains the noodles, the steam rising in tendrils around her face. There’s a grace to her movements, a confidence that comes from years of practice.

“So your mom taught you how to cook?” I ask.

“She did.”

Not much of a talker about her family… I nod, realizing how little I actually know about Ayla’s family, about her life before she came to us. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

Ayla’s gaze flickers to mine, something guarded in her expression. I wonder if I overstepped. “There’s not much to tell, really. My childhood probably wasn’t near as exciting as yours, or Kip and Clay.”

I chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. “ Those two were always getting into trouble. Still are, if we’re being honest.”

Ayla leans forward, curiosity sparking in her green eyes. “How are you all related?”

I nod, setting down my fork. “We’re best friends, more like brothers really. We grew up together in Wolf Pike, causing chaos and driving our parents crazy.”

“I can only imagine,” Ayla says with a grin. “Three boys running wild in a small town? The stuff of legends.”

I laugh, the memories flooding back. “Oh, we were legends all right. There was this one time, when we were teenagers, that we decided to ‘borrow’ old man Jenkins’ tractor. Teller had this grand idea to take it for a joyride through the cornfields.”

Ayla’s eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

“We did. And let me tell you, it was a miracle we didn’t end up in the hospital. Or jail.” I shake my head, still amazed at our teenage audacity. “But that’s the thing about growing up in a place like Wolf Pike. Everyone knows everyone, and they’re all willing to forgive a little youthful stupidity.”

“It sounds like an incredible place to grow up,” Ayla says, something wistful in her tone.

“It was. It is.” I smile, the love for my hometown swelling in my chest. “There’s a sense of community there, of belonging, that you just don’t find in the big city. People look out for each other and take care of each other. It’s special.”

Ayla nods, her gaze distant, as if she’s imagining what it might be like to be a part of something like that. And in that moment, I want nothing more than to give her that sense of belonging, to make her feel like she’s a part of our family, our community.

Because she is. More than she knows.

The scent of garlic and herbs pulls me from my reverie, and I turn to see Ayla mixing the pasta with the shrimp and herbs. She looks at home here, in my kitchen, in a way that tugs at something deep in my chest.

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

Ayla shrugs, but I catch the hint of a pleased smile on her lips. “It’s nothing special.”

“Well, it’s special to me.” I reach around her to snag a shrimp from the pot, popping it into my mouth before she can protest. The flavor bursts on my tongue, rich and buttery with a kick of heat. “Damn, that’s good.”

Ayla swats at my hand, but she’s laughing. “Save some for dinner, will you?”

“No promises.” I grin, stealing another shrimp before ducking out of her reach. “Seriously though, you don’t have to do all this. The cleaning, the cooking... You’re already doing so much just by being here for Piper.”

“I don’t mind,” Ayla says, her tone softening. She turns to face me, leaning back against the counter. “I like taking care of things. Of people. It’s just how I am…what I’m used to.”

The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. I know there’s more to her story, more to the sadness that lingers in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.

But for now, I just nod, holding her gaze. I won’t push too hard. I want her to open up to me on her own time when she’s ready. “Well, we appreciate it. More than you know.” I clear my throat, breaking the moment. “The table is ready by the way, chief.”

We work side by side, moving in a comfortable rhythm as we lay out plates and silverware. Ayla hums softly under her breath, a tune I don’t recognize but find soothing, nonetheless.

As I reach for the glasses, my hand brushes against hers. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm at the contact, and I nearly drop the glass. Ayla steadies it with deft fingers, her touch lingering a beat longer than necessary.

“Careful there,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t want to break anything.”

I swallow hard, my skin tingling where she touched me. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

We finish setting the table in charged silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. I can’t help but steal glances at Ayla as she moves, admiring the graceful lines of her body, the way her hair swings like a dark curtain down her back.

Get it together, Clay. She’s your nanny, not a piece of eye candy.

I mentally shake myself, forcing my thoughts back to safer territory. “I can’t wait to dig in.”

Ayla flashes me a smile over her shoulder as she carries the pasta bowl to the table. “Then let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Just as we’re about to dig in, Piper’s soft babbling draws our attention.

“Looks like someone needs a diaper change,” Ayla says, already rising from her seat. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch as she scoops Piper up, fussing softly to her as she carries her out of the room. The ease with which Ayla handles her, the tender way she cradles my daughter against her chest, sends a pang of longing through me.

Lost in thought, I barely notice when Ayla returns, a freshly changed Piper nestled in her arms. She gently lowers her into the bouncer, making sure she’s securely strapped in before giving the toy bar a playful spin.

Piper gurgles happily, her tiny hands reaching out to bat at the colorful shapes dancing above her head.

“There we go, all set,” Ayla says, straightening up with a satisfied smile. “Now we can eat in peace.”

She slides back into her seat, and for a moment, we simply look at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. “When do you think Teller and Kip will be back?” She asks.

I shake my head, shrugging. “They tend to come and go as they please. Never know when they’ll show up.”

Ayla nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. “Should we wait for them?”

“Nah,” I say, waving off her concern. “They’re big boys. They can fend for themselves.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Besides, more for us, right?”

Ayla laughs, the sound warm and rich. “I like the way you think, Clay.”

We dig into our meals, the conversation flowing easily between bites. Ayla tells me about her day with Piper, the little moments that made her smile. I find myself hanging on her every word, captivated by the way her eyes light up when she talks about my daughter.

As we eat, I can’t help but marvel at how natural this all feels. Sitting here with Ayla, sharing a meal and stories, it’s like we’ve been doing this for years.

And as I watch her, the way she smiles, the way she laughs, I realize that I’m not just content. I’m happy. Truly, genuinely happy. And it’s all because of her.