8. Ayla

8

AYLA

T he townhouse looms before me, its pristine brickwork and manicured lawn a jarring contrast to the shabby rentals I’ve called home.

I didn’t know they even made homes this nice….none of the ones I’d lived in were this fancy. It’s modern, white with black bricked accents. The front yard is newly mowed and I can smell the flowers from the bush near one of the front windows.

I kill the engine of my rusty pickup, its rumble fading into the quiet, tree-lined street.

My chest tightens as I step out, a duffel bag slung over my shoulder with the few things that I’d decided to bring with me. Intrusive memories assault me - countless hasty moves, unpacked boxes, Mom’s haunted eyes as she fled Kyle’s volatile temper and empty apologies…only to end up back with him a few days later.

The desperate yearning for roots, for normalcy, surges through me, an ache I can’t shake.

Clay gets out of his truck and heads to the front door, Piper’s car seat on his arm, as he fumbles to find the right key.

I crunch up the pebbled walkway to the front door just as he finds the key. He turns around to look at me briefly before his gaze falls down to Shadow. “He’s house trained, right? I don’t have to worry about finding piss stains?”

I laugh. “You have better chances of peeing on the floor than Shadow.”

Clay smiles and shakes his head before pushing the key into the door and pushing it open. I step over the threshold into the foyer, the cool air tinged with the scent of pine and something unmistakably masculine. My gaze darts around, taking in the clean carpet, the tasteful artwork. It’s beautiful but intimidating.

“Nice place,” I remark, trying to mask my nerves with nonchalance.

Clay chuckles, his voice a low rumble. “It’s a bit of a bachelor pad, I know. But it’s home.”

Home. The word pierces me, unfamiliar and alluring all at once.

As Clay leads me into the living room, my breath catches at the sight before me. There men’s shirts littered all over the plush carpet, mingled with discarded socks.

“Sorry about the mess,” Clay says sheepishly, scooping up a handful of blocks. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

I wave off his apology, feeling a strange warmth bloom in my chest. This lived-in clutter, it’s more familiar to me than the pristine facade outside. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to a little disorder.”

Shadow weaves between my legs, his tail wagging tentatively as he sniffs at the unfamiliar surroundings. Clay’s gaze falls on him, his brow furrowing slightly. No wonder why he asked if Shadow was housetrained, this house is too nice for the likes of us.

As we move further into the house, Clay gestures expansively. “Five bedrooms, three baths. Plenty of space for everyone.”

Five bedrooms. The number stuns me, a stark reminder of the vast gulf between Clay’s world and mine. Growing up, I was lucky if I had a room to myself. I usually had to share with my older sister who demanded the majority of the room for all of her stuff.

I didn’t realize business owners made so much money.

“Speaking of which,” I say, clearing my throat, “where will I be staying?”

Clay guides me down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. He opens a door, revealing a sparse guest room. “This is yours. I know it’s not much, but we can spruce it up however you like.”

I step inside, taking in the bare walls and nondescript furniture. The emptiness feels familiar, almost comforting. How many times have I found myself in a room just like this, trying to make a home out of nothing?

“It’s perfect,” I say softly, turning to face Clay. “Thank you.”

He smiles, but before he can respond, a plaintive cry echoes from down the hall. Piper. Clay’s brow furrows with concern. “Sounds like someone’s hungry. I better go fix her a bottle.”

He hurries toward the kitchen, and I find myself following instinctively. As Clay rummages through the cabinets, I hover nearby, unsure of my role but eager to help.

Suddenly, he reaches for the microwave, a bottle of formula in hand. Panic surges through me. “Wait!” I cry out, my voice sharp with urgency.

Clay freezes, startled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. “You can’t microwave the milk. It can create hot spots that could burn Piper’s mouth.”

His eyes widen with realization, and he sets the bottle down hastily. “I had no idea. What should I do instead?”

“Here, let me.” I take the bottle from him, our fingers brushing briefly. A spark of electricity shoots through me at the contact, but I push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

I fill a bowl with warm water from the tap, then submerge the bottle, gently swirling it to distribute the heat evenly. As I work, I can feel Clay’s gaze on me, intense and curious.

“Where did you learn all this?” he asks softly.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the bottle. “When you grow up taking care of everyone else, you pick up a few things along the way.”

The weight of my words hangs in the air between us, heavy with unspoken history. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve revealed too much, exposing the jagged edges of my past.

But then Clay’s hand settles on my shoulder, warm and steady. “I’m glad you’re here, Ayla. Piper and I... we need you.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard, and I turn to face him, our eyes locking. In that moment, something shifts between us.

I swallow hard, my heart racing as I lose myself in the depths of Clay’s gaze. The air crackles with tension. Clay’s eyes flicker down to my lips, and for a breathless moment, I think he might close the distance between us. But then Piper’s cry shatters the silence, and the spell is broken.

Flustered, I step back, grabbing the bottle from the bowl and testing the temperature against my wrist. “It’s ready,” I murmur, handing it to Clay.

He takes it with a nod, his fingers brushing against mine in a fleeting caress that sends shivers down my spine. He settles Piper in the crook of his arm and offers her the bottle.

“You’re a natural,” I say softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Clay glances up at me, surprise etched on his face. “I don’t feel like one,” he admits, his voice raw with emotion. “I never planned for this, Ayla. I don’t know how to be a father.”

The vulnerability in his confession tugs at my heart, and I find myself moving closer, drawn by an instinctive need to comfort him. “No one is ever truly prepared for parenthood,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke Piper’s downy head. “But you’re here, and you’re trying. That’s what matters. It’s more than what some parents can say.”

Like mine.

Clay’s gaze locks with mine, and in that moment, I see the depth of his fear and uncertainty. But beneath it all, there’s a glimmer of hope, a spark of determination that tells me he’s not going to give up.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “For being here, for understanding...”

The tender moment stretches between us, the warmth of Clay’s touch seeping into my bones. I inhale deeply, savoring the scent of baby powder mingling with his masculine essence. It feels right, standing here with him and Piper.

Clay’s fingers graze the small of my back, sending a shiver up my spine. I tilt my head, our faces mere inches apart. His eyes darken, flickering to my lips, and I find myself leaning in, drawn by an irresistible force.

Just as our breaths mingle, the front door swings open with a bang. We spring apart, the spell shattered. My heart races as I turn to face the intruder, a mixture of guilt and frustration swirling in my gut.

Shock slams into me like a physical blow. There, standing in the doorway, is Kip—the charming stranger from the gas station. His blue eyes widen, mirroring my own astonishment.