Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(17)
Halfway down the stairs, she heard voices and knew Aunt Helen had answered the door in her absence. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or nervous about that; it depended, she supposed, on Aunt Helen’s current disposition.
At the bottom of the landing, she found Aunt Helen standing inside the open door, one hand on the knob. No shotgun or frying pan in sight, which was a good sign.
Marc stood on the other side of the door, still on the porch. He was dressed in the same charcoal suit as earlier, forest-green tie arrow straight and jacket buttoned back in place. His hands were linked behind his back and he was smiling down at Aunt Helen with all the charm of a used car salesman. When he spotted her, Marc transferred that dimpled grin to her.
“Hi,” he said. “You look great.”
Vanessa resisted the urge to smooth a hand down the front of her dress or recheck the knot of her upswept hair. “Thank you.”
“I was just telling your aunt what a lovely home she has. At least from the outside,” he added with a wink, likely because Aunt Helen had obviously failed to invite him inside.
“Would you like to come in?” Vanessa asked, ignoring her aunt’s sidelong scowl.
“Yes, thank you.” Marc ignored the scowl, too, brushing past Aunt Helen and into the entranceway.
He gave the house a cursory once-over and Vanessa wondered if he was comparing it to his own lavish residence, possibly finding it lacking as an appropriate place for his child to be raised. But when he turned back, his expression held no censure, only mild curiosity.
“Where’s Danny?” he asked.
“The kitchen,” Helen supplied, closing the front door, then moving past them in that direction. “I was just giving him his dinner.”
Marc shot Vanessa a glance before waving her ahead of him as they followed Helen through the living area to the back of the house. “I thought you were still breast-feeding.”
She flushed, feeling heat climb over her cheeks toward her hairline. “I am, but not exclusively. He also gets juice, cereal and a selection of baby food.”
“Good,” he murmured with a short nod, watching as Aunt Helen rounded the kitchen table and took a seat. “The longer a child breast-feeds, the better. It increases immunity, builds the child’s sense of security and helps with mother/child bonding.”
“And how do you know that?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
Danny was strapped into his Winnie the Pooh swing, face and bib spattered with a mixture of strained peas, strained carrots and applesauce. He looked like a Jackson Pollock painting as he kicked his feet and slapped his hands against the plastic sides of the seat that held him.
Without waiting for an invitation, Marc sat down opposite Aunt Helen, leaning in to rub Danny’s head. The baby giggled and Marc grinned in return.
“Contrary to popular belief,” he murmured, not bothering to turn in her direction, “I didn’t become CEO of Keller Corp by nepotism alone. I actually happen to be quite resourceful when I need to be.”
“Let me guess—you dug out your laptop and hit the internet.”
“I’m not telling,” he answered, tossing her a teasing half smile. Then to Aunt Helen, he said, “May I?” indicating the array of baby food jars spread out in front of her.
The older woman gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t think he was capable, but she waved him on all the same. “Be my guest.”
He picked up the miniature plastic spoon with a cartoon character on the handle and began feeding Danny in tiny bites, waiting long enough in between them for the baby to gum and smack and swallow.
Vanessa stood back, watching…and wishing. Wishing she hadn’t agreed to go out to dinner with Marc this evening, after all. Wishing she hadn’t invited him in and that he hadn’t wanted to see Danny before they left. Wishing this whole scene wasn’t so domestic, so bittersweet, so much of a reminder of what could have been.
Marc looked entirely too comfortable feeding his son, even dressed as he was in a full business suit. He was also oddly good at it, which she wouldn’t have expected from a man who hadn’t spent much time around babies before.
When Danny began to fuss and wouldn’t take another bite, Marc set aside the jars and spoon, and brushed his hands together.
“I’d like to pick him up for a minute,” he said, splitting his gaze between his expensive suit and his infant son, who was doing his best imitation of a compost pile, “but…”
“Definitely not,” Vanessa agreed, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe the worst of the excess food from Danny’s mouth and chin. “Let Aunt Helen get him cleaned up and maybe you can hold him when we get back, if he’s still awake.”
Marc didn’t look completely pleased with that idea, but since the alternative was ruining a suit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly mortgage payment, he wisely refrained from reaching out and getting covered by Gerber’s finest.
“Shouldn’t we go?” she prompted as he pushed to his feet and Aunt Helen rounded the table to scoop Danny from the swing.
Still looking reluctant to leave, Marc nodded and followed her back through the house to the front door. Outside, he led her to his car, which was parked at the curb, and helped her inside.
“What do you do when he’s a mess like that?” Marc asked once he’d climbed in beside her.