Cinderella's Secret Agent. Ingrid Weaver
bargains and brightening the walls with paint the color of pale daffodils. She loved the earth-toned fringed rug and the overstuffed couch, the tapestry pillows and the lamp with the stained-glass shade. All the little touches she’d stretched her budget to add made the place cozy and welcoming.
She paused on the threshold. Everything was exactly the same as it had been when she’d left for work the day her baby had been born.
And that was the problem. It was exactly as she’d left it.
In the gray light from the window, she could see the heap of laundry still on the couch and the dishes she’d left in the sink. The high-backed rocking chair she’d found in a thrift shop last week was buried under a layer of newspapers and baby books. Through the doorway that led to her closet-size bedroom, she could see the trailing edge of a crumpled sheet.
She hadn’t tidied up before leaving for work that morning—her back had been aching in what she now realized had been the onset of labor. On top of that, she’d been too tired out after taking most of the previous evening to rearrange the bedroom furniture to clear a space for the crib.
Her gaze swung to the far wall and the pieces of what was supposed to be Delilah’s crib. She had believed it would be weeks before she would need to assemble it. She wasn’t sure where the sheets for it were. She hadn’t finished organizing the clothes she’d been acquiring for the baby, either—she had assumed she’d have plenty of time to get the apartment into shape once she stopped working.
As she contemplated the tasks ahead of her, Maggie’s emotions did another roller coaster twist and dip, swerving toward despair. But then she glanced at her daughter, and she was swooping upward again.
This was another one of those moments she’d anticipated for months. She had her baby safe and warm in her arms, and she was about to bring her into the home they would share together.
What did it matter if the place wasn’t perfect? Who cared if there was more work to be done? Fancy furniture and clean laundry didn’t make a home. Love made a home. And she and Delilah would have plenty of that.
She would manage somehow. She always did. One day at a time.
“Are you crying again, Maggie?”
She licked a tear that had trickled to the corner of her mouth, then firmed her chin. “No.”
“That’s good,” he said, patting the pockets of his sodden jacket. “Because I don’t think I have anything dry on me.”
His stab at humor only made her eyes fill faster. Maggie took a shaky breath and led the way inside. “Take your jacket off, Del. I think we could both use some towels.”
He closed the door behind them and looked around briefly, then peeled off his windbreaker and hung it over the doorknob. “Don’t worry about me, Maggie.”
“It’s the least I can do after the way you brought us home and everything.” Holding Delilah to her shoulder, she walked to the bathroom and took a large bath towel from the shelf over the tub.
By the time she returned, Del had cleared the newspapers and books off the rocking chair and was stacking them under the window. He grabbed a pillow from the couch and propped it against the chair back.
“Del, you don’t have to—”
“Here.” He took the towel from her hand and draped it around his neck, then cupped her elbow and guided her to the chair. He hovered by her side until she and Delilah were comfortably settled. “You should be taking it easy.”
The concern in his voice brought a lump to her throat. It was only gratitude she felt, and a good dose of postpartum hormones. Her emotions were as much a mess as her apartment. “Thanks, Del.”
He used the towel to wipe his face and briskly rubbed his hair dry. “With Delilah’s birth coming so unexpectedly, I realize you likely haven’t had a chance to make all the preparations you would have wanted to, so is there anything you need?”
She swallowed hard and forced a smile. “You mean like a road map for the apartment or maybe a bulldozer for the mess?”
“I was thinking more in the line of food or diapers, but I’ll clean up whatever you want.”
“I appreciate the offer, Del, but I’ll be fine. The fridge is full, and there’s a carton of diapers around here somewhere. If I can remember where,” she added under her breath.
“What about formula? Baby bottles?”
“Oh, I don’t need any of that. I’m…” She hesitated, surprised by the sudden self-consciousness she felt. This was the man who had witnessed her baby’s birth. They had shared an intimacy that transcended sex, and yet she knew by the heat in her cheeks that she was coloring into a beet.
This was absurd, she told herself. Her modesty was misplaced. As natural functions went, this had to be the most wholesome of all. “Delilah won’t need any formula,” she answered finally. “I’m breast-feeding her.”
Beneath the beginnings of Del’s five-o’clock shadow, his face appeared to redden. He gripped the towel he held more tightly. “Oh.”
At his obvious embarrassment, Maggie relaxed. It really was silly to feel awkward, considering what they’d already gone through. She shifted the still sleeping Delilah to the crook of her arm and rested her elbow on the pillow Del had supplied. “Didn’t your sister breast-feed?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it.”
“It’s the best thing for the baby. Mothers’ milk is the easiest to digest, so the longer I keep it up, the less likely she is to develop allergies.”
“Uh, yes. I can understand that.”
“And it will give her immune system a boost, since she’ll get all my antibodies through the milk.”
“That makes sense.”
“It’s also a lot easier for me.”
He kept his gaze scrupulously on her face. “I suppose so.”
“Especially for night feedings, since there’s no bottle to warm up and nothing to prepare.”
“Uh, right.”
“Considering the state of this place, that’s a good thing.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ll never lose track of where I left the milk.”
He let out a startled laugh. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”
She grinned, glad to see she had put him at ease.
Del gave his hair one last rub with the towel, then tossed the towel on top of the laundry pile. “Okay, it seems as if you have the basics covered. Is there anything else you can think of that you might need?”
“No, thanks, I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
“Is there a Laundromat close by?”
“There’s a laundry room in the basement, but I’ll get to it, Del. Honestly, contrary to how things look here, I’m normally a very competent person.”
“I know you are, Maggie. But I realize Delilah’s birth being earlier than you expected must have caused you problems.” He paused. “If having to quit work so soon is going to leave you in a tight spot…”
“Hey, did I mention the other good thing about breast-feeding? It’s cheap.”
He didn’t smile. “Maggie, I don’t mean to pry into your finances, but if you need money, just ask.”
Her grin faded. “Del, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll get by. I do have some money put aside, and the baby-sitting I’ll be doing for my neighbor will help tide me over until I can go back to work.”
He nodded. “Okay, but if something comes up, I