Part Two of Simon Riley finding a baby on his doorstep :)
You watch Simon clutch the paper that was left folded in the bottom of the box, keeping up the gentle rocking that finally calmed the baby down. You're not sure what it says, but judging by his expression, you're pretty confident you could guess the gist.
As soon as he'd brought the baby closer to you outside, you'd known immediately that it was his.
They have the same eyes. The baby's are still a deep, dark blue, but the shape of them is so familiar that you wouldn't be surprised if a few months down the line, they warmed to match the amber of Simon's.
Fluttery blond eyelashes only further the resemblance, and you feel a little pang that you don't want to name at the thought of some woman out there having been close enough to Simon to do this.
But it's not the right time for that. It's never been the right time, so you push those feelings down and, after another moment of watching him stay still as a statue, paper still firmly in hand, you quietly say his name.
When he finally looks up at you, he looks as haunted as you've ever seen him.
"Everything ok?" you ask.
You're not sure he even has an answer, but before he gets the chance, the baby starts stirring against your chest. You look down at her, struck once again by the resemblance to the man in front of you, then the crying starts back up again.
You're not a baby expert by any means, but with the way she's rooting around, mouth open, it doesn't take an expert to know that she's getting hungry.
"What's she doing?" Simon asks.
"Looking for milk, I think."
He turns before you can see his cheeks turn pink, but it doesn't matter when you can see the back of his neck turn red too. When Simon blushes, you can see it down to the neckline of his shirt, and you've always been a bit charmed by the way you can turn such a strong, solid man shy with no real effort at all.
There are a lot of things about him you find charming, but when the child he had with another woman lets out a piercing wail, it doesn't seem to matter all that much.
Simon turns back to you, holding the bottle that had been in the box.
You take it when he holds it out, and shrug, saying, "I guess so, if it was with her."
It's not like there are many options at this point, anyway.
As you feed the baby, Simon sits next to you on his couch, close enough that you can see his phone. You're the one who tells him that the baby needs formula, but that she's too young, you think, to eat baby food. You guide him through which diapers you think might fit best, tell him that he'll need some wipes, too, and together, the two of you come up with what you hope is a solid list of supplies he'll need to take care of a baby, at least for now.
You don't want to push -- it's not your business, who the baby's mother is or why she left her here, or what Simon is going to do.
But in quiet, tentative ways, he's always been generous with you, so when the baby gets her belly full and nods off to sleep, he starts talking.
"Couple months after you moved in, I reckon," he says, speaking softly with his eyes trained on the baby. "Went down to the pub, just trying to ..."
He trails off, swallowing thickly, and when your eyes move down to watch the bob of his throat, he doesn't notice. He's never noticed all the little things you notice about him.
"Anyway, I met a woman there. She was ... nice. Pushy. Wouldn't leave me alone, and ..."
He goes silent again, and you decide to put him out of his misery.
"And you came back here and made a baby."
His eyes snap to yours, and his expression is unreadable. He hides a lot, he always has, but in the moment, you'd give anything to hear every single thought in his head.
"She looks like you," you offer, looking back down at the little girl. "Her eyes."
"Hell of a lot prettier than me," he mumbles.
"What are you going to do?"
He takes a beat, then reaches forward, pulling the box the baby was left in closer. He grabs the slip of paper that was left inside and hands it to you.
You read it quickly, brows furrowed, then again, a deep ache forming in your chest.
You'd already known the girl was Simon's, and it'd been easy to surmise that she'd been abandoned. But seeing it like this, like an absolute that the mother is removing herself from the baby's life and putting her solely in Simon's care ...
"I didn't know she existed until I found her outside," he says. "Don't even know her name."
It's hard to know what to say, and you're not sure you even know where to begin in comforting a man like Simon. Then his phone buzzes, and when he picks it up, you see the notification that someone is picking up the items he'd ordered and they'd be delivered soon.
"We'll figure it out," you tell him.
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