The Marine's Babies. Laura Marie Altom

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      WITH THE TWINS cooing along to a Baby Einstein video, Emma had cooked dinner. Cooking had always been a favorite hobby, but working so many hours, her time in the kitchen had been limited to weekends.

      Tonight, thinking the twins were no doubt ready for solid foods, she’d made mashed potatoes and gravy to go along with oven-roasted chicken and fresh green beans. It was a good thing that she’d assumed Jace wouldn’t have thought to purchase high chairs. And bibs. And a double stroller for trips to the grocery store.

      Maybe she’d gone a little overboard, but she viewed this opportunity—however long it lasted—as a vacation from her lonely life. Just like purchasing souvenirs, she’d had to grab a few items to enhance her stay.

      “Whoa. What’s that incredible smell?”

      Emma jumped to see Jace, a baby cradled in each arm, filling the kitchen’s entry.

      “Hi,” she said shyly, dwarfed by his size in the compact space. He wore desert-camo pants, black combat boots and a beige T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest. Though he’d been clean-shaven that morning, already his jaw sported stubble. When he’d left, they’d been on tense terms; she hadn’t meant to be so snappy. Upon examining her feelings, it’d occurred to her just how afraid she was that he’d fire her.

      “Hi, yourself. Dang, woman, you’ve been busy.”

      She shrugged. “I thought you might be hungry when you got home. Also, while we can’t be sure what foods the babies have been introduced to, I’m thinking that if you start them on solids, they’ll sleep more soundly through the night.”

      “Sure,” he said. Babies still in the crook of each arm, he managed to open a drawer next to the stove, remove a spoon, then help himself to a heaping sample of her potatoes. Eyes closed, he groaned. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a home-cooked meal. Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” Why, she couldn’t say, but his appreciation warmed her to her toes. Rick hadn’t been the overly demonstrative type. A defense attorney, he was usually as formal with her at home as he was in the courtroom.

      “Well…” glancing about the kitchen, seeing that her work was done, she said, “you’re probably ready for me to go, huh?”

      “You’re not staying for dinner?”

      “I suppose I could. But I don’t want to intrude.”

      He waved off her objection. “Mind taking one of these?” Nudging alongside her with a baby, he said, “I need to wash up. Hey—when did you get those?” He nodded to the high chairs.

      “This afternoon. Hope you don’t mind.” She explained about also having the double stroller.

      “Of course I don’t mind. I just haven’t yet had time to fully gear up. Thanks. I’ll pay you back. For dinner, too.”

      Now, she was waving him off. “It’s not a problem. I found most everything on sale.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      She tucked Beatrice into a high chair, and then turned to Jace, holding out her arms for Bronwyn.

      Bea started to kick and fuss. From the cabinet beside the fridge, Emma rummaged for a box of teething biscuits, giving one to each girl.

      “You’ve thought of everything,” Jace said. “Unlike me.” Head bowed, he sat hard on a kitchen table chair. “Here, I’m a Marine. I pride myself in handling any situation, but after rumbling with a good friend of mine tonight, then listening to you, I’m feeling lost.”

      “About what?”

      “This whole fatherhood thing. I’ve got the general logistics down. My diapering is now done with precision. But I’m not sure what comes after that. You know, like the being-a-great-dad part.”

      “Give yourself a break.” Emma was careful to keep her tone soft. Encouraging. The last thing she needed was for Jace to think he wasn’t up for parenthood. “You’ve only been a dad for what? A week? It takes time. Trust me, you’ll figure it out.”