“OK,” I say, choosing to do neither. “Thanks.”

When I return to my room, Scott’s humming a tune and Rose is staring at him, mesmerized. I know how she feels.

“Is that from the musical Les Mis?” I ask.

Scott grins sheepishly. “‘Do You Hear the People Sing’. It’s a classic. And before you ask – yes, I like musicals. I knit and I like musicals.”

I whistle softly. “Wait till Lily hears.”

Scott gets to his feet and tucks Rose confidently on his shoulder. She begins to snuffle and bob her head around. Hungry yet again.

“You look very much like you’ve done this baby thing before,” I say. “Anything else I should know about you?”

“Only that I’m a sad sap. I didn’t know what to do with myself once my wife left me, so I went to live with my extremely tolerant friend Chris in Melbourne. He and his partner had only recently had their first baby and I was part hindrance, part nanny, depending on the situation. After six weeks, they suggested I come back home and sort out my shit. A polite way of saying they’d had enough of me.”

Rose is getting more and more frustrated with the lack of lactating breast in her immediate vicinity and Scott hands her over. I sit in the feeding chair and hesitate as I unhook my maternity bra. Sure, breastfeeding is a completely natural thing and I should be able to feed Rose in front of Scott, but…

“I’ve got something in the car for you,” says Scott a little too cheerfully. “I’ll go grab it.”

He retrieves his knitting bag and shoots out of the room.

“Subtle, Scott,” I say, smiling.

*

I’ve finished feeding Rose and am burping her on my knee when he eventually reappears.

“Did you get lost?” I smirk.

He smirks back. “I figured you didn’t want an audience, so I sat in the car for a few minutes and knitted another couple of rows.”

“What are you making, by the way?”

“A jumper for Chris’ baby. The one in Melbourne. Well, he’s not a baby anymore. He turned three last week.”

Emma lets out some wind followed by a dribble of curdled milk. Without me asking, Scott strides to the changing table, pulls a muslin cloth off the pile on the bottom shelf and crouches to dab at the milk trickling down Rose’s chin onto my hand.

“You’re starting to freak me out,” I say.

“Sorry?”

“You just… you don’t act like most guys, which is a good thing, but also, kind of… strange.”

Scott finishes dabbing and stands up. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, even though I’m not sure it’s meant to be one.”