Oh, she would. She all but dashed through the connecting door into the house and headed for the kitchen. She didn’t have puppy food, but she did have some leftover chicken from yesterday, and she cooed and made kissy noises at the wiggly baby in her arms as she pulled it out of the fridge. Five minutes later, it was chopped up and in a bowl on the floor in the bathroom, along with fresh water and a nest comprised of a couple of shirts that smelled like her and a thick blanket. That ought to hold the little girl for a bit . . . she hoped. She was new to puppy parenting, but she couldn’t wait to learn all about her little girl.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to the pet store after work and get you all kinds of goodies, okay?” She promised Alaska, stroking her soft fur as she gobbled down the chopped chicken. “A bed, some dog food, and all the good stuff. Maybe Dad would like to come with us.”

“Dad?” came the voice from the hall. “Am I a dad to a puppy now?”

“You might be,” Becca said, straightening. She washed her hands and then carefully closed the bathroom door while the puppy was eating, escaping into the hall. “You think it’s okay to leave her alone in there for a bit?”

“Unless you want to show her what Mom and Dad do in the privacy of their room.”

Maybe it was a better idea not to have the puppy watching them together. At least . . . not their first time. She wanted it to be all about her and Hank, nothing more. “We’ll just keep an ear out to see if she cries, then.” Her pulse was fluttering in her chest as he moved closer, then leaned one hand against the doorjamb, practically standing over her and pinning her to the wall. Her nipples hardened in response and she was incredibly aware of his nearness. “So . . . Libby?”

“Uncle sleepover,” Hank murmured, reaching down and toying with a lock of her hair that danced over her shoulder. “Had to pay Jack and Caleb double their usual rate for watching her tonight. I think they’re getting tired of babysitting.”

“Oh. We can always set her up in the guest room,” Becca said, thinking. “It’ll be like she has a room of her own. We can get a nightlight and some stuffed animals and a baby monitor—does she need a baby monitor?—and make it feel like home . . .” She trailed off as he brushed his fingers under her jaw, then ran his thumb over her lower lip.