Perfect Scandal

Chapter 7

By the time the baby stirred from her nap, Riley and Alistair had settled into a truce of sorts. Riley, having caved to her growing curiosity, rummaged through the basket the baby had been left in. They busied themselves with practical matters. Riley checked the formula she'd bought earlier while Alistair washed the single bottle that had been included in the baby's things.

"She's going to need more clothes," Riley murmured, inspecting the tiny onesie the baby wore. "And I doubt you've got anything warm enough for her in this weather."

"Not unless she wants to borrow one of my T-shirts," Alistair joked. "But yeah, you're right. I'll order something online. Overnight delivery. Problem solved."

Riley gave him a pointed look. "You're forgetting it's Christmas Eve. Nothing's being delivered until after the holiday."

Alistair frowned. "Well, what do you suggest? You want me to raid a baby boutique tonight?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "There's a twenty-four-hour store a few blocks away. We can walk over and grab what she needs."

"We?" Alistair repeated, eyebrows raised.

"You expect me to trust you to pick out baby clothes?" Riley asked, folding her arms. "You'll probably come back with a leather jacket and sunglasses for her."

"Okay, first of all, that sounds adorable," Alistair said, a glint of amusement in his eye. "But fine. I get it. Team effort. But I have to keep a disguise just to make sure, you know?"

"Whatever, Alistair."s

A short while later, bundled up in coats and scarves, Riley and Alistair ventured into the chilly New York night. Snowflakes danced in the air, the streets alive with the cheerful buzz of holiday revelers. Lights twinkled in every window, and the distant sound of carolers added a festive charm to the crisp air.

Riley tugged her coat tighter around herself, keeping a protective hand over the baby, who was securely wrapped in a thick blanket and nestled against her chest in a sling. "I still can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.

"Think of it as an adventure," Alistair said, walking beside her with his hands in his pockets. He's wearing a bonnet and a face mask to hide his identity, "Besides, it's not so bad. The city looks magical tonight."

Riley glanced around, her irritation softening. He wasn't wrong. Despite her reluctance, there was something undeniably enchanting about the city during Christmas. The glow of the lights, the laughter of children, and the sense of togetherness—it was hard not to feel at least a little swept up in it all.

The convenience store was nearly empty when they arrived, save for a tired-looking cashier who barely glanced up as they entered. Riley led the way to the baby aisle, scanning the shelves with a practiced eye.

"Diapers, wipes, a few more bottles," she listed, grabbing items and handing them to Alistair. "Formula. And we'll need something warmer for her to wear."

Alistair followed her lead, piling the items into a shopping basket. "You're a natural at this, you know. Are you sure this baby is not yours?"

"Don't start," she warned, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Fine!"

They spent longer than planned in the store,looking for anything that can fit the infant, there are few choices. More of bigger that the baby's sizes.

"This will work out," Riley said.

"Maybe tomorrow the baby store is open, we can check the store tomorrow."

"Yeah,"

The walk back was quieter, the city settling into the stillness of late evening. Riley's thoughts drifted as they reached Alistair's apartment. For all her initial annoyance, the night hadn't been as unbearable as she'd expected.

Inside, the warmth of the apartment enveloped them, and Alistair wasted no time setting up their purchases. He handed Riley a soft, snowflake-patterned onesie for the baby, who giggled as Riley changed her into the warm outfit.

"She looks like a little marshmallow," Alistair said, crouching down to tickle the baby's tiny feet.

Riley rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. "A marshmallow that still needs to be fed. Grab the formula."

As they worked together to prepare the baby's bottle, Riley found herself relaxing in Alistair's presence. He was surprisingly attentive, even if his methods were occasionally unorthodox.

"So," Alistair said, breaking the silence. "About dinner..."

"What about it?" Riley asked, focusing on feeding the baby.

"Well, since you're here anyway, why don't we make a night of it?" he suggested. "Order some food, maybe watch a Christmas movie or two. It's not exactly a traditional dinner, but it beats spending the night alone."

Riley hesitated, her defenses rising instinctively. But as she looked down at the baby, who was gazing up at her with wide, innocent eyes, she felt her resolve waver.

It wasn't about Alistair, she told herself. It was about the baby.

"What do you say?" Alistair pressed, his tone light but hopeful. "Stay for the evening. Let's give her a Christmas Eve to remember."

Riley glanced at him, then back at the baby, who gurgled happily in her arms. Her heart tugged in two directions, torn between her instinct to retreat and a growing sense of responsibility—and maybe even warmth—for the tiny life in their care.

"I..." she began, uncertain.

Alistair leaned forward, his expression softening. "Please, Riley. Just one night."

She looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. This wasn't the smooth-talking celebrity she'd expected. This was someone who genuinely wanted to make the night special—not for himself, but for the baby.

Riley sighed, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders. "I'll think about it."

Alistair smiled, his eyes bright with hope. "That's all I ask."

"Well, I'm already here--"

"Yes!"

As the evening deepened, the atmosphere in Alistair's apartment warmed, mirroring the soft glow of the fairy lights strung around the room. The baby had been bathed, fed, and now lay on a cozy blanket spread over the couch, giggling at the colorful baubles Alistair dangled above her.

Riley, seated on the floor with her legs crossed, watched the scene unfold with an amused smirk. Despite her initial reservations, she had to admit that Alistair was trying. His clueless charm and knack for turning even mundane moments into something entertaining had softened her attitude—though she would never admit it to him.

"We're missing something," Alistair said suddenly, sitting back on his heels.

Riley raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What now? You think the baby needs a personalized carol performance?"

"Funny," Alistair shot back, pointing at her. "No, we're missing presents. It's Christmas! Every kid deserves presents, even if she's too young to remember them."

Riley glanced at the clock. It was already past 10 PM. "Well, it's a bit late to go shopping, don't you think? and we just went to the store a while ago!"

Alistair frowned in thought before his expression lit up. "Who says we need to go shopping? Let's improvise!"

"Improvise?" Riley repeated skeptically, watching as he jumped to his feet and began rummaging through his cabinets. "What are you doing?"

"Getting creative!" Alistair called out, his voice muffled as he rooted through his pantry.

---

Fifteen minutes later, the coffee table was littered with random items from Alistair's apartment. Riley stared at the chaotic assortment with a mix of disbelief and amusement: a can of baked beans, a loaf of bread, a roll of toilet paper, and what looked suspiciously like a jar of pickles.

"You can't be serious," Riley said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Why not?" Alistair said, holding up the can of beans with a triumphant grin. "The baby's not going to know the difference! And look—" he grabbed a brown paper bag and a marker—"we can make this look festive. Watch."

Riley crossed her arms, trying to suppress a laugh as Alistair doodled a rudimentary Christmas tree on the bag. The tree was crooked, with uneven baubles, but the actor seemed incredibly proud of his work.

"There!" he declared, wrapping the can of beans in the paper bag and securing it with a piece of tape. "A masterpiece."

"You're wrapping canned goods," Riley said flatly. "And toilet paper? Really?"

"Hey, don't knock the toilet paper," Alistair said, waggling his finger at her. "It's a practical gift."

Riley rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint curve of her lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously resourceful," he corrected, now wrapping the loaf of bread. "This is what Christmas is all about: making do with what you've got."

---

As Alistair worked on wrapping the jar of pickles—adding a bow made of leftover ribbon—Riley found herself unexpectedly caught up in the moment. She wasn't sure when the tension between them had begun to ease, but she didn't feel the same urge to escape as she had earlier.

"You know what?" Riley said, standing up. "I'll be right back."

"Wait, where are you going?" Alistair asked, pausing mid-doodle on another brown paper bag.

"My apartment," Riley replied, already heading for the door. "I might have something I can wrap too."

Alistair grinned. "Look at you, getting into the spirit of things."

"Don't push your luck," she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

---

Riley entered her apartment, the familiar quiet contrasting sharply with the festive chaos she'd left behind. For a moment, she stood in the doorway, letting the stillness settle over her. Then she shook her head, pushing away the unexpected wave of nostalgia.

She began searching through her belongings, opening drawers and cabinets in the hope of finding something suitable. Most of what she owned was either too personal or completely inappropriate for a baby.

As she rummaged through a box of keepsakes, her fingers brushed against something soft. She froze, pulling the item into the light. A slow smile spread across her face.

It wasn't much, but it was perfect.

Riley set the object aside, her heart unexpectedly light. For once, she wasn't overthinking or second-guessing herself. She wrapped the item carefully in a spare piece of fabric she found, tying it with a thin ribbon she'd salvaged from an old craft project.

---

When Riley returned to Alistair's apartment, she was greeted by the sight of him holding the baby, who was now swaddled in a blanket adorned with red and green stripes. The improvised "gifts" sat in a small pile under the tree, looking as festive as anything store-bought might have.

"Hey, you're back!" Alistair said, beaming at her. "What did you find?"

"You'll see," Riley replied, setting her wrapped gift alongside the others.

The clock ticked closer to midnight, and the room grew quiet as they turned their attention to the baby, who cooed softly in Alistair's arms.

For the first time in a long while, Riley felt a sense of peace she hadn't expected. It wasn't the conventional Christmas she'd imagined, but it was special in its own way.

As the hour approached, Alistair caught her eye, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Thanks for sticking around, Riley," he said softly.

She nodded, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. "Merry Christmas, Alistair."

The baby let out a tiny laugh, as if sharing in the moment, and Riley found herself wondering what surprises the night—and the new day—might bring.