"Huh? Why?" Barney tugged at his ear that wasn't pressed against the blanket. That other voice didn't belong here. The whole world was him, Robin, Ellie and Alberta. Dad, mom, baby, dog, the whole package. Whole. The single word coiled itself around his gut. He was whole here, with the three of them. All they needed was a white picket fence.
Greg's voice cut in, steady and calm. "I need to get just the girls, then just the grownups."
Pictures. Right. They were taking pictures. He'd forgotten, too consumed by the mingled scents of cherry blossom, baby powder and kibble. "Yeah, sure." Barney dropped a kiss on each one of his girls –at least the human ones; Alberta got a scritch behind her floppy ear- before he clambered off the blanket. The shutter clicked. He didn't care. He backed away, with slow, cautious steps, until Greg's nod told him he'd gone far enough.
Only the girls remained on the blanket, Robin and Ellie and Alberta. Robin laid Ellie on her stomach, at Greg's direction, then rolled over to mimic the pose before she signaled Alberta to lie down as well. Barney took an involuntary step back. His heart clenched. My girls. He blinked. They didn't vanish. Robin and Ellie, Robin holding Ellie; he'd called up that image more times than he could count, in those first days with Ellie at home. He hadn't been prepared for the reality, how right and natural the two of them looked together. Three of them, really, because he hadn't counted on the dog. The dog made sense, though. Robin needed dogs. This rescue gig was good for her.
She glowed. There wasn't any other word for it. He'd watched her, like this, from his perch in a director's chair on the other side of the camera, at WNN, spellbound by the sight of her. That hadn't changed. Robin in front of a camera, Patrice fluttering around the edges, some intern calling him Mr. Scherbatsky; just like old times. Except for Ellie, cradled now in Robin's arms, their heads pressed close together.
"Perfect. Hold that, then face out." Greg circled around the two of them, while Alberta rested her chin on crossed paws. He zoomed in, pulled back, all the while feeding Robin a steady stream of words that might as well have been a foreign language. All Greg had to do was give Robin a single word, hell, part of a word, and she'd respond. Turn Ellie's face toward or away from the camera, shift her position, put Ellie on her shoulder; Greg said it, she did
it. He didn't even need whole words half the time, only the energy that pulsed between them. Barney bounced his keys in his pocket.
Patrice's voice came from behind him, soft and quiet. "Robin and Ellie look good together, huh?"
"Yeah, they do. If I didn't know Ellie came out of somebody else, I'd swear-" He scrubbed one hand over his mouth. He'd swear, all right, but Ellie didn't need to hear that kind of language. What Greg did with the camera was magic. Barney didn't need any explanation other than that.
Patrice held out a tin filled with bone-shaped cookies wrapped in cellophane bags, all tied with paw print ribbons. "Cookie?" The ribbons matched Ellie's socks. He could put one of those ribbons in Ellie's hair, once she got enough of it.
"I don't have dogs. Yet," he added as Alberta play-bowed Ellie on the blanket. Robin rolled over onto her back, Alberta on one side of her, Ellie on the other. Her pure, clear laughter swirled around Ellie's gurgles. Alberta's tail wagged in a black and white blur. "Going to be a while until Ellie's big enough for that."
He'd forgotten how hard it was to dissuade Patrice when she wanted to help. "That's okay," she replied without hesitation. "These cookies are for dogs and people. They're made out of peanut butter and honey and oats. Robin shares one with Alberta over midmorning coffee when Alberta isn't in doggie daycare."
"That's good." Robin should have someone to share snacks with, even if it was a four-legged someone. They'd always split a bagel when he came to see her at WNN. She'd say she wanted the whole thing but then always pushed half of it on him. He still only ever ate half a bagel now. "How long has Robin had Alberta?"
"Two months."
Barney allowed himself a moment to do the math. Two months, same as Ellie. "So our kids are the same age?"
"The vet said Alberta was about eight months old when Robin adopted her. Maybe a little older."
"Right." One shoulder twitched. "Almost the same age, then. How is Robin, really?"
Patrice sucked in a breath. "She's glad you came today."
"I don't mean only today." He couldn't get everything he wanted to know in one question. Is she happy? Is she lonely? Does she like the work she's doing? Was Greg good to her? Was he better than me? Does she have friends? Is she seeing other guys? Is she smoking again? Who eats the other half of her bagel? He shook himself out of the endless stream of questions, and focused on the most important one. "Straight up, do I have a chance here?'
"That's not really my place to say. You could ask Robin yourself."
Barney fiddled with one rolled cuff. "I know. I was hoping for some insight from somebody not so intimately invested in the answer."
"I am invested." Patrice turned earnest brown eyes on Barney. "Robin is my boss and my friend. I'd like to count you as my friend, too."
"I think you have to. I eat all the cookies you send me." They came four times a year, without fail; his birthday, Christmas, wedding and divorce anniversaries. He wasn't about to tell Patrice he ate the first batch of divorce anniversary cookies in one sitting. Broken hearts, red frosting browned about the edges. So damned perfect, he couldn't stop himself. "Do you send cookies to all your bosses' ex-husbands?"
Patrice's mouth curved. "Only the one, so far. I know you get sad on those days."
"Thanks. The cookies help. Did you ever think of baking professionally?"
Gold dangly earrings flashed behind black hair as Patrice shook her head. "I like what I'm doing now, thanks, and I'm invested in anything that affects my friends. That includes you," she added and held out the tin once more.
Cellophane crinkled beneath his touch a second before Ellie's tired cry caught his full attention. He dropped the cookie back in the tin and crossed to the blanket in two long strides. "Ellie's done with pictures."
Color drained from Robin's face as she scrambled to her feet, a red-faced Ellie on her shoulder. "You'd better take her. I don't think she likes me." Her hands trembled when she lay Ellie in Barney's arms.
"Nah, are you kidding? She loves you. That cry is just Ellie for 'no more pictures.' Ask Lily. I'll give her a bottle, put her in the stroller, and she'll be out in seconds. Sleeps like a rock during the day, wants to party all night."
Robin worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Like father, like daughter?"
"Pretty much." He settled Ellie onto his shoulder. Her cries quieted.
Greg cleared his throat. "Actually, I still need to get the grownups by themselves. Patrice, can you watch baby and puppy?" He motioned Patrice closer.
Patrice set the cookie tin down on one of the folding chairs. "I'd love to give Ellie her bottle. Can I?"
"Sure. It may take her a while. She's already a picky eater." Barney transferred Ellie into Patrice's waiting arms, then started to straighten a tie that wasn't there. He flicked a glance to Ellie's stroller, where jacket and tie waited. His pulse quickened at the sound of Robin's voice.
"Greg, here's a fun fact. It's impossible for Barney to take a bad picture. Seriously. I will buy you the biggest slab of ribs in New York if you can take a bad picture of his man."
"I never take bad pictures," Greg said with one-sided smile. "Get the right photographer and the right subject, and there are no bad pictures."
Robin plucked at Barney's sleeve. "Yes, there are. You should see the pictures I took of Greg. He made me shoot a whole roll of him before our first session."
Greg adjusted his lens. "She's only talking about the first roll. Robbie's a quick study. She got better. If we had more time, I'd let her shoot you."
No doubt. Intrigue prickled the back of his neck. "Holding out on me, Sherbatsky? This guy turn you into a shutterbug?"
Robin's hand drew back like she'd caught fire. "Greg's overselling." She punctuated her sentence with a nervous laugh. "But, um, seriously, Greg, Barney never takes a bad picture. Okay, once, but Lily cheated. Where do you want us?"
Greg stood back, eyes narrowed as he regarded the pair of them. "Divorced couples can be tricky to pose. How about you two do what comes most naturally and we'll take it from there?"
Barney's lip curled. What came most naturally for the two of them wasn't fit for public consumption, especially with a bed only feet away from where they now stood. His jaw thrust forward. "Ew, no, there's a baby present. We're in public. There are kids all over the place." Too late, he reminded himself that wasn't what Greg meant. "Or we could sit over there." He inclined his head toward a nearby bench. "Whatever."
"You are such a dork." Robin shot a fond glance at him as she straightened his collar." The shutter clicked.
"I am not a dork. I'm concerned for my daughter's moral wellbeing."
One corner of Robin's mouth twitched, her lower lip drawn tight to hold back a laugh. "You're an idiot. Ellie is two months old. She doesn't have any morals." The tip of one clear polished fingernail flicked at his collar button. "Third shirt of the day, huh? Good choice." Robin's left hand, with naked ring finger, splayed against his chest, and covered his shirt pocket.
His heart pounded. She'd feel that, she had to, and maybe that was even the whole intent. "I would like to say Ellie has a finely developed fashion sense already, but she's basically a really cute throw pillow that poops and pukes. Which is what happened to the other two shirts."
"What happened to years of lightning fast reflexes honed by years of laser tag?"
"Two months of baby," they both said at the same time.
We should play sometime. The glint in Robin's eyes was invitation enough. No words could have been clearer.
Barney responded in kind. We should totally play. That would count as a third date. The agreement hung in the air between them, unspoken. Patrice's feet thumped on the trailer steps. The door opened, then closed. Neither of them moved.
Greg broke the silence. "Great pose there, but we're going to need more. Let's bring in a prop here. Robbie, you think you can talk this guy through Adam's part if we do the thing with the bomber jacket at the car show? Treat the bench like it's the Rambler. We're not going to use it, but that's where you're going to look."
Robin crossed to the stroller in three quick steps and retrieved the jacket and shook it out. One hand skimmed over a linen sleeve, to smooth away wrinkles. "Perfect," she said to Greg before she tossed Barney his jacket. "Stand behind me over here, closer to the tree, and drape the jacket over my shoulders."
Barney did as he was told. "Who's Adam?" The linen enveloped her. He hadn't given her his jacket since, when, Argentina? Before then? No, the day before The Fight, before the wifi went down. They'd been walking back to the hotel from dinner. She'd shivered, but she hadn't asked. She hadn't had to; he just did it. Like he just did it now. His hands lingered on her shoulders.
Robin shrugged. Her muscles flexed beneath his touch. "A model."
"A model, huh? Did you ban…" the trailer door opened. Patrice emerged, Ellie and bottle in arms. "Uh, did you date him?"
"I was with Greg then." Robin pivoted to face him. "No zipper here. Hm. Turn up the lapels?" She waited for Barney to comply, then tilted her head to one side. "Adam was just a model. Pictures were great, though. Brush my hair back?"
Another whiff of cherry blossom came at him. Girl had a theme going here with her bath products. He lifted the back of her hair free of the collar and smoothed it down, then let her voice direct him, moving only when and how she instructed. Threaded her arms through the sleeves. Turned the collar up, turned it down. Wrapped both arms around her from behind. Fastened the button, because there was no zipper. Rested his head on her shoulder as they both focused their attention on a bench that was a Rambler but not really. He'd slipped back, somewhere in the middle of all that, into that bubble where it was only her and only him. He wanted to stay there.
"Robin?" Patrice's voice broke the bubble this time. "The reporter from Dog Fancy is here for your interview, and then they need you on the main stage again for a sound check before the shelter awards." She wiggled Ellie's bottle as she spoke. It was almost empty. Miracle.
Robin unwound herself from Barney's embrace and slid out of the jacket. "Will I see you at lunch?"
His jacket smelled like cherry blossoms for the rest of the morning.