Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Hey, sunshine,” I whisper, and my voice cracks on sunshine because sometimes love is a punch you never see coming. I scoop her up, and she smooshes her face into my neck, warm and damp and smelling like baby sleep. A crooned “da-da-da” vibrates against my skin, which is the sound she makes most repetitively. I wish Gray had been able to hear that before he died.
“Let’s do a fresh diaper and then see what your da-da-da made us, okay?”
She squeals in agreement, delighted with the plan, and I ease her onto the changing table. The practiced movements should ground me because routine can be the best coping mechanism. But my stomach is a tight, nervous knot, because last night was the opposite of routine. It was reckless and so good and now the morning light is tattling on us, almost accusing. I know what you two did last night.
I snap Grayce into a clean onesie with fluffy cats printed across the chest and tell myself to breathe through the emotions.
Lust.
Loneliness.
Hope.
Fear.
By the time we make it downstairs, fear is winning.
Atlas is a problem I can’t afford. Not because he’s bad, which would be easier. He’s kind and solid, a man any woman would want.
But I’ve spent years surviving with no one to lean on but myself, and here he is, accepting the weight of my past on his shoulders. What happens when those shoulders get tired?
Will I be set aside and abandoned?
Grayce and I reach the kitchen, and I pause in the doorway, inhaling the aromas of cinnamon, coffee and warm oats. Atlas has the kettle already off the burner, the coffee maker gurgling its last sputter, a bowl of oatmeal cooling on the counter. There’s a plate of banana slices and quartered strawberries arranged in a little arc on a plate.
I take a moment and watch. He’s clearly in his element and I wonder if this is how he always was or if this is new. He pours two cups of coffee, drool pooling in my mouth upon seeing that naked back. He turns to find me watching him.
He smiles at me, then his gaze goes to Grayce. “Hey, bug,” he says, and she chitters as she lunges at him.
“Da-da-da.”
I hand her over and he takes her with that easy, careful strength I’ve come to admire. I’m shocked when he flashes me a guilty smile. “I’m really sorry.”
I blink at him in surprise. “For what?”
He glances down at Grayce in his arms. “Because she’s always saying da-da and I’ve been trying to get her to say ma-ma.”
I stare at him, speechless.
“I don’t want your feelings hurt, and I don’t know why she’s focused on me when you’re her favorite person—”
“Atlas,” I say, cutting him off. “That’s not what’s happening. She’s not choosing you over me.”
He frowns, glances at Grayce suspiciously. “She’s not?”
I laugh, laying a hand on his arm and setting aside all my morning-after emotional turmoil. “Babies tend to be able to say da sounds first because they’re easier.”
His eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
I tip my head back and laugh. “I’m not that nice. Google it sometime.”
Before he can respond, Grayce puts her hand on his chin. “Da-da-da-da-da-da.”
Atlas grins at her. “You working on your scales in there? Sounded like an aria.”
“Da-da-da,” she solemnly informs him.
“I heard. Genius level.” His eyes are sparkling when they come to me. “Thank you for explaining that. Now drink your coffee.”
I don’t argue. We’ve lapsed into a routine, often alternating mornings of who feeds the baby while the other has hot java.
Atlas sets Grayce in her high chair, slides the tray into place, and pulls a silicone bib over her head with comical seriousness. He spoons oatmeal into a tiny bowl, stirs in a swirl of peanut butter, then thins it with milk. The domestic choreography is deadly—renders him a million times sexier.
I make myself move, nabbing my black coffee and sipping it while also doctoring his coffee with a splash of almond milk.
Atlas feeds Grayce the first spoonful, and she contemplates it with skepticism before leaning forward with her mouth opened like a baby bird. He plops a small amount on her tongue and she immediately grabs the oatmeal from her mouth and smears it into her hair.
I can’t help but laugh and Atlas shoots me a mock glare before declaring confidently, “Let’s try this again.”
This time Grayce takes the bite, gums it for a bit and swallows. He flashes me a look that says, See, we can do this.
And that’s when pure panic rises within me.
Because it would be so easy to fall into this rhythm. Coffee exactly how I like it. The way his forearms look when he braces both hands on the counter and laughs. The fact that he laughs when Grayce flings strawberries like they’re confetti.