Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
For better or worse, the thought just makes me wonder how soon I can kiss him again.
TWENTY-TWO
Dax
I can’t remember ever feeling so pleased to leave the hospital and get back home. Something smells absolutely delicious as I walk through the front door. What is that?
Last night changed everything. It’s like the clouds have parted and I realize how much I love my daughter. She’s no longer a duty and responsibility. The idea that I could have lost her was so horrifying that I now understand the most important job I’ll ever have is being a dad.
Work’s important. It always will be. But being with Guinevere, watching her grow, keeping her safe—it’s the best thing ever.
I can’t stop smiling. I pass the kitchen and laugh as I hear Eira singing along to the radio. Before I investigate further, I sneak into my bedroom and find Guinevere sleeping soundly.
The restlessness has gone and she looks so snuggly and sweet, I want to scoop her out of her cot and hold her close. I settle for a kiss on her head and a stroke of her cheek. I don’t want to risk waking her.
I head to the kitchen and stand, leaning on the doorjamb, watching as Eira stirs whatever’s on the hob while she sings along to some rap I’ve never heard.
I imagined her to be all about the show tunes rather than Lil Wayne.
She turns and freezes at the sight of me, her eyes going wide.
“Rap?” I ask. “Really?”
She shrugs. “I’m selective in my love of rap. It has to be old school. Classic.”
I nod, trying to bite back my grin. “Okay.”
She shrugs. “I made you dinner. Chicken and mushroom pie. With broccoli and carrots.”
“Wow,” I reply. “I thought it smelled good, but pie?”
“You ready now or do you want to go see Guinevere?”
“Oh, I saw her already.”
A smile uncurls on her face like I couldn’t have given her a better answer. “She’s been such a good girl. She’s had all her milk.”
“Thanks for keeping me updated,” I reply. I’d messaged her on the way to work asking for regular updates and Eira dutifully messaged me every sixty to ninety minutes, telling me what was going on with a picture. The photo was usually of Guinevere sleeping and the messages were just as benign. It was all very appropriate.
Just as it was last night. I slept on top of the covers, while Eira slept underneath. Occasionally our fingers touched. But that was it. I don’t know how I managed to sleep with her so close. Probably the relief after such a tumultuous evening, but also, it just felt that having Eira in my bed was as it should be. Like everything was right.
But now? Seeing her again? My entire body responds to her, the hairs on my arms standing to attention, my insides heating, my heart straining to break out of my chest. I’m done ignoring it. Last night woke up a part of my brain that had been dormant until then—a part of my brain that doesn’t include my research or changing the world. It’s the part that wants to be a dad. Wants to kiss Eira. The part that wants to want more than I’ve ever had before. I’m ready for it all.
She dishes up a plate and sets it on the table. When I don’t move, she turns to look at me, her expression asking what’s wrong.
I shake my head. “Not without you.” I nod at the chair kitty corner to me. “Eat with me.”
She narrows her eyes slightly and takes a breath as if trying to decide. “Okay.”
She fixes another plate for herself and sits at the small kitchen table. I can’t help but stare, mesmerized by her every movement. The way she places the plate down with elegant, purposeful fingers. The way she sits to the side then twirls herself around in the chair. The way her gaze flits across the table, making sure we both have everything we need.
“It’s good to see you,” I say. It’s not quite I miss you, because that would be too…intense and not what I mean. I didn’t miss her. I was just looking forward to coming home and seeing her all day. There’s a difference.
Her cheeks flush. I chuckle at her visceral response to a simple sentence.
I know how that goes.
“How’s the pie?” she asks.
Neutral territory. I get it. The situation is awkward. I’m her boss. She’s living under my roof.
“The pie’s…spectacular,” I say. I haven’t tasted it yet.
She nods and takes a mouthful.
I can’t not stare at her as she chews.
She stares back, her eyes brightening, a smile threatening at the edges of her mouth. She swallows. “What?”
“I like watching you,” I reply honestly.
Her gaze hits her plate. “Dax, I…I…this is…” She looks up, and I smile at her inability to form words.