Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Touching my face, I can feel the line embedded in my skin from sleeping on top of a crumpled sheet. Stop, Liv. This is the last thing I should be thinking about right now. First, this is not about us or how he makes me feel things that no other man ever has. Second, this is strictly about Maxwell and his safety.
Will Noah take care of him like I will?
The fear lingers, but it’s beginning to dissipate as I look at them together. Noah is caring for him. I didn’t ask him to. He’s doing it on his own.
When I bend down to kiss Maxwell this time, my hair falls like a curtain over his face, tickling him and making him giggle. The sound brightens my heart, reminding me how fortunate I am to have this little guy in my life.
Needing caffeine, I move around Noah to go into the kitchen. “Coffee?” I offer, dragging my hand over his tanned shoulder as I pass. Selfishly, I want to connect with him physically as well as whatever else we’re doing here, which looks a lot like playing house.
Should I be worried that we’re falling into a family so easily? Maybe. Or maybe the energy I already expended turned out to be a false alarm that keeps my brain from working overtime now.
Noah scoops another bite from the container and tries to feed Maxwell, but he’s not having it. I rub the top of Maxwell’s head, and say, “He likes to try to feed himself.”
“Ah.” Noah hands the baby the spoon, which he promptly throws to the ground, and the little bowl bounces on the tray, spilling the food everywhere, including on Noah. With the red oats streaked across his chin and chest, his smirk disappears. “That didn’t work out.”
I could offer him a towel or get the supplies to clean, but he seems set on handling this himself. I grab a mug from the counter before starting the coffee machine. “You didn’t really feed him donuts, right?”
When I turn around, he catches me—hands on my hips, eyes locked on mine, a smirk that makes me wish it were Maxwell’s naptime. God, that makes me feel like a horrible mother. It’s just been so long since I felt desired by a man who appreciates curves not in all the “right” places. I’ve come to terms with fuller hips and a belly that’s no longer flat. I’ve even come to appreciate those attributes because I got Maxwell out of the deal. But Noah is a real-life Adonis. To see him look at me like I’m about to be his breakfast, my entire body feels the heat of that stare.
He glances over his shoulder at a messy Maxwell who is perfectly content licking the bowl and then turns back to me. “Nope. No omelets either. Not even coffee, for that matter.” He chuckles. “But he loves whatever that stuff is.”
I want to laugh that he just got played by a fourteen-month-old. I’m doing something right. “Because it’s dessert. A cherry crumble. I bet you let him choose.”
“No wonder he picked that container. Smart kid.”
I can’t help but laugh. “He knew what he was doing.” The smell of coffee wafts through the air as I wait for the machine to finish brewing. “What time did you get up?”
“When I heard Max. It was around seven fifteen.”
“Seven fifteen? We didn’t go to bed until after five.” I find myself leaning in, our voices lowering to whispers between us. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m doing okay. You seemed like you needed the rest more than I did.”
It’s so hard to keep my hands to myself when he’s near, so I don’t. Sliding my palms over his shoulders. I say, “You got a little something all over you.” I can’t stop myself from laughing.
“Oh yeah?”
I grin. “Yeah.”
“What should we do about it?”
Maxwell screams, causing Noah and I to part like our parents just walked in on us. Noah goes to him without hesitation. As much as I find that wholly endearing, this Mama needs some attention too. I giggle but pour myself a cup of coffee, hoping this will help me focus on the situation at hand instead of how many hours we have until naptime because nine thirty is way too soon for a nap . . . or for us to have some grown-up time together.
Adulting is hard sometimes. Holy wow! Like now.
With Maxwell anchored in Noah’s arms, I set down the mug before I drop it. A new fantasy has been unlocked—the hot dad. Good lord, this man!
While I stand there like the sight of him does not impregnate me, he tilts his head and laughs. “Eyes up here, babe.” My gaze shoots up to see Noah’s smug face, cheek to cheek with my favorite little face of all time. “I’m going to get us cleaned up.” Popping his bicep for me, he adds, “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure to take care of you later today.”