“Well, it’s going down now.” I huff, grabbing his shoulders and steering him down the hall. “I’m starting a bath. Go say goodnight to your little girl, but don’t worry about settling her. I’ll take care of it.”
He resists, heels digging into the hardwood like a stubborn mule. “Georgia…”
“No,” I say, firm and low. “I know you want to handle everything on your own. That’s your thing. But you’re not alone. And I don’t just mean because you’ve got a family that loves you, or friends who’d drop everything to be here.”
My voice quiets, throat thick with the weight of what I’m admitting.
“I don’t know what this is yet, or where it’s going, but I’m here.”For now.“Iwantto be here.”Forever.“If you want me to be.”Please say you do.
“Want that too,” he murmurs, eyes heated. “A lot.”
Then you should have called me.
I swallow back the words, shrugging helplessly, feeling stupid, and vulnerable and too damn needy.
“Well,” I say instead. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of everything.”
I’ll take care of you.
Leaning in, he presses a lingering kiss to my cheek, his beard brushing my skin in a way that’s anything but innocent.
“Wanna do a fuck-ton more than this, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion. “But not only have I not showered in four days… I, uh… haven’t brushed my teeth either.”
I grimace. “That explains the crying baby,” I say, deadpan. “Probably scared her half to death. You smell like a—”
“Rabid hyena?” he finishes, smirking as he shuffles toward Aurora’s room. “Some say it’s my best quality.”
And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the smile that splits my face.
The mans an exhausting, heart-wrecking, annoying asshole.
He’s perfect.
Kade is asleep in his bed, the house is clean, and Aurora is finally… peacefulish.
It took hours.
I walked her for miles in his living room—swaying, humming, bouncing gently on my toes until my calves burned. I gave her a lavender bath, massaged her legs with baby-safe balm, and rubbed frozen teething rings along her gums until her sobs turned into whimpers.
Thank fuck for whichever Archer or friend donated all the goodies, because they came in handy.
We rocked together until she stopped pulling away, and I fed her slowly, letting her take her time, letting her know she didn’t have to cry for comfort.
The sink is empty. The dishes are washed and dried and stacked neatly on the counter because it didn’t feel right to dig through his drawers or cabinets while he slept.
There were a ton of shipping boxes tucked in a corner, so I broke them down and quietly set them on the porch, not wanting Aurora to get into them when she feels better.
The floors have been swept, and mopped. I wiped down the sticky surfaces in the kitchen, scrubbed the counters, and ran a few loads of laundry.
And somewhere between folding onesies and disinfecting pacifiers, I opened all the windows to air out the house. Lit a candle. Put a soft blanket on the couch. Made the place feel like a home again.
Now, it’s almost sunrise.
Kade slept through the night without moving, and I’m…wrecked.
But I can’t bring myself to put her down.
She’s curled against my chest, her soft yellow blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. One tiny hand is tucked into the fleece, the other is curled tight around a strand of my hair. I tried to pry it free more than once, but every time I did, her face crumpled, and that little fist found it again.
