Aurora’s chubby fingers bat at my phone as she makes this bubbly, gurgling squeal that’s too fucking cute to be human.
“That’s what I said,” I murmur, pocketing my phone with a smile. “You know what I think, sweetheart? I think my mama is a D-A-M-N liar.”
She turns her wide eyes on me, her hands stilling like she knows how to spell, before giggling so loud, my ears pop. I take it as a sign she wants me to keep going, so I do. I don’t stop walking, or talking. Telling stories about her mama, about Heart Springs, and about Honey Bea Farm.
I’m deep into a ramble about how I once stepped on one of my sister’s Barbie shoes barefoot and swore like a sailor in front of Clementine when I hear a soft laugh echo in the small space.
I turn toward the door and find Georgia leaning against it, arms crossed, a grin lighting up her face.
She’s smiling—really smiling—and it hits me square in the chest.
“You been standing there long?” I ask, bouncing Aurora a little more as she babbles into my chest and yanks on my beard.
My eyes stray to that little part in Georgia’s skirt that splits when she steps closer, showing off an inch of her thigh. That inch shouldn’t be so damn interesting, but for a second, it captures every ounce of my attention.
“Long enough,” she says, voice warm. “I caught the full length of the Barbie story and the tail end of something about stealing a pickup when you were fifteen.” She arches a brow. “It was riveting.”
“Yeah, well.” I shift awkwardly, my face on fire. “Thought I’d ease her into disappointment early.”
Her eyes drop to the baby, and I swear I catch the faintest flicker of sadness cross her face. It’s gone so fast, I might’ve imagined it.
“She looks better today,” Georgia murmurs, surprising me. “Yesterday, her bruise was a bit darker. I’m glad it’s fading.”
“You were here yesterday?” I ask, throat dry, stomach twisting.
She nods, giving me a soft smile and a shrug like it’s not a big deal. “Didn’t want her to be alone.”
Something in her tone catches me off guard.
It’s not just admiration—it’s longing. Like there’s a whole story hiding behind the curve of those two words. But she doesn’t offer more, and I don’t ask. Not sure I’m mentally equipped to handle much more today.
“She’s beautiful,” Georgia murmurs, finger ghosting across Aurora’s cheek.
My eyes don’t leave her freckled profile as I choke out, “Yeah.”
We stand there a beat longer, the quiet stretching between us in a way that doesn’t feel heavy anymore. It’s nice, almost peaceful.
Until Aurora shifts in my arms and lets out a sound that’s anything but.
Loud. Wet. Impossible to misinterpret.
I gape. Full stop. Staring down at her like she just detonated a grenade.
Aurora giggles—an adorable sound completely at odds with the unholy noises that just left her small body at an insane octave—and claps her chubby hands.
Georgia snorts, inhales sharply, then bends at the waist with a laugh so pure and wild, I swear it shakes my bones. She clutches her stomach, wiping tears from her eyes as she gasps for air.
“Oh my God,” she wheezes. “The face you made—”
“She exploded on me!” I hiss, looking down in horror at Aurora, who’s now smiling like she might actually like me. “What the hell was that?”
“She’s a baby!” Georgia gasps, still cackling. “And she just introduced herself to you.”
“I think she introduced me to her entire digestive system.”
Georgia wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, her grin softening as she straightens. “Well, Dad, it’s time you learn how to change a diaper.”
The word hits me like a punch to the gut.
