There wasn’t enough time for me to give Zara another orgasm.
I park on my driveway, sprint to the front door. A screaming toddler tantrum welcomes me when I open it, the high-pitch wails coming from the kitchen.Shit.I don’t have time for this. Kellan will be kicking my ass into the next solar system as it is.
But knowing that doesn’t stop me from heading to the source of the noise.
I walk into the room as Peony releases another high-pitched scream from her very healthy set of lungs. She’s sitting in her highchair, her tear-stained face red, the room looking like a casualty of war. Except instead of land mines, food has exploded all over the place.
And standing in the middle of it all is Athena, her mouth gaping as she stares dumbfoundedly at my daughter.
“Hey, little flower.” I walk to her chair, my tone the gentle touch of a bomb disposal technician.
Wide, wet eyes meet mine. She stops screaming, but her sobbing is now in full force. She lifts her arms, making it clear she’s ready to escape the confines of her chair.
I unbuckle her and gently bounce her in my arms. “Hey, little flower, what’s all the fuss about?”
Peony rests her cheek on my shoulder and heaves out a tiny sigh.
Rocking from side to side, I wipe my thumb over her other cheek, slick from her tears, and glance at Athena to see if she has any clue what’s set Peony off.
Athena doesn’t respond to my silent question. If anything, she seems irritated. Her eyes are narrowed, and if she were a cartoon character, she’d have steam coming out of her ears.
Having no idea what bee bit her in the ass, I walk to the sink, grab Peony’s washcloth, and wipe the smeared food from her top.
“Rough morning?” I wipe her hands. Her glistening eyes almost bring me to my knees. The way her bottom lip is pushed out in a pout doesn’t help my case either.
I check the microwave clock and inwardly groan. “How about we get you changed? Then I’ll read you your favorite book.”
I grab Poppy from the table and hand her to Peony. Surprisingly, the panda avoided being a casualty of the food war.
Athena follows us into Peony’s bedroom. “Where were you?” Accusation drips from her words, the edge of her tone razor sharp.
“That’s none of your business.” I attempt to take the sting out of my words, but my frustration at the situation—my falling asleep at Zara’s, being late, coming home to find my daughter throwing a fit—hampers my success at altering my tone.
I’m wearing last night’s clothes, so I can’t bullshit my way out of this and pretend I’m just returning from a run. Plus, she knows I’m behind schedule. I would have usually left by now for the cabins.
“She woke up wanting you,” Athena’s tone doesn’t soften. “And you. Weren’t. Here.”
Joy pokes up unharmed through the thorns of guilt, and I have to fight back a smile. Peony is upset because I wasn’t there for her. She wantedme, her father. A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed that would even be possible.
Athena huffs and shakes her head, her eyes narrowed.
“I don’t need your permission to come home late. I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my mother.” Okay, not my finest retort. She’s not accusing me of being a teen who ignored his curfew. But I am a father, and my falling asleep at Zara’s was inexcusable.
Peony’s bottom lip trembles, a warning she’s about to scream again.
I flash her an unsteady smile. “I’m sorry.” The words are meant for Peony, but maybe I should say them to Athena too. “I shouldn’t have come home so late. I shouldn’t have taken for granted that you’re here. You’re Peony’s nanny. You’re not her mother.”
Athena draws in a sharp, wounded breath—which doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t say anything that isn’t true.
I walk into Peony’s closet. “My staying out was unacceptable, and it won’t happen again.” I remove Peony’s green top, with small ladybugs all over it, from the hanger. “Do you want to wear this one?”
Peony’s arm stretches toward it. I hand it to her with a full-out grin and head for her dresser.
“Why were you so late?” The accusation in Athena’s tone is now nothing more than a frayed thread, the rest of her tone either disappointment or hurt.
“I think Athena has a thing for you.”
Is that what this is about? Athena is reacting like this because shepossiblyhas a thing for me?
