Athena crosses her arms, her stance giving off a caged-animal vibe. But I can’t tell if we’re making her feel caged or if it’s the hotel room.
Garrett gracefully pushes to his feet like a sleek panther unfolding from a nap. My muscles have stiffened in the short time I’ve been sitting on the floor, and my attempt to stand will be nowhere near as graceful. I stumble up and put my hand on the edge of the table for balance. No one seems to notice my momentary clumsiness.
“I-er-didn’t pick up a stroller when I was ordering the furniture.” Garrett shares an uncertain glance between Peony and Athena. “I wasn’t sure if she wanted one.”
“That’s okay. She will want to walk,” Athena tells him. “And I can carry her the rest of the way.”
“I can carry her if that’s too much.”
“No, that’s fine. She’ll probably be happier if I carry her. She’s…she’s still…” Athena picks up a block from the coffee table, avoiding eye contact with both of us.
“Nervous around me,” Garrett fills in, the words falling on a hard sigh.
I rub his arm. “Give her time.” I turn my head to Athena, hoping she’ll support me on this. But it’s not support I see in her expression. It’s the tail end of a scowl directed at my hand on his arm.
Without meaning to, I let my hand drop away and take a step back.
I’ve read this book before. Looks like the nanny’s going after the single dad.
16
GARRETT
Athena crouchesto Peony’s level. “Hey, baby girl. You wanna go for a walk?”
The grin my daughter gives her is wide enough to melt the heart of the grumpiest of grumps. “Walk!”
She toddles past the end of the coffee table as if I’m not kneeling next to it and walks over to Athena.
Athena scoops her up. Giggling, Peony loops her thin arms around Athena’s neck, trapping Poppy between her body and Athena.
At Peony’s reaction, jealousy strikes me like an arrow to the chest, nicking my heart. Which is ridiculous. I only found out less than forty-eight hours ago I have a daughter. Of course she’d pick Athena instead of me.
Less than forty-eight hours ago, I was questioning if she even is my daughter.
Athena removes a small coat, the hood trimmed with pink faux fur, from the closet. “You wanna wear the coat your daddy bought you?”
“That’s a pretty coat,” Zara tells Peony. “Your daddy has fine taste.”
I snort a laugh. Zara twists to me, her eyebrows lifted in awordless question.
“It was on theend-of-seasonclearance rack. I was lucky to find something in her size.” Well, almost her size.
Athena helps Peony put on the coat. The hem falls to her knees and swamps her small body. To her credit, Zara doesn’t laugh at my lack of ability to guess a kid’s size.
We walk along the sidewalk, stopping every few feet so Peony can inspect each distraction. An abandoned dime that Athena stops her from picking up. An empty concrete planter. A bird singing in a tree. A squirrel darting across the road.
She squats next to a beetle and watches it scuttle over the ground.
I crouch on the other side of it while respecting Peony’s personal boundaries. “That’s a beetle.”
She points at it. “Bee-el.”
“That’s right. Beetle.” I beam at Zara and catch Athena glancing up and down the street like a rabbit on the lookout for a coyote. I can’t tell if she’s searching for something specific or just memorizing landmarks.
She turns back to us, her freckles more noticeable against her pale skin than they were a moment ago, and flashes Peony a bright smile. “That’s right, baby girl. It’s a beetle.”
Picnic & Treats is crowded when we enter it a few minutes later, the place noisier than normal. The only empty table available is next to the window and behind a group of rowdy teenage boys, who are laughing and mocking each other.
