CHAPTER 1
MAYA
“I think we might have to convince Cole to put on another addition.”
With a light laugh, Georgia surveys the gifts piled in large stacks around us. Some of them are already wrapped, adorned with brightly-colored paper and matching bows. But most of them are still in their original packaging, showing off fuzzy stuffed animals and smooth-edged toy cars and for Georgia’s daughter, Lily, a pair of sparkly fairy wings and a matching tutu to wear with them.
“I’m not sure where all these toys will go, otherwise,” she adds. “Lily’s room is overflowing with them. And now that she’s gotten into dance, Leo’s talking about building a barre so she can practice at home.” Georgia smiles as she shakes her head. “She’s not even three. I’m not sure she needs her own dance studio yet.”
My heart melts to think of Leo—big, quietlyintimidating, serious Leo—building a dance studio in his apartment for his much-adored daughter. “That’s sweet.” After taping down the end of a piece of wrapping paper, I add, “He really loves to watch her dance, doesn’t he?”
“He does,” Georgia agrees. Her expression goes soft. “You should see him at dance class. The room is full of all these moms, and then there’s Leo, towering over everyone.” Her voice dips conspiratorially. “Honestly, I was a little worried when he started taking her.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Because he’s so big. And Lily’s in this class with nine other two to three-year-olds who barely reach his knees. Lily’s not intimidated in the least, of course?—”
“Because she knows she has Leo wrapped around her little pinkie.”
It’s true. Since the day Lily was born, Leo’s been the picture of a doting father. If she even hints at wanting something, he’ll do anything to make it happen. Take her to the American Girl Doll store in Manhattan for a custom doll and teatime? Absolutely. Hire a muralist to paint the walls in Lily’s room so it looks like a fairytale forest? Done. Buy tickets to the New York City Ballet so Lily could experience real ballet? He arranged it so they were sitting in the front row, center.
Georgia gives the bow atop her newly-wrapped gift a little tug. Then she smirks at me. “Are you saying Cole isn’t wrapped around Clara’s finger?”
She has a point. Cole would do pretty much anything for our daughter. I think if she asked him tojump off a building, his only question would be, how high should it be?
Well, he’d make sure to have a rappelling harness attached. And he’d spend several days teaching Clara about the importance of safety before he did it.
I snicker to myself as I picture Cole sitting in Clara’s room, using her dolls to give a demonstration. He tends to do that whenever she has a big question—and she’s three and a half, which means she asks why alot.Just last week, she asked him why Hanna and Finn’s dog, Ansel, walked on four legs instead of two, like people. So Cole set up a whole lesson using Barbies and toy dogs to explain it.
It was really cute, honestly. Until Clara asked about the bathroom habits of dogs, and then things took a wayward turn. “Why don’t people pee on the grass,” she asked him, “if dogs do it?”
I can’t remember the last time Cole looked that flustered. And considering that, as the founder and leader of Blade and Arrow Security, part of his job entails keeping his cool in the most stressful situations, that’s saying a lot.
“Are you thinking about Clara’s bathroom question?” Georgia asks. Her eyes are bright with amusement. Everyone at Blade and Arrow knows about the infamous question by now, and the various shades of red Cole’s face turned after she asked it.
“Yeah,” I reply. “The look on his face… I wish I had a picture of it.”
She laughs. “I bet.Mr. Never Gets Ruffled AboutAnythingall off-kilter because his daughter wants to know about bathroom habits.”
I reach for another unwrapped present, this time a mini piano with oversized keys. “Can you imagine what he’ll be like when Clara gets older and starts asking about the birds and the bees?”
Georgia snorts. “That’s when Cole will decide she’s not allowed to leave HQ until she’s twenty, at least.”
“You mean thirty,” I retort. “And that’s if she’s lucky.” Woe to the poor, unfortunate boy who wants to date Clara. I can only imagine the inquisition my former Green Beret slash security expert husband will put him through.
“I’m sure it’ll be the same for Lily. Can you imagine a boy coming to pick her up only to meet Leo at the front door?”
Can I imagine six-foot-six Leo looming over a wide-eyed teenager, firing questions at him about his intentions towards Lily? Yes. It’s not too dissimilar to what I imagine Cole doing to Clara’s first date.
“At least James will have it easier,” I say. Although James still has a long way to go before he thinks about dating. At just three months old, he’s still in that sweet, snuggly stage where he’s happy just to be held by his mom and dad. Not that I don’t love the active, inquisitive stage Clara’s in, but there’s just something special about those early months with your baby.
“James will be a real gentleman,” Georgia remarks. “With Cole and the rest of the guys showing him how to treat a woman, whoever James ends up dating will be a lucky girl.”
Setting aside the wrapped piano, I reach for my mug of hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table. It’s still steaming a little, and the marshmallows I added have melted into a sweet, gooey fluff on top. After blowing on it lightly, I take a sip, then hum with pleasure at the rich flavor of it.
As I take another sip, I lean back against the couch and take a look around the room. In one corner, the Christmas tree sparkles with multi-colored lights that dance between the bulbs—unbreakable, of course—scattered among them. There’s a delicate angel set atop it, holding a glowing candle in each hand.
Beside the tree sits the electric fireplace Cole bought for our first Christmas together, and the memory of it makes me smile. I still remember Cole bringing me back from the hospital, and how sweetly nervous he was to show me the decorating he’d asked his friends to do, so everything would be ready for Christmas when I came home. And then he sat me down on the couch, and took the little gift out from beneath the tree…
