"You're staring." He doesn't look away from Maeve, but there's amusement in his voice.
"You're good with her." I don't bother denying it. "It's nice."
"She's easy to be good with." He settles Maeve on his lap, hands her a board book. "She's perfect."
"She's sticky and loud and demands constant attention."
"Like I said. Perfect." He looks over at me then, something soft in his expression. "Just like her mama."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I'm not perfect."
"You are to me." He says it simply, like it's just a fact. "Always have been."
I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to respond to someone who looks at me like I hung the moon when I can barely keep myself together most days.
Maeve starts fussing—her tell that she's getting tired. Declan stands smoothly, settling her against his chest. "Bottle time?"
"Yeah. It's ready in the warmer."
He gets her bottle, tests the temperature, then settles back into the armchair. She latches on immediately, one hand coming up to grip his shirt. He starts humming something low and soothing, rubbing small circles on her back.
I should look away. Should go clean something or work on inventory or literally anything other than watching them. But I can't seem to make myself move.
This is what I've been afraid of—not that he wouldn't fit into our lives, but that he'd fit so perfectly I wouldn't be able to imagine them without him. And then if something went wrong, if he left or got hurt or decided this wasn't what he wanted after all, Maeve would lose him too.
"Stop." His voice is quiet, but firm enough to cut through my spiraling thoughts.
"Stop what?"
"Whatever you're thinking that's making you look like that." He shifts Maeve slightly, her eyes already drooping. "I can see you building walls. Trying to protect yourself."
"I'm not?—"
"You are." He meets my eyes over Maeve's head. "And I get it. I do. But I need you to hear me when I say I'm not going anywhere."
"You can't promise that." The words come out sharper than I intended. "Things happen. People change their minds. Life gets complicated."
"You're right." He stands, moves to the bedroom to put Maeve down. I follow, watching him settle her in the cribwith practiced care. When he comes back out, he closes the door gently behind him. "I can't promise nothing bad will ever happen. But I can promise I'm not leaving by choice. That I'm here because I want to be here, because you and Maeve are the best things in my life. That has to count for something."
"It does." I wrap my arms around myself. "It counts for everything. That's the problem."
"How is that a problem?"
"Because if something happens—if you get hurt or decide this isn't what you want or your work gets dangerous—it won't just be me anymore. Maeve loves you. She lights up every time you walk in the door. If you're not around, she cries for you. So I can't just think about protecting myself anymore. I have to protect her too."
He crosses the space between us, hands coming up to cup my face. "I would never hurt her. Or you. You have to know that."
"I know you wouldn't on purpose." I press my hands over his, holding him there. "But sometimes things happen anyway."
"Then we handle them." His thumbs brush over my cheekbones. "Together. That's what this is—building something strong enough to weather the bad along with the good."
"And if I'm not strong enough?"
"You're the strongest person I know." He leans forward, presses his forehead against mine. "But you don't have to be strong alone anymore. That's the whole point."
I close my eyes, let myself lean into him for just a moment. Let myself imagine what it would be like to stop fighting this, to just give in and trust that we can figure it out.
"I missed you." The words slip out before I can stop them. "Every single day for eight years, I missed you. And now you're here and it's everything I wanted and I'm still terrified it's going to disappear."
