Page 51 of Promise

Tears of his own swam in his.

15

[Trinity]

Idon’t know why I was so agitated. Perhaps I was just tired. Another long week has passed since Cassidy and Stone’s arrival, but it still feels a little surreal.

I’m going to be Mirabelle’s mom.

And Dart is still here.

Maybe I’m still a little nervous, waiting for the shoe to drop. Or Dart to hit the gas pedal.

He isn’t working. Just puttering around the house finding odd jobs. He mentioned building a deck out back.

But he hasn’t talked about racing. That probably still hangs in my head like his hats on my coat rack.

He’s probably done with his career in racing. And if he’s done, what’s next for him?

It’s not really my concern and all thoughts vanish when I spin from the counter, full glass of wine in hand, and smack into the man himself.

Red wine splashes everywhere and I drop the glass in my surprise, causing it to shatter on the hardwood in the kitchen.

“Dammit!” I bend down to pick up the larger chunks of glass. Red wine pools beneath it.

“Careful,” Dart says, lowering to his haunches and picking up pieces as well.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I hiss beneath my breath.

“Whoa,” he chuckles, despite my tone. “Trin?”

I lift my head, already shaking it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Tears fill my eyes. Maybe I’m just on emotional overwhelm because I’m going to be Mirabelle’s mom, and Dart is still here.

Even though he’s been helping me at night with Mirabelle, I’m still not sleeping well.

“Baby,” he whispers. “You need a break.”

I don’t. This is what I’ve always wanted. A baby. Mirabelle. But it’s been every second of every day, and most nights, and I just . . . yeah, I think I need a little breathing room.

“I’ve got it,” I snap again, looking downward for glass shards and filling my hand with them.

Dart catches my hand as I reach for another long piece. Then, he cups my other hand holding the broken collection, and he slowly forces me to stand.

He aims my hand with the glass toward the sink and twists it to dump the mess.

“Why would you do that?” The trash is behind me.

I’m also barefoot, and before I know what’s happening, Dart scoops me upward. He’s wearing his boots as he’s been outside, and glass crunches beneath his feet.

He spins toward the hallway.

“You’re going to drag glass everywhere,” I warn, despite my arms wrapping around his neck, holding onto him.

“I’ll clean it up. But you . . . you’re headed for the tub.”

“I can’t take a bath.” I don’t know why I’m protesting. A bath sounds heavenly. That glass of wine was going to be heaven as well.

Mirabelle is finally asleep after a long, cranky day for her. I’m worried she might be sick, have something I can’t detect. She sounded a little congested earlier, and I toyed with calling the pediatrician. Then, I argued with myself that I was overreacting. I’m a medical professional, so I know how to make a diagnosis. My gut says it is nothing, but my mom instincts raged to make a call.