Page 93 of Promise

“Already?” I perk up. I knew she’d be going back, it just hasn’t seemed like six weeks have passed.

“Monday.” She looks back at me. “I need to organize childcare.” Her head dips. “I’m not ready to leave her, though.”

“You aren’t leaving her, baby.” I set my hand on her lower back. “You’re providing for her.”

I want to provide for them. And sitting around here finding home improvement projects isn’t the way to go about it. Trin is right, there are only so many things I can fix or build. I need to start thinking about an income.

I’m being frugal with my race savings, but it won’t last forever.

“Still, I feel funny about leaving her with a stranger.”

“Let me do it.” The thought pops out of nowhere, and yet, somehow, I think it was more present than I realized.

I reach for her hand, covering it with mine, shifting to face her better.

I want to be here for Trin and Mirabelle. And if that means an easier transition for Trin by staying with Mirabelle while she goes back to work, I want to do that for her. For them.

Trinity’s head whips upward, her expression shocked.

“I’m already here.” I squeeze her hand to reassure her. “And I love spending time with Mirabelle.”

“Dart,” she groans, chuckling like I’m joking, but she flips her hand, and now I’m holding it. Our fingers entwine.

“I can do this.” The more I think about it, the more I mean it. More I want it. I might not be Mirabelle’s dad, but I love her. I want to be with her. “I’m already changing diapers and feeding her. Mirabelle is easy, and on the days she’s not, we’ll take field trips.”

“Like where?” Trinity stares at me, still disbelieving my offer.

“I don’t know.” My voice rises along with my other hand waving through the air. The rise could also be excitement. I clutch her hand harder. “I’ll figure it out. You yourself are constantly saying parenting doesn’t come with a manual.”

Her coffee-colored eyes are bright and wide.

I clear my throat. “Not that I’m saying I’m Mirabelle’s dad or anything.”

I swallow thickly because I can’t say that. I can’t put a label on me that Trin hasn’t given me. But I want that label. I want it more than I’ll admit, because I don’t want to pressure Trin. We’re still trying to work out who we are as a couple.

“But I can do this for you.” Do this for our family. “Let me be here for both of you.”

Trinity continues to watch me, gauging my sincerity. Her eyes soften from my enthusiasm. Her shoulders relax.

“I do only work three days a week.” She pauses, considering.

I recall her schedule. Three twelve-hour shifts within seven days.

“I don’t know,” she repeats more quietly.

I lift her hand, still entwined with mine, and kiss her knuckles in a silent plea. “Consider it, Trin. Really think about it.” Please trust me. I’m here for you. Both my girls.

A squawk comes from Trinity’s phone, and she checks the monitor.

“Duty calls.” She waves it in the air and gives me a smile. A bright, genuine one that says Mirabelle is pure joy.

Like a field of daisies in sunshine.

She tugs her hand free from mine, but then she cups my jaw. The touch tender. Her eyes sweet.

And it’s only after Trinity gets up and heads back into the house that I recall what she said.

We need to put in the work.