Page 49 of Meant for Mayhem

The sun was almost up when my body finally gave in to slumber. Luckily, my daughter wasn’t an early riser. I got a few hours in before I heard her on the baby monitor again, then snuck out of the room with Shannon still sleeping soundly. Her dark hair cascaded over the creamy pillows, pink lips pouty as she curled up on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. Like this, she looked sweet. Not the same fearless and selfless woman I’d married yesterday.

The late morning passed quickly as I took my parents to the airport, promising a weekly FaceTime date with them. Mom cried over leaving Leena, which I could understand. They wouldn’t be back until January, and it felt like my daughter changed every single day lately.

The penthouse was quiet when we got back home, the note I’d left letting Shannon know where we’d gone still untouched on the counter. Leena squirmed in my hold until I set her on the floor. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she was off, heading toward her pile of toys in the living room. I grabbed the remote and turned on a cartoon, watching as Leena danced around the room to the theme song I’d heard a million times in the last few months.

With her occupied, I headed to the fridge, pulling out ingredients and some meal prep containers. A yawn slipped through my mouth as I grabbed the apron hanging in the pantry and slid it on, getting into a rhythm I was used to.

It was lunchtime when Shannon emerged from the hallway, looking as gorgeous as ever in a pair of black leggings and a cropped AC/DC tee with a slit cut in the neck. The easy expression she wore in her sleep was gone, that same guarded look in her eyes back in place. She looked around the living room at Leena contentedly playing alone, then came to my side at the island.

“What are you making?”

“Lunch.” My knife slid through the last of the chicken breast I diced into bite-size pieces. “And some extras so you have food for the rest of the week.”

She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “What? Don’t trust me to feed your kid?”

I shook my head. “You said you don’t cook, so I’m taking care of you both before my schedule gets busier.”

“…Okay.”

“We can hire a chef or a meal service, if you’d rather.” I slid the last of the chicken pieces into a container, then put the lid on top. “But I don’t want to worry about you two while I’m at practice or appointments.”

“Because you think I’d burn the place down?”

I frowned, looking up at her. “I assumed you were exaggerating when you said that. But should I check the fire extinguisher’s expiration date just in case?”

She grinned, then pushed off the counter and took the containers of chicken, rice, and veggies from me. “No need to put 911 on speed dial for me, big guy. I promise I’ve got it. Thank you for this, though.”

I stared far too long at her ass in those leggings. Suddenly I was no longer dreading my first sports psychologist appointment later today because what was wrong with me?

“Leena!” Shannon called, and my daughter turned around to look at her. “Want some lunch?”

The moment Shannon held up the container she hadn’t put away yet, Leena dropped the toys she’d been playing with on the floor and came racing over to the kitchen. This was exactly what I’d wanted, but seeing Shannon scoop up my daughter and get her settled in the high chair filled me with a sense of inadequacy. This was my job, but I couldn’t do it alone.

“Plan,” I said, the word so loud and abrupt that Shannon jumped, then turned to look at me over her shoulder. “We need a plan.”

Shannon turned back to Leena. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Good.” I strode down the hall to the door across from the guest room and flipped on the light. A wide variety of exercise equipment filled the room, but I only needed the dry erase board. With one push, I lifted it off the nails holding it to the wall and carried it out to the kitchen.

Shannon and Leena watched as I set it on the island, then grabbed a wet paper towel to erase the workout I’d meticulously detailed on here.

“Your job.” I wrote her name on the top left side, then mine on the right. “When do you start?”

“Monday,” Shannon said, a hint of amusement in her voice that had me looking up. “A whiteboard?”

I focused back on the board, refusing to acknowledge how gorgeous she was like this. Casual, sleepy, a little rumpled. “I like order. To be in control.”

Rather than jab me about my overbearing personality, Shannon said, “Okay. Good to know. So this whole impulsive marriage thing is not your typical weekday?”

I huffed a laugh, then looked up at her smirking back at me. “First time.”

“Same.” She slid off her barstool by Leena, then held her hand out for the dry erase marker. “Pick your poison. To-do list? Calendar? Random list?”

“Events or appointments we need to work around, by day,” I said, then remembered to add, “Please.”

She bit the cap off the marker, then started scribbling under her name.

Monday