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Nodding sleepily, I snuggle into the warmth of the nest we’ve created in our bed, listening through the monitor as Daniel talks to our little boy. “Well now, good morning, big guy. You up with the sun this morning?”
Almost immediately, the cries turn to happy coos.
“Well, Daddy loves you too, but first . . . yup, time for a fresh one,” Daniel says, and I faintly hear the sound of Velcro and then the sound of a plastic lid opening then closing. “There we go. All fresh and clean. You want to go see Mommy?”
A moment later, my two guys appear in the doorway. Daniel smiles, his teeth flashing white amid the scruff of his beard. I used to be most attracted to him when he was slick and shined up, in fancy suits and comfortable in his power. That confident swagger called to me.
But seeing Daniel with our son, singing silly songs and pretending to nibble his toes, wearing well-earned wrinkles proudly and falling into bed with me with nothing on the to-do list but being together is the sexiest thing I could ever imagine.
It makes every moment more precious. We curl up on our sides, our feet intertwined, with the baby between us.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I tell my little guy. He kicks his feet, smiling a toothless smile and reaching for me. I hold out a finger, and he wraps his chubby little fingers around it, holding on to me. “Ooh, so strong. You get that from your daddy?”
Daniel chuckles. “More likely, his mama.”
“Charmer,” I tease, though I’m smiling.
“Just telling the truth. You’re amazing, Tiffany.”
I look up to meet his gaze, where the depth of his devotion to our family is clear to see. He’s watching me as I watch our baby.
I reach out, taking his hand. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
We lock eyes, smiling stupidly at our good fortune. I have everything I ever wanted and more. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I close my eyes to catch a little more sleep before the alarm has us start the day, but in the distance, a repetitive beep interrupts my attempts to wring a few more minutes of shuteye out of the gray dawn.
“What is that?” I ask, annoyed at the disruption.
Daniel shrugs, continuing to play with the baby. “Ignore it.”
I try, but it’s too intrusive. I sit up, looking around to find the source of the offending sound. “Stay here. I need to see what that is.”
I get up, searching around the room, but I don’t find anything. I open the curtains and fall back, my hands going over my eyes as a bright, white light streams through the glass, blinding me. I hiss as I squint sharply.
“Daniel . . . Daniel!”
“Tiffany?” Daniel asks, and I feel a soft shaking on my shoulder. “Wake up, baby girl. Wake up.” His voice gets stronger, more commanding. “Open those pretty eyes for me, Tiffany.”
“Daniel?” I try to blink, but my eyelids are so heavy. Slowly, I force them open and look around. Daniel is sitting in a chair beside me, his frown making the laugh lines around his mouth more prominent and his eyes filled with steel. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital,” he says, his face relaxing, and I realize that he’s not so much angry at me as worried for me. “You passed out at the wedding.”
I sit bolt upright, my brain sort of kicking into gear again. “The wedding!”
But I hiss sharply at the sudden movement and my own loud voice. I feel like I’ve got a hangover, one worse than any Donut Bliss Buzz times a thousand. Everything is too much—the light, the sounds, my blood racing through my veins.
Daniel runs a soothing hand along my shoulder, encouraging me to lie back. “Relax. Just relax. Your body’s dealing with a lot.”
Slowly, I settle back into the scratchy sheets and flat pillow, becoming aware of the antiseptic smell assaulting me as I try to breathe deeply. I echo Daniel’s words even though they don’t truly register. “I passed out at the wedding? I’m in the hospital?”
Daniel nods and pours me a cup of water with a straw. “Yes. How do you feel?”
I do a mental check of myself. “My head hurts.”
“That’s to be expected,” Daniel says. “At least that’s what the docs said. And you hit your head on the floor when you went down. Scared the shit out of me.”
I can hear the fear still threaded through his words.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, automatically trying to reassure him though I don’t know that for sure.
“Let’s leave that to the doctors. Let me call them.”
He pushes the button on the side of the bed, and another beep sounds out. This one is different, and I realize the one that woke me up from the dream is the heart rate monitor beeping softly.
