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Asher cradled Harper and fed her a bottle, though she’d mastered the skill of holding one on her own a few days before. He didn’t want to consider that he might be hiding behind a six-month-old rather than to explain what he’d said to Willow. As if he could interpret his intense reaction to seeing the deep connection between the nursing mother and her child. He’d already retreated to the coffee creamer bar with its tiny microwave oven to avoid her questions.
He brushed back Harper’s silky hair. How could he explain that even in the nursery, where he’d packed every piece of equipment a baby could ever need or want, he still worried he was failing to give his child everything she deserved? Like a mother to love and comfort her as Willow had been doing for Luna.
“She must have been hungry.”
Willow pointed to the eight-ounce bottle that was already half-empty.
“Guess so.”
Asher propped Harper up and pulled the bottle away so she could burp; his daughter could do that for herself now, too. Willow deftly moved Luna from one breast to the other. It would have been a seamless switch if the baby hadn’t grabbed the blanket and taken it with her, exposing a patch of her mother’s bare skin in the process.
Probably just her rib cage, but nonetheless, Asher couldn’t help but to gawk. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a prepubescent kid getting his first peek at internet porn. He was a father, for goodness’ sake. And Willow was a mother, merely feeding her child. The least he could do was to see her as a Madonna figure and have the good sense to know that she was hands-off for him. She’d certainly had good reasons she might not want anything to do with him, or at least his family.
“Oops.” Willow chuckled, her complexion reddening, as she readjusted the blanket and her daughter’s squirming form. “She’s getting too wiggly lately in public. Guess I’ll have to start carrying backup bottles of frozen milk with the baby food I’ve been introducing.”
“She’s a lucky girl to have had her mother around to give her such a good start by breastfeeding.”
Why did he keep saying stuff like that to Willow? Wasn’t his dumb comment about him taking Luna away from the mother she’d bonded with bad enough? She was a stranger, yet he’d already admitted that he didn’t suspect her for the attack on his father, though he hadn’t ruled out his own siblings at first. He’d nearly told her he wasn’t confident in his abilities as a single dad. He’d never admitted his insecurities to anyone, not even the twins, Marlowe and Callum. Now he was all but posting them for Willow on the coffee shop’s chalkboard menu, between words like cappuccino and macchiato.
“You said that Harper’s mother had passed. Was it during childbirth?”
He scoffed. “I know. It’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but Nora Wheeler’s departure wasn’t that noble. She took off a few days after I brought them home from the hospital.”
“Wasn’t the mansion up to her standards?” She raised a hand, as if to hold off his response. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
He frowned but continued anyway. “Worse. Said she didn’t want to be trapped in a small town with me. And she didn’t want to be a mother.”
“A little late for that.”
Luna popped her head out from beneath the blanket, finished eating, but this time Willow caught the cloth. She rearranged her clothes and tucked the blanket in her diaper bag.
“I thought it was pretty late, too.” He set Harper’s empty bottle on the table and rested her against his chest so she could nap if she was ready.
“Were you surprised by her sudden change of heart?”
“Now that I think about it, not really. She was always a party girl. I hate to admit it, but I used to like that about her. I used to have my share of adventures, too.”
“Adventures?”
The word must have left a foul taste in Willow’s mouth from the way she repeated it.
“But when she got pregnant, I did the stand-up thing. I even proposed, though she said we should wait. I still thought we were both on board for the rest.”
Asher didn’t know what was worse, the annoyance he’d read in her expression earlier, or the pity that replaced it. He lowered his gaze and tried to ignore the discomfort in his gut. Like that familiar drop in a moving elevator, his stomach took its time to catch up on the ride.
“Do you know where she went, you know, before?”
“LA. But I got the best end of the bargain.” He tickled Harper’s ribs, and she giggled with that bubbly sound he wished he could bottle.
“How did she...?”
“Viral meningitis. Her mother told me she caught it at a rave or something.”
He held his shoulder blades against the chair back and stared at his hands. Why had he shared so many details? He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.” Then after a few seconds, she added, “Do you ever worry you won’t be able to do all of this without her?”
“Hell no.”
