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Twelve
Sydney
Isat on the side of Everly’s bed, watching her stir until those big, beautiful eyes opened wide, a smile coming across her adorable face. “How’d you sleep, Miss Everly?”
“Syd!” She rubbed her eyes and pouted. “I woke up in the night, and you were gone.”
“I wanted to talk to your dad when he got home, so I went downstairs and”—I tickled her tummy—“fell asleep on the couch by accident.” I switched from tickles to rubs, my palm moving around in a slow circle. “And guess what. Your dad ate three cupcakes. Three! Can you believe it?”
“He’s a cupcake monster. Like a cookie monster, but with cupcakes.”
“Yes, he is.” I pushed her hair back, away from her face, the braid loosening overnight. Without the little wisps covering her cheeks, her freckles popped against her pale skin. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest freckles in the whole wide world?”
“Daddy has. He loves my freckles. He says a face with no freckles is like a sky without stars.” She grinned, wiggling until she sat up. “He says Mommy has freckles too.”
My heart began to pound.
This was the first time Everly had ever mentioned her mother. From Everly’s description, it sounded like she’d never seen her mother’s freckles in person.
Or maybe she just didn’t remember seeing them.
I didn’t want to push the subject, but I was so curious that I couldn’t help myself.
“Where’s Mommy now?”
She kicked off the blanket and looked at her hot-pink toes from the pedicure we’d gotten a few days ago.
“She wasn’t ready to be a mommy.” Her voice was quiet, solemn.
Where my heart had been beating so rapidly only moments ago, now, it was completely shattered.
I didn’t want to judge. I didn’t want to assume.
But what I did know was that her mother wasn’t here and she had no part in Everly’s current life.
And that made me so sad for Everly.
I held her little arm, massaging up to her shoulder, and when I reached her face, I cupped her tiny cheek. “Are you hungry, precious girl? How about we get dressed and have some breakfast?”
She nodded, her curls bouncing.
Before she’d woken up, I’d already picked out an outfit for her to wear, making it easy to change from her pajamas. After a quick brush of her hair and teeth, we walked downstairs, where her father was sitting in the kitchen with a giant cup of coffee in front of him.
“Daaaddy!”
The moment she reached the bottom of the staircase, she went running and climbed his leg until she was on his lap.
“Good morning, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head. “Your dad is pretty tired this morning, so that’s why Sydney got you dressed.”
“Is it from eating all the cupcakes?” She pointed to the counter. “You messy cupcake monster.”
“Wow,” Ford exhaled. “I guess I created quite the disaster, didn’t I?”
I hadn’t noticed the crumbs when I came in early this morning, but they were all over the island, where we’d been eating last night, bits of chocolate and sprinkles everywhere.
I grabbed the sponge and cleaned it off, and Ford mouthed, Thank you, when my eyes eventually connected with his.
Last night … oh God.
An evening that had triggered more than just a dirty counter.
There had been several moments in this kitchen and in the apartment over the garage when I was positive he was going to kiss me.
But the whole time, I stayed cool. I didn’t instigate.
I just acted like myself despite the war happening inside my body.
A war that was causing part of me to silently beg for his lips, the other part knowing it would make things look exactly like his crumb-covered island.
But that hadn’t stopped me from wishing.
Dreaming.
Envisioning.
“Can we have cupcakes for breakfast, Daddy?”
“I know you would love that,” he said into the top of her head, “and I would too, but no.” He took a drink of his coffee. “I’m sure Craig left us something. Hold tight. I’ll grab it—”
“I’ve got it,” I told him. “Don’t get up.” I set the sponge by the sink and went to the fridge to see what Craig had labeled for this morning.
A quick glance through the glass containers told me it was fruit, yogurt, granola, and a muffin.
Deliciously healthy. Nothing I would be craving if I was hungover. And I knew he was. His groan this morning when I’d first arrived and the way he was holding on to the coffeemaker for dear life told me he was feeling like shit.
I glanced over my shoulder. Their bodies were cuddled together. With Ford’s so much larger and broader than hers, he made her look even smaller than she was. And while his head was probably pounding, she was talking his ear off, showing him her pink nails and toes, describing the glitter they had used during the pedicure.
That was love.
I took a deep breath and said, “How about I whip up something super yummy?”
Ford slowly glanced at me. “Craig didn’t leave anything?”
“He did … but are you really in the mood for yogurt?”
He shook his head and winced. “No.”
I moved over to where they were sitting. The second I reached them, Everly took off my baseball hat, revealing my wet hair underneath, and put it on her head.
“What are you guys craving?” I asked.
