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Jesus, he couldn’t seem to get anything right today. She got up and padded toward him. Before Greyson knew what she intended, she deposited Clara into his unprepared arms. He clutched at the baby, terrified of dropping her, and Clara immediately began to fret in his tight hold.
“What are you doing?” he asked on an urgent whisper. “She’s going to cry again.”
“I’ll be busy in the kitchen, and it’s your job to entertain her. She likes peekaboo, tickles, and tummy raspberries. And she always likes being swooped.”
“Swooped?” he asked, forcing the word past his suddenly dry and closed-up throat.
“You know? When you lift her above your head and then kind of lower her a bit faster?” She demonstrated with an up-and-down motion of her hands, accompanying the gesture with a whooshing sound. Clara stopped fretting and chuckled at her mother’s actions. Olivia grinned and, wrapping her hands around Greyson’s forearm, leaned in to kiss the baby’s adorable nose.
“You like that, don’t you, Clara girl?” Olivia looked up at Greyson, still touching his bare arm. He was excruciatingly aware of her soft hands on his skin, but she didn’t seem as affected. Instead she was smiling at him. A sweet, unforced, genuinely warm smile, filled with all the love and affection she felt for Clara.
God, she could move mountains with that smile.
“Just play with her, Greyson. You’ll both be fine.”
“What if I drop her?” he asked, panicking when she removed her hands from his arm and turned away. He felt abandoned, even though she was still in the same room.
She looked at him over her shoulder, responding to the frantic question with just one word. “Don’t.”
Greyson’s eyes dropped to Clara, who was staring at him with wide blue eyes. Her rosebud mouth puckered into a pout, and her eyes filled.
Shit.
He loosened his tight hold on her and forced a smile. The movement of his lips temporarily stopped the onslaught of tears, and her head tilted in the same quizzical way her mother’s often did. The familiar gesture in this brand-new little person delighted him, and his smile widened.
Her arms thrashed, her legs kicked, and she cooed. Returning his smile with a gorgeous one of her own. Gummy and drooly and perfect.
He exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he whispered, his words for her ears only. “Okay, honey. We’ve got this, right? You’re going to be a good girl for your daddy, right?”
More cooing and smiling.
“God, you’re so perfect,” he said, still keeping his voice down. An emotional lump formed in his throat. His eyes burned as he gazed down into the face of the child he had so carelessly and callously tossed aside. He had nearly lost her. Could still lose her . . . but he had this moment. So generously gifted to him by a woman who had every right to hate him.
“I love you, Clara,” he whispered and kissed her soft cheek, his nose nuzzling the powder-scented silky black curls at her temple. “I love you so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. Daddy’s so sorry.”
Libby watched him covertly, not wanting him to feel like he was under scrutiny. She wanted his interaction with Clara to be as natural as possible. After a few moments of just holding the baby and cuddling her close—whispering words meant only for her uncomprehending ears—he gingerly made his way to the comforter on the floor. He kicked off his trainers before padding to the center of the comforter and sinking into a cross-legged sitting position. They made quite a picture, the big, bare-chested man, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and socks, holding the tiny, curly-haired little girl so protectively close to his chest.
He slipped his hands around her torso, his big palms folding around her back, and lifted her until he had her dangling at eye level in front of him. Clara kicked happily, her arms waving as she blew spit bubbles and charmed her father with her smile. He grinned back and dropped an affectionate peck on her wet mouth before blowing raspberries into her cheek and neck. Clara rewarded him with a squeal and high-pitched giggles, prompting him to do it again and again.
Satisfied that they were okay for now, Libby left them to it and bustled around the kitchen getting their lunch ready.
When she looked up again, Greyson was flat on his back with Clara held straight above his face. The baby squealed and tried to grab his hair, but he lifted her until she couldn’t reach, and she kicked and squealed even louder. Until he lowered her again, and she made another grab for him. That continued for a while, and Libby was openly smiling at their antics. She didn’t once fear for Clara; the baby was absolutely safe in those large, strong hands.
Libby started on the salad and vegetables, and by the time lunch was done, she realized that it had gone quiet. She looked up, and her heart stuttered in her chest.
