Chapter 12 River
River
Nora’s completely sacked out on my chest, one arm flung across my ribs like I’m her personal stuffed animal. Her lips are parted slightly, and her fingers twist in the fabric of my sweater.
I should probably get her to bed before Callie walks through the door. I want to make things as easy as possible for her.
But I don’t move a muscle.
Instead, I remain in the armchair, content to have this little girl snoring in my arms. There’s something comforting about the warmth of her body.
The trust that had filled her face when she stared at me with eyes the exact shade as her mother’s.
She could have asked me for a pony, and I would’ve wanted to know what color she had in mind.
I’m knocked from those thoughts when the front door clicks open and Callie walks in.
For just a second, I eat her up with my eyes.
All right, let’s be real.
It’s for way more than a second.
Anytime this woman is near, I find myself forgetting about everything else going on.
It’s a relief that she looks the same as when she left earlier. Gorgeous, calm, and pulled together. She shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it on the hook before bending to unfasten her shoes one at a time.
That shouldn’t be so sexy.
Our gazes cling as she closes the space that separates us until she’s no more than a foot away.
“I take it the meeting went well?” I ask, refusing to call it a date.
“It did. He agreed to carry my desserts.”
“That’s great,” I say, meaning it. “I’m happy for you.”
I brace myself as she leans in to pick up Nora. Her scent hits me first. It’s something light and floral. It’s unfair just how quickly it goes straight to my head. I inhale a lungful of her before I can stop myself.
Her eyes widen as they dart to mine, and we freeze for a beat.
Maybe less.
But it’s enough to leave me reeling.
Nora stirs, and Callie pulls back, as if she touched a live wire, before easily adjusting her daughter in her arms. It’s almost like Nora is an extension of her own body. Watching them together makes something inside me ache.
Without a word, she disappears down the hall. I give it a couple of minutes before trailing after her. I find Callie standing over Nora’s crib, arms folded, watching her daughter sleep, as if she’s trying to take in the moment.
She startles when I step beside her.
“Just in case you were wondering, she was really good for me,” I whisper, not wanting to wake the little girl.
A smile lifts the corners of Callie’s lips. It’s not an expression I’m used to seeing. Especially aimed in my direction. “I’m glad. I was kind of worried. She’s always with me or my parents. I thought she might cry the whole time I was gone.”
I shake my head, only wanting to give her reassurance. “Nope. She was great.” My brow furrows as I stare at the toddler. “She looks like she’s outgrown her crib.”
Callie huffs out a tired laugh. “Yeah, I know. I need to move her into something bigger.”
The words are simple, but they land heavy.
I wonder if it’s the money.
Or the time.
Or maybe everything that’s weighing on her all at once.
“We could do it this weekend,” I suggest.
Her head jerks toward me. “What?”
“I’ve got some time. And a truck. We could go and pick something out, then I can put it together for her.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
It would be impossible to miss the confusion that flares to life in her brown eyes.
“I want to,” I say, stepping a little closer.
When she remains silent, I add, “Remember when we had a conversation the other day about how it’s okay to accept help every once in a while? This would be one of those times.”
Her shoulders fall just a bit as she glances away. “There hasn’t been anyone to help in a long time.”
I lift my hand, gently slipping my fingers beneath her chin. Her skin is so damn smooth, and warmer than I expected. It’s almost a surprise when she doesn’t fight me as I tilt her face toward mine.
“I know,” I murmur. “And I’m sorry about that. If you’ll let me, I’d like to help.”
She studies me in silence for a handful of moments.
Even with the dim lighting, I see all the emotions that jockey for position in her eyes.
Both her pride and fear. The never-ending exhaustion of being a single parent and running a business without anyone to support her.
And maybe the flicker of something she doesn’t want to admit.
To herself or me.
“Fine,” she whispers.
I don’t move.
Or speak.
I just stand beside her, close enough to catch the rise and fall of her chest.
And in the quiet that follows, something delicate settles between us.
Something that feels dangerously close to a softening I didn’t think was possible.