Chapter 17
Liv
The sun breaks through the cracks of the curtains like a spotlight shining in my eyes. I grumble, rolling over in hopes of finding sleep again. Then I open them again only to realize I’m alone in bed.
Hurt. Disappointment. My emotions run the gamut of betrayal.
Should I have expected it? I didn’t. I didn’t see it coming after how we ended our night.
Noah and I talked for an hour before we decided he should stay and sleep here.
What was I going to do? Kick him out? No.
We were on good terms, understanding where the other one was coming from, and made a new agreement to keep things the same for now.
Whether it’s right or wrong to have feelings when it comes to him, I wanted him to stay. I like his warmth. Fine . . . I roll my eyes at myself. I like him.
We didn’t make love again, choosing to talk until we fell asleep. It was so late that I started thinking the sun would rise before we closed our eyes, but the moon kept us company, the dark remaining a bit longer.
I’m surprised to find him gone so early. I look at the clock on my nightstand. 9:13 a.m. A sigh escapes only a second before—Oh my God!
My heart starts racing when I realize I overslept.
That’s not something I’ve done in more than a year.
I flip the covers off and jump to my feet.
Grabbing my robe, I swing my arms into the sleeves as I rush toward Maxwell’s room.
I don’t hear anything from inside, which exacerbates my anxiety.
Opening the door, I’m not greeted with the usual squeal and happiness, clappy hands and bouncing when he sees me.
My heart stops and drops to the pit of my stomach when I find the empty crib.
Noah.
I push off the doorframe and run into my bedroom to grab my phone. With the phone pressed to my ear, I listen to it ring as I pace the floor. “Hello?” he says as if all is well in the world. Not mine.
“Where is Maxwell?”
“He’s okay.” I swear to God he chuckles. “He’s eating.”
“What? No. No.” Oh God, what is he feeding my baby? “What is he eating?”
“Well, he requested a strawberry frosted cake donut, a large Americano, and a Denver omelet. It’s impressive. The kid can eat.”
“No,” I say unable to control my anger. I shove my hand high against the wall, ducking my head to say, “That’s not what he eats. Cassandra makes his food.”
He chuckles. “Not today.” He freaking laughs again.
I’m about to blow a blood vessel. “Noah, stop him. He can’t eat that.”
“Why not?”
“Because he eats pureed cantaloupe with a dash of beets for fun coloring and extra nutrition, a soft homemade oat bar with brown sugar and cinnamon, and a sippy cup of milk on Saturday mornings. And when Cassandra has time, she gets the peaches fresh from the peach truck on certain weekends. He loves peaches.”
“He looks to be loving donuts right now. Just sayin’.”
Donuts? I pace the floor, trying to cool my anger, but it reaches my cheeks, setting them on fire.
I rest the back of my hand on my forehead, trying not to think about the sugar coursing through Maxwell’s veins.
I could scream. Damn him. “Do you not understand? He’ll be bouncing off the walls.
” God, I could rip Noah Westcott apart right now.
I fist my hand, flex, fist, flex while squeezing my phone tightly in the other.
“What have you done? Where have you taken him?”
“You’re overreact—”
“Don’t you dare say it.” Knowing him the little I do, I bet it’s sitting on the tip of his tongue. “Noah,” I warn.
“Liv?”
He’s infuriating.
Irredeemable.
Downright cruel for pulling this stunt. “You took him when I was sleeping.”
“We’re in the—”
“How do you think that made me feel? And dammit . . .” He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Well, he can push my buttons all he wants, but he won’t win this round.
“You can’t just take him whenever and wherever you want, Noah.
” I move to the edge of the bed and sit to keep myself from flying off the handle. It’s not working.
“Calm down, Liv.”
“Nothing calms a woman down faster than being told to calm down,” I snap, sarcasm dripping from my lips. “Maxwell has a routine.”
He huffs. He freaking dares to huff like I’m the one in the wrong.
“I wanted to spend time with him. And believe it or not, I wanted to let you sleep in. I figured it’s been a while.
He’s great. Eating like a champ. We’re bonding.
Maybe this can be a new routine. Spending time with me on Saturday mornings. ”
“No.” Every word he says feels like another threat. I can’t lose my baby. “He doesn’t need a new routine. His routine is just fine.”
“What do you mean no? Listen—”
“No, you listen to me.” Bolting to my feet, I hold the phone in front of me as I stomp down the hall into the living room, ready to storm this city looking for my son. “Maxwell—”
“Maxwell what, Liv?” I look up from the phone to see Noah sitting at the dining table with Maxwell in front of him tucked in his high chair. My heart floods with a combination of relief and love for my son the second I lay eyes on him. Noah lowers the spoon and smiles. “Good morning, sunshine.”
Maxwell looks over his shoulder. When he sees me, he squeals with joy and starts kicking his feet. “Mamamama.”
As much as I love hearing him call my name, even in a funny way, rage grows for the man next to him.
“Are you kidding me right now? You were here all along?” I take a few steps, but the lump in my throat hasn’t cleared and my chest still feels full of congested emotions. “You scared the life out of me, Noah.”
“I’m sorry.” With a shrug, he cocks a grin. “I tried to tell you we were in the living room.”
My hand rests on my chest as I take in the sight before me, which is so unnatural to how most of my mornings begin. I try to calm down, but the upset is lingering. “I thought you took him.”
Disappointment craters his expression and sinks his shoulders. “So you said.”
Tears swell in my eyes, which I hate. I hate feeling in front of anyone, especially him. Vulnerable in ways that can make me shrink into myself if I’m not purposeful on stopping it from building.
Noah stands. “I’m really sorry, Liv.” This time, his tone holds no laughter, and I hear the depth of regret instead. The effort he’s making matters to me. I called him irredeemable, but he proves me wrong as I watch him sit with my son. Our son.
Does it fix it? No.
Does it make him redeemable? Probably . .
. definitely. And it makes me swoon because he’s taking responsibility.
“I panicked when I saw Maxwell wasn’t in his room.
My mind went to the worst place possible.
” Now I need to redeem myself for the distress I brought on myself.
“I’m sorry for assuming you would do that to me. ”
Noah watches me with a spoon for Maxwell in his hand. He lowers it along with his head. Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs. “I’m not sure what to say about that.” When he looks up again, he adds, “I said it last night, but it bears repeating. I won’t hurt you or Max. Not ever.”
Maxwell waves his arms in the air, and another delightful giggle escapes. I toss the phone on the couch and move in to give him a kiss. Maxwell, not Noah. Although Noah does make it hard to resist him sometimes. Especially when he says things like he just did. And how he looks. Like now.
How does he look so damn good on so few hours of sleep? His hair’s a mess but in that sexy just rolled out of bed and then walking the runway and hanging out on a yacht in the South of France hair.
My train of thought disappears down the track, and I’m left drooling over the man I was just arguing with.
Seeing him shirtless, sitting in his dress pants with bare feet.
. . . I fan myself. “Is it warm in here?” I say, playing it off while his incredible abs are on display, along with that billion-dollar smile that weakens my knees.
He's stupidly handsome, and his deep, dulcet tones shoot straight to my—“Liv?”
“Yeah?” I dumbly stare at him like he didn’t just catch me preoccupied with him in real time.
Typically, how I look in the morning is not something I concern myself with since I’m getting a sweet baby out of bed and feeding him, which almost always results in a mess on me. But mainly because it’s just Maxwell and me here alone, and he loves me as I am.
I still pull the scrunchie from my hair and wrap it around my wrist as if I can look even 10 percent as good as he does when I get out of bed. My hair was still damp when I put it up, so it’s wild with kinked curls and teased sections that patting with my hand has no real effect on taming.
Real sexy, I bet . . .
I cringe with a small eye roll, imagining he must be figuring out his exit plan after seeing me.
Noah is probably used to waking up next to supermodels or women who have trained themselves to sleep on their backs to avoid having any wrinkles form during the night.
That’s not a skill I’ve acquired. It’s one I’ve not even tried to achieve.
Touching my face, I can feel the line embedded in my skin from sleeping on top of a crumpled sheet.
Stop, Liv. This is the last thing I should be thinking about right now.
First, this is not about us or how he makes me feel things that no other man ever has.
Second, this is strictly about Maxwell and his safety.
Will Noah take care of him like I will?
The fear lingers, but it’s beginning to dissipate as I look at them together. Noah is caring for him. I didn’t ask him to. He’s doing it on his own.
When I bend down to kiss Maxwell this time, my hair falls like a curtain over his face, tickling him and making him giggle. The sound brightens my heart, reminding me how fortunate I am to have this little guy in my life.
Needing caffeine, I move around Noah to go into the kitchen. “Coffee?” I offer, dragging my hand over his tanned shoulder as I pass. Selfishly, I want to connect with him physically as well as whatever else we’re doing here, which looks a lot like playing house.
Should I be worried that we’re falling into a family so easily? Maybe. Or maybe the energy I already expended turned out to be a false alarm that keeps my brain from working overtime now.
Noah scoops another bite from the container and tries to feed Maxwell, but he’s not having it. I rub the top of Maxwell’s head, and say, “He likes to try to feed himself.”
“Ah.” Noah hands the baby the spoon, which he promptly throws to the ground, and the little bowl bounces on the tray, spilling the food everywhere, including on Noah. With the red oats streaked across his chin and chest, his smirk disappears. “That didn’t work out.”
I could offer him a towel or get the supplies to clean, but he seems set on handling this himself. I grab a mug from the counter before starting the coffee machine. “You didn’t really feed him donuts, right?”
When I turn around, he catches me—hands on my hips, eyes locked on mine, a smirk that makes me wish it were Maxwell’s naptime.
God, that makes me feel like a horrible mother.
It’s just been so long since I felt desired by a man who appreciates curves not in all the “right” places.
I’ve come to terms with fuller hips and a belly that’s no longer flat.
I’ve even come to appreciate those attributes because I got Maxwell out of the deal.
But Noah is a real-life Adonis. To see him look at me like I’m about to be his breakfast, my entire body feels the heat of that stare.
He glances over his shoulder at a messy Maxwell who is perfectly content licking the bowl and then turns back to me. “Nope. No omelets either. Not even coffee, for that matter.” He chuckles. “But he loves whatever that stuff is.”
I want to laugh that he just got played by a fourteen-month-old. I’m doing something right. “Because it’s dessert. A cherry crumble. I bet you let him choose.”
“No wonder he picked that container. Smart kid.”
I can’t help but laugh. “He knew what he was doing.” The smell of coffee wafts through the air as I wait for the machine to finish brewing. “What time did you get up?”
“When I heard Max. It was around seven fifteen.”
“Seven fifteen? We didn’t go to bed until after five.” I find myself leaning in, our voices lowering to whispers between us. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m doing okay. You seemed like you needed the rest more than I did.”
It’s so hard to keep my hands to myself when he’s near, so I don’t. Sliding my palms over his shoulders. I say, “You got a little something all over you.” I can’t stop myself from laughing.
“Oh yeah?”
I grin. “Yeah.”
“What should we do about it?”
Maxwell screams, causing Noah and I to part like our parents just walked in on us.
Noah goes to him without hesitation. As much as I find that wholly endearing, this Mama needs some attention too.
I giggle but pour myself a cup of coffee, hoping this will help me focus on the situation at hand instead of how many hours we have until naptime because nine thirty is way too soon for a nap .
. . or for us to have some grown-up time together.
Adulting is hard sometimes. Holy wow! Like now.
With Maxwell anchored in Noah’s arms, I set down the mug before I drop it. A new fantasy has been unlocked—the hot dad. Good lord, this man!
While I stand there like the sight of him does not impregnate me, he tilts his head and laughs.
“Eyes up here, babe.” My gaze shoots up to see Noah’s smug face, cheek to cheek with my favorite little face of all time.
“I’m going to get us cleaned up.” Popping his bicep for me, he adds, “But don’t worry.
I’ll make sure to take care of you later today. ”
“Promise?”
He winks. “I guaran-fucking-tee it.”
And I’m dead.
A pile of swooning mush of emotions is all that remains where I once existed. There’s no way in heaven I’m going to survive co-parenting with this man if all he’s going to make me want to do is throw caution to the wind every time we’re together.
Taking a sip of coffee, I lean back on the counter, watching him walk away, and grinning like a fool because I’m okay with this arrangement. Technically, more than okay.
Here’s to Daddy Westcott.