Chapter Nineteen-Remy
The Next Morning
Step one: don’t scare her.
Step two: make her breakfast.
Step three: let Callie win her over.
It’s barely six when I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her.
Andy sleeps like the dead—thank fuck for that—because the way she curled into me last night would’ve made it hard to untangle if she was half-conscious.
I smooth my side of the bed out of habit and self-preservation.
She doesn’t need to know I held her all night like she was something precious.
Even if she is.
I shower. Shave. Get dressed.
Then it’s on to the real boss of Operation Win Andy’s Heart: Callie.
She’s up and chirpy, her curls a mess and her voice full of giggles when she sees her outfit waiting—sparkle jeans and a hoodie with tiny wings on the back.
Wings she insisted give her flying powers. Who am I to argue?
“Do the shoes match the wings, Daddy?” she asks solemnly.
“They do,” I assure her, helping her into them. “Gold sparkles. Maximum flight potential.”
We’re halfway through breakfast when Andy walks in, still in pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes and looking like a dream I’m not supposed to touch anymore.
She freezes a little at the sight of us, but Callie saves the moment.
“Andy!” Callie shrieks happily, sliding off her chair and barreling across the kitchen.
Andy barely has time to brace herself before my little girl throws her arms around her waist and gives her the kind of hug that melts hearts.
Andy stumbles, then laughs, hugging her back automatically.
She’s helpless against Callie’s charm. I mean, who wouldn’t be?
But then Callie spots the coffee pot Andy’s going for and she gasps, offended.
“No! Princesses don’t drink that. We drink milk,” she declares, crossing her arms with the kind of sass only she can deliver with authority.
Andy blinks, then snorts. “You’re so right, Princess Callie. What was I thinking?”
She trades the mug for a glass of milk like it’s a royal decree, and I have to turn away so she doesn’t see me grinning like a goddamn fool.
She’s so good with her. And it’s not fake.
It’s effortless.
Which is dangerous.
And also, everything.
“I, um, have to go to work today,” Andy says after a moment, leaning on the counter like the sleep hasn’t totally left her system.
“Me too,” I say casually, sipping my own mug. “We can drive in together.”
She gives me a sideways glance, a little wary, a little unsure. “Okay. What about Callie?”
“She goes to preschool until four. Then the sitter picks her up and brings her back here until we get home.”
Andy frowns, and I hate that I see it. That flash of something like guilt or discomfort.
“Something wrong?” I ask carefully.
“No, I just—nothing.” She shakes her head, takes a sip of milk like it’s suddenly the answer to everything.
But I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking the same damn thing I am.
Because as much as I hate the idea of a stranger watching Callie every afternoon, I don’t have much of a choice.
I’m a working father now, and I have responsibilities that don’t end at my front door.
Unless? Unless maybe Andy wants the job.
Wants us.
Wants this.
I don’t say it. Not yet. But the idea plants itself like a seed I’m determined to water. Nurture. Grow into something that matters.
She might’ve come into this thinking she was the one making the choices.
But I’m a tactical operator with a plan now.
And Andrea Ramirez?
She’s my mission.
My woman.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
But she will.
“Here.”
I set the tray down in front of her, still warm from where I kept it covered on the stove.
Her eyes light up, and it’s like the sun cutting through storm clouds.
“Wow. Where’d you get all this?” she asks, already reaching for her fork and diving into the scrambled eggs and turkey bacon like she hasn’t eaten in days.
“Where?” I echo. “Here.”
Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth, and she blinks at me.
“Wait. You can cook?”
I arch a brow. “You sound surprised.”
She answers with her mouth full of rye toast slathered in grape jelly.
“I—”
“Andy, it’s not polite to talk with your mouth full,” Callie scolds primly from her little chair at the side table, mimicking her teacher’s voice.
Andy slaps her hand over her mouth and giggles. Giggles.
Like she isn’t driving me insane just by sitting there in one of her loose T-shirts, her hair loose, her belly softly rounding with my child.
“You are right again, Princess. Thank you for telling me,” she says sweetly, and winks at Callie.
My chest tightens.
Because, fuck me, the two of them together? It’s more than I deserve, but I want it anyway.
I want everything she is, everything she has to offer.
Callie beams, satisfied, then scuttles off to cram broken crayons and stuffed animals into her tiny backpack, muttering to herself like a little general preparing for war.
I take a sip of my coffee—too hot, scalding down my throat, but it barely registers.
My attention’s glued to Andy.
“How long do you need to get ready?” I ask casually.
Except there’s nothing casual about the way I can’t stop staring.
At the curve of her throat as she swallows.
At her lips shiny with jelly.
At the way her breasts push against the cotton fabric, heavier, fuller already with pregnancy.
The food I made for her.
The babies I put in her.
Christ. My cock’s hard as steel, and if I stand right now in these tactical pants, she’ll see exactly how gone I am for her.
So I don’t move.
I grip my mug instead, let the heat bite into my palms, and keep my eyes on her like she’s the only meal I want.
“Ten minutes,” she says lightly, then makes a face. “Ooh, make that fifteen. I forgot there’s more of me to wash these days. Not like there wasn’t plenty to wash before.”
Self-deprecating. Like she isn’t perfect.
I don’t laugh.
I narrow my eyes until she shifts in her chair, her shoulders twitching under my scrutiny.
“What?” she asks finally, reaching for her milk.
She drinks, but her hand trembles, and when she sets the cup down, a little mustache of white lingers above her lip.
God help me, I want to lean over and lick it off.
“Is everything okay?” I ask instead. My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
Her brows draw together. “What do you mean?”
“With the pregnancy,” I clarify, steady and firm.
“Oh, yes. I’m healthy as a horse.” She blinks, then nods.
“I’d like to go with you to the next appointment.”
“Okay. I have to see the doctor on Monday.”
“Good.” I call out to the other room, “Callie, we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
Andy pushes her chair back.
“I’ll be fast,” she murmurs, reaching for her plate.
I catch her wrist before she can take it.
“I got it. You get ready.”
She nods quickly, her wide eyes darting to mine—like she can’t quite decide if she’s scared of me, grateful for me, or just stunned that I keep doing these things for her.
Maybe all three.
And I’ll take it.
Because the truth is, every look, every sound, every heartbeat she gives me ties her tighter to me.
She disappears down the hall, and I stand at last, clearing our plates. My hard-on presses against my zipper, but I ignore it. For now.
There’s time for that later.
Right now? I’m playing the long game.
Because she’s not just my wife on paper. She’s mine in every way that counts.
And one way or another, Andrea Ramirez is going to love me the way I already love her.
I just hope I can be patient.