Chapter Twenty-Four
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When you have a child, you must be willing to adapt.
Leora
The bar is loud, crowded, and worryingly Wolfe-free.
I check my phone for the fourth time, tapping at the screen until I reach our message thread.
Leora: Be there in thirty.
Wolfe ?: Perfect. See you then.
Leora: Here a little early! Sterne’s booth is occupied, so I’ll wait at the bar.
And then nothing. Even though it’s been twenty minutes since I told him I was here, which was five minutes before our agreed upon time, but… That still makes this fifteen minutes past the time he was supposed to be down.
My worry grows, inflating in tandem with the seconds ticking by.
When my phone buzzes with a text, I pounce on it, almost dropping the device in my drink in my haste to check the notification.
Wolfe ?: Amia is having a rough night.
Wolfe ?: Sorry, I don’t think I’m going to be able to come down tonight.
Wolfe ?: Come up. The door to the right of the hallway leads to the stairwell. My door is the one on the right when you get upstairs.
Wolfe ?: The door is unlocked.
Uh…
Did he just invite me to his apartment?
No, I realize. He didn’t invite me. He demanded my presence and told me how to make it happen. He…
Stars, Rushing River Wolfe is out tonight.
Shooting stars take off in my belly, and my fingers shake slightly as I text him back.
Leora: You want me to come up? Are you sure? If you need to take care of Amia tonight, it’s no biggie. We can hang out a different time.
Typing bubbles pop up, then disappear, then come back.
Wolfe ?: We’ll take care of Amia together. Come here.
Oh. My. Stars.
I stare at the text for a while, marveling.
I’ve dreamt of him saying those exact words to me.
Eight of them, one contraction. In my dreams, they’re followed by three more words.
Altogether a total of eleven—a nice, prime number.
Or twelve if we un-contract a couple of words, but a dozen is nice, too.
I wait, breath bated, to see if the final three words to complete my fantasy will show up.
They do not, but something almost as good does.
Fox Blackwood.
“Come on,” he grumbles, tilting his head to indicate I should meet him at the end of the bar where an opening allows him to exit the back. “Wolfe wants you upstairs, and he said you’re waffling about it.”
“I’m not waffling,” I disagree. “I’m taking a moment to pinch myself.”
Fox’s stern get-yourself-to-my-brother-now-and-how-dare-you-keep-him-waiting look softens. “Ah,” he says, then immediately calls back his impatience. “You can pinch yourself on the way. Let’s go.”
He doesn’t wait for me to comply. He simply bends, grabs my arm, and drags me down the bar, forcing patrons to vacate their stools or get run over by me. “Sorry,” I tell Harry, a very nice man with a prominent silver tooth.
“Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” he replies, grinning. “Tell Wolfe I said ‘hello’!”
When we reach the end of the bar, Fox lifts my arm up so that he can flip up the counter and walk through.
Then, with a grunt, he leads me to the door to the upstairs and nudges me through it.
“Up the stairs, door to your right,” he reiterates Wolfe’s directions.
“After you’re done delivering Harry’s ‘hello’, give Amia a hug for me. ” He smirks. “And Wolfe a kiss.”
He laughs as he tips the door shut on my blushing face.
Stars. And I thought my Blackwood boy was a handful.
I ascend the stairs with careful, measured steps to match my breathing. By the time I reach the top, my heart rate has marginally calmed. When I catch sight of Wolfe’s door, though, it leaps right back up.
There’s nothing special about the door, really. It’s just a door, set into a wall, at the end of a flight of stairs tucked into the back of a bar. And on the other side lies Wolfe and his daughter, waiting for me—wanting me to come.
My text tone pings.
Wolfe ?: The door is unlocked. Stop standing in the hallway and get in here.
I cough, drop my phone into my tote, and stride the final few feet to the door. I twist the knob, and the door opens.
I step inside.
“Over here,” Wolfe calls lowly, drawing my attention to a long, blue couch.
He lies with Amia, cheeks wet but no longer crying, sprawled on his chest. His couch is deep enough that even with the breadth of his shoulders, they don’t seem cramped.
Something about the position makes me think they’ve laid like this before, more than once.
It’s comfortable and comforting, his large, strong hand on her back and his heartbeat beneath her ear.
Stars.
If my dad had ever been able to give me a moment like this, I would have never left him. If my dad had been a safe harbor on a dark night, I think I would’ve put up with anything to stay near him.
I’m not jealous of Amia. I’m happy for her, and my heart squishes at the knowledge that she gets to have this, a small piece of the everything that she deserves.
My squished heart also cracks a little, witnessing a piece of the everything that baby Leora never got to have.
The apartment beyond them, too, casts a bittersweet pall on my heart.
It’s clean, if not tidy. A craft project Amia had to abandon for bed sits at their dining room table.
A bright pink water bottle lies on its side on the counter.
A toy can be found on the floor here and there, near to the totes they’re clearly meant to be in but not quite reaching.
The coffee table holds a stack of Barbie books.
This apartment is theirs. It’s not just Wolfe’s, filled to the brim with his hobbies and interests while his daughter stays neatly tucked away in her designated areas.
She lives here, too. The posters on the wall are for movies only Wolfe would like, but they’re nestled between framed art created by Amia at various ages. She lives here. She takes up space.
And she’s treasured for it. I can taste it in the air. That girl is precious to him, in the mundane and in the profound.
“Some kids were telling scary stories at school today,” Wolfe says when I don’t move past the barrier of the entryway. “It’s making it difficult for Amia to get to sleep.”
I wipe my eyes, then frown. “Scary stories? Do eight-year-olds do that?”
Wolfe’s shoulders shrug. Apparently, they seem to say.
“They were really scary,” Amia sniffles. Then she lifts her arm, and she holds it out, and she says a series of words that create a maelstrom of feelings within me, ranging from shocked to honored to nervous. “Will you come cuddle with us, Miss Leora? It would really make me feel safer.”
I blink furiously. Stars, this girl has my heart, and she knows just how to squeeze it.
Wolfe flushes. “I don’t think that Miss Leora–”
“Of course,” I interrupt. No matter what nerves I may be experiencing, or what delicious discomfort such an act is sure to cause, the child wants a cuddle. And if the child wants a cuddle, the child will get a cuddle.
I drop my tote beside the door, kick off my sandals, and approach the couch.
After a little maneuvering to make sure my dress isn’t going to ride up and expose the shorts beneath, I’m able to press myself up to Wolfe’s side without fear of falling off the deep, soft cushion.
He wraps an arm around my waist, holding me steadily against him.
I tuck one of my arms against my chest, and the other I lay over Amia, just beneath his.
Amia sighs happily.
She wanted a cuddle, and she got a cuddle.
A sigh leaves my lips as well. Another piece of her everything, and I was able to give it to her.
We lie in silence for some time while Amia’s blinks become longer and longer. At some point, Wolfe turns the TV on to play an eight-hour video of children’s lullabies, and Amia’s next blink doesn’t end with open eyes. Three lullabies in, and her soft breaths bring with them gentle snores.
I tip my head up to meet Wolfe’s eyes, already on me. “We did it,” I whisper. “We chased away the scary.”
His eyes crinkle, and he whispers back. “We did.” Then, “I’m grateful you came up here. She was inconsolable until I said you were on your way. I know you didn’t have to help, but it’s appreciated that you did. You are appreciated.”
My next breath takes a minute to find its way into my lungs.
I drag my eyes away from Wolfe to his daughter and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
I wish I could kiss her little forehead—kiss away all of the terrors that lurk behind it.
I wish it so badly, I take a risk and lean up to press my lips gently against her skin.
I retreat quickly, watching to see if I disturbed her rest.
Her lips tip up as she slumbers, and she makes no other movements.
“I’d do anything for Amia,” I say quietly, returning my attention to Wolfe. “Joining the cuddle is hardly a difficult task.”
Wolfe’s gaze arrests me, so full of emotion I’m surprised he’s not choking on it.
Love, adoration, gratefulness… this is how he looks at Amia.
Like his whole heart is hers, and he would give his very soul away if she needed him to.
But there, deeper, is a spark that tells me this isn’t quite how he looks at his daughter.
There’s a level beyond love, adoration, and gratefulness that is distinctly masculine…
distinctly a man, looking at a woman, and wanting things that would make them both blush.
I gulp, unable to look away.
“Wolfe?” I murmur.
“Yeah?” he asks, half-lidded eyes roving my face. They run over my eyes, my forehead, my cheeks—my mouth.
I blink, slowly. “I want you to ask for what you want. Right now.”
His arm tightens at my waist. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I confirm, breathless. “Please.”
Warm breath coasts along my face when he sighs before asking softly, “Can I kiss you, Leora?”
I say yes.
He pulls me up, closer to him, and presses his lips softly to mine.
My belly alights with stars, shimmering as my heart thunders a song for them to dance to.
When his mouth leaves mine, it glides up to my nose, and he lays a kiss there as well, then my forehead, then the top of my hair as he tucks my head into his neck.
All I see is skin and all I smell is his scent and all I feel is the safety of being held in his arms beside his beautiful daughter. Two girls, protected and loved.
I close my eyes and relax, limbs shifting as I release the tension they hold.
One-handed, Wolfe grabs a blanket from the back of the couch and flicks it over us. “Could you stay?” he mutters. “Right here, like this?” He nuzzles my hair. “I really, really, really want you to stay, right here, like this. With us.” He sighs. “Just for tonight?”
When he asks so nicely, and my limbs are so heavy, and Amia’s snores are so sweet… how could I say no?
I kiss his neck, and his breath hitches, so I kiss it again.
“I’ll stay,” I murmur sleepily. Then I close my eyes, and I fall asleep on Wolfe Blackwood’s couch, tucked in his arms, where my quiet snores mingle with his daughter’s.