Page 44 of The Secrets We Built Together

"I saved you a cookie," he said, gesturing to the plate on the coffee table. The last chocolate chip cookie sat there, deliberately left for me.

Such a small thing, and yet it made my chest ache. When was the last time someone had saved me the last cookie? When was the last time anyone had thought about what I might want before I even knew I wanted it?

I crossed the room and sat beside him, careful to leave enough space between us. I broke the cookie in half, offering him a piece.

"I can't take your cookie," he protested.

"It's called sharing, Farrington. Besides, you've earned it."

He took the offered half, his fingers brushing mine in a way that sent a current through my entire body. This was ridiculous. We were two adults sharing a cookie, not teenagers fumbling in the backseat of a car. And yet my pulse raced like we were doing something far more intimate.

"So," I said, clearing my throat. "About before—"

The baby monitor crackled to life again, Amelia's distinct cry cutting through the static. I was on my feet before I'd even finished the sentence, relieved and disappointed in equal measure at the interruption.

"I've got her," Xander said, already standing. "You just got comfortable."

"No, it's fine. She might need to be fed."

Our eyes met, and I saw the same conflicted emotions I was feeling reflected back at me. He nodded, sinking back onto the couch as I headed down the hall.

In the nursery, Amelia was fully awake now, her cries turning indignant as I lifted her from the crib.

"Hey, sweetheart," I whispered, holding her close. "Bad dream?"

She nestled against my shoulder, her tiny body warm and trusting. This was what mattered. Not the way my skin still tingled from the shower heat—or from the memory of Xander's eyes on me. Not the ache in my chest when he'd pulled away before anything happened.

This little girl who needed me to be strong and steady. Who needed a home and a family that wouldn't abandon her like my sister had abandoned us both.

I changed her diaper and settled onto the edge of bed beside the window, looking out at the stars scattered across the clear spring sky. Amelia's weight was comforting against me, her breathing slowly evening out as I rocked back and forth, humming softly.

I couldn't afford to complicate things with Xander. Couldn't risk the stability we'd created for Amelia on whatever this tension was between us. We had a good thing going—a system that worked.

But as I sat there, Amelia's warm weight against my chest, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering to the what-ifs. What if Amelia hadn't cried just then? What if I'd closed that final distance between us? What if I'd been brave enough to tell him that this didn't feel like pretending?

Amelia's soft snores pulled me back from the edge of that particular cliff. I looked down at her peaceful face, struck again by how perfectly she fit in my arms. How natural it felt to be her mother, even though I'd never planned for any of this.

Maybe that was the hardest part of all this. Nothing in my life had gone according to plan lately, and somehow, in the midst ofall the chaos, the one thing that made the most sense was the very thing I was most afraid to reach for.

I carefully placed Amelia back in her crib, tucking her blanket around her. My fingers lingered on the handmade fabric, tracing the pattern that had become so familiar. The blanket that had arrived with her that first night—the only thing Madison had left her daughter besides a hastily scrawled note and a lifetime of questions.

I wouldn't be like my sister. I wouldn't walk away when things got complicated or scary. I'd made a promise to this little girl, and I intended to keep it.

Even if that meant keeping Xander at arm's length.

Even if that meant ignoring the way my heart raced every time he smiled at me across the breakfast table. The way his laugh made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as broken as I thought I was.

I tiptoed out of the bedroom, expecting to find the living room empty. Instead, Xander was leaning against the wall in the hallway, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"Is she okay?" he asked softly.

I nodded, suddenly aware that I was standing too close to him in the narrow hallway. "Just needed a change and some cuddles."

"You're good with her."

"So are you."

We stood there, neither of us moving, the silence stretching between us like a living thing. I could feel his warmth, could smell the faint scent of his soap mixed with the chocolate from the cookie.

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