Page 41 of Stealing Forever

With wide eyes, I look over at him. I’m at a loss for words—she’s never called me Mama before.

There’s shock across his features, too.

My brain flips rapidly through everything I’ve learned in the last several years of child development classes. Would it be beneficial to correct her? Would she feel shame from it? I can’t remember, and I’m growing more nervous by the second, wondering what’s going through Declan’s head, but he’s as silent as I am. Finally—although it’s probably only been less than a minute—I decide to gently correct her. “Sailor, I’m not?—”

Declan cuts me off. “We can go there, Sail. Maybe later.”

He doesn’t correct her. Doesn’t remind her that I’m not her mama, I’m her nanny. He just looks at me so intensely, I feel the heat rise in my cheeks for the umpteenth time.

I’m never not blushing when I’m around this man, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but not correcting this has me wondering if he’s considering more between us.

The thought has my pulse racing—another thing that happens frequently around Declan Lane.

“I want to go now,” Sailor whines. Stomping her foot, she crosses her arms and worries her bottom lip. Tears line her eyes, and I glance down at my watch—as I suspected, it’s past the time when she usually naps.

Scooping her into my arms, I take her over to the bed and gently lay her down in the middle. Taking her shoes off, I tell her, “Your dad has to work later, so when he goes to the stadium, you and I will walk down to the ocean, okay? We can find a treat too, but first, time to rest your body. You don’t have to sleep, but we need to have a calm body for a little bit.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

Declan pulls Snug-Bug out of her backpack and tosses it to me, grinning when I reach out and catch it without hesitation.

Making kissy noises, I make Snug-Bug smooch Sailor’s cheeks, nose, and forehead before settling it in her arms.

Pushing her thumb between her lips, she turns onto her side and waits for me to give her light tickles against her back.

While I soothe her to sleep, I can feel Declan watching me, but I focus on Sailor instead of turning to face him.

A million questions wander through my mind, but they’re not all questions directed at him. Instead, I’m asking myself some questions, too.

Sailor referring to me as Mama is not entirely unexpected. It’s not unusual for a child to refer to a maternal figure in their life, such as a caregiver or a teacher, as Mama. It happens all the time in childcare and preschool, whether the child sees that person in their life as a motherly figure or if they simply get confused.

What has me rattled isn’t Sailor calling me Mama, it’s Declan’s reaction—or lack thereof.

Maybe he was just processing it. Or maybe he was afraid of how I’d react and was waiting to see.

But ultimately the question that burns brightly through my thoughts as Declan unpacks his and Sailor’s suitcase, and I lay here rubbing her back and pretending he isn’t in the room, has nothing to do with his reaction, and everything to do with mine.

If things were to change between Declan and I, would I be ready to be a mother to this little girl?

Because there would be no in-between. Sailor doesn’t deserve another woman walking out of her life, and I would never do that to her.

This is a jump right into the deep end and learn to swim situation, but I can’t see the bottom.

What scares me isn’t the commitment crossing that threshold with Declan would bring.

It’s that deep in my heart and soul, I already know without a shadow of a doubt that I would dive right in.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It’s early evening when I get back to the hotel room after meeting with the team, and my stomach is turning sour from how hungry I am.

It’s quiet when I walk into the suite. The lights are off, and as I remove my shoes and kick them over by the bed, I realize the soft noise I’m hearing is the faucet in the bathroom.

Approaching the cracked door, I rap my knuckles against it. “Hello?”

“Daddy!” Sailor’s voice squeals, and as I push open the door, I find her covered in bubbles in the bathtub. They’re piled on her head, hanging from her chin like a beard, and covering her body from her collarbone down.

Next to her, Hailey is on her knees on the floor with a bar of soap in one hand and washcloth in the other. Water runs down her wrists to her elbows, and she’s somehow ended up with remnants of bubbles in her hair.

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