Page 48 of Wildflower and Whiskey
“Enjoy your night, lovebirds.” Dominic winked playfully.
Phoenix scowled and I laughed. It all felt so normal and comfortable that I was trying not to freak out because, for the first time in my life, things felt stable.
By six the loft smelled like simmering tomatoes, basil, and garlic. I’d gone all in and made a pasta from scratch, sauce like my mother used to make on Sunday nights, and garlic bread to soak it all up. Braden was freshly bathed, tucked into his pajamas, happily gnawing on his plastic chew toy in the high chair while I stirred the pot.
The knock on the door startled me. When I opened it, Phoenix stood there with a massive cardboard box in his arms that nearly hid his face.
“What is that?” I asked, stepping aside.
“Move,” he grunted, carrying it inside like it weighed nothing. He set it down in the middle of the floor, dusted off his hands, and grinned. “Kid needs a real bed. Not a playpen.”
I blinked at the box. “That’s a crib.”
“Yup.” He crouched, tearing the tape with his bare hands. “Figured we’d build it after dinner.”
Warmth spread through me so fast it almost hurt. “You just… thought of that?”
He shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “Don’t worry, I got him something that meets all the safety requirements.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. This was Phoenix Thorne, he was grumpy, stubborn, never saying more than he had to, and he just admitted to reading about babies because of me. Because of my son.
“You’re impossible,” I whispered, blinking hard.
“Yeah, but I’m useful,” he said, flashing a grin that melted me on the spot.
I got back to cooking and Phoenix got the cardboard box and mattress situated off to the side, since Braden was busy crawling all over the loft.
When I heard him blowing raspberries, I stopped frozen. This big burly man with a heart of gold was on the floor making funny sounds, and my son was eating it up and giggling. It did something to my heart and made me feel a longing I didn’t understand. My own father was never attentive. He didn’t do much in the department of raising Luc and me. A proper father figure was something I was missing from my life. Yet, I desperately wanted Braden to have that in his life. Maybe that’s why I kept Riley around for so long. I believed he would change for his son. He held a good job, he was educated, he just didn’t have any manners, and he had some very bad habits. I blinked and took a deep breath.
“Be still my heart,” I muttered under my breath.
With dinner ready, I called Phoenix to the table and he picked up Braden and struggled a little to get him in his high chair, but then he figured it out. I loved watching those two together. Phoenix wasn’t smooth by any means but he wasdefinitely eager to please my son, and Braden was eating up the attention from him.
Dinner was better than I expected. Phoenix sat beside me at the kitchen table, Braden was babbling from his high chair. Phoenix continued to make funny faces and blow raspberries, and Braden was giggling so hard his cheeks went red.
“This is delicious,” Phoenix said around a mouthful of pasta.
“You sound surprised.”
“Not surprised,” he corrected, smirking. “Impressed.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t fight the smile.
By the time dishes were stacked in the sink, the loft felt cozy. It felt like a home, and I realized how I’d never had this feeling before.
Phoenix rolled up his sleeves and nodded toward the box. “Let’s build this thing.”
We worked side by side on the floor while Braden gurgled on a blanket nearby. Phoenix did the heavy lifting; I read the instructions and handed him screws. We bumped shoulders more times than necessary, and each time, he smirked like he knew exactly what he was doing.
When the crib finally stood upright, Phoenix bent down and scooped Braden into his arms. My son yawned big and floppy, already half asleep. Phoenix tucked him gently into the crib, adjusting the blanket with careful hands.
“He looks comfortable,” Phoenix murmured. It felt like he wasn’t only talking about the crib.
My throat tightened. “Yeah. He does.”
We stood side by side, watching my son sleep peacefully in the crib Phoenix had built with his own hands. And in that moment, I knew the truth I’d been avoiding, Phoenix wasn’t just in my bed anymore. He was in my life.
Later, when the loft was quiet, I poured us each a glass of wine. Phoenix leaned back on the futon, watching me with thosedark brown coffee eyes that always saw more than I wanted him to.
