Page 74 of Reckless
Maybe they’re up already? That’s what I tell myself as I walk toward the nursery, forcing myself to take calm, even steps. Panicking is never the answer. I never feel better or think clearer when I panic.
I push it all down, wrap my hand around the doorknob, and peek into the room while telling myself everything is fine.
And it is. Except for the fact that I can’t breathe again.
Because it seems Theo did, in fact, reach his parenting breaking point. But of course, it had to be the most precious, heart-twisting, ovary-bursting breaking point in the world.
God. I fucking hate Theo Silva.
I move into the room to get a closer look and can’t keep from smiling.
Theo is asleepinsidethe crib. His muscular frame curls around the little girl tucked tightly into the crook of his arm with a peaceful, pleased expression on her face.
And who could blame her? She’s known her dad for all of a couple of weeks, and she’s got him wrapped around her little finger. He risked it all to test the weight limits of her crib and looks stupidly delicious doing it.
I wish I didn’t feel such a powerful attraction to Theo, but he makes it really, really hard. All that mussed dark hair, the dark lashes fanned down in a thick fringe—just like Vivi’s—and his broad palm splayed protectively over her back.
And he’s so damngood. Down to the marrow. I’ve spent enough time around shit men to recognize the caliber of the man before me.
Some nightmare wife is going to be very lucky to tie him down one day. My job means I’m trained to let people go, but I have a sinking suspicion that letting Theo go will hurt more than it has any right to.
My eyes sting at the sight and I blink rapidly. Ireallyneed to stop crying.
But this?
It stirs the mom-arazzo in me, so I pull my phone out of my pocket and take a few steps closer to document this moment.
For Theo. He’ll want this picture.
And for Vivi. I imagine she’ll want this one day too.
I snap the photo and leave. As I stare down at the image, I rub my chest, feeling like I have heartburn just from looking at them.
But I understand the body’s inner workings, so I should know better.
This isn’t heartburn. It’s just me thawing out for the man lying in my daughter’s crib.
21
Winter
“What are you doing?” My sister’s dark brows knit.
“I don’t have a leash.”
Peter takes another bite of blueberry muffin from my fingers.
“But why do you have the dog standingonmy front desk?”
“He’s so small. I don’t want him to get stepped on. And I don’t have a bowl. I’m not going to make him eat off the floor. That’s gross. This is a gym.” I wave a hand toward the main part of Summer’s fitness center. “There are gross, sweaty dudes everywhere.”
“Right. But that’s a dog. I bet he’s eaten literal shit in his lifetime. Why is he getting a blueberry muffin?”
My lip curls as I watch Peter daintily eat a cooked blueberry. “Please don’t ruin this newfound canine friendship for me, Sum. I let him sleep in my bed last night.”
“Theo?”
I start. “What? No. The dog.”
