Page 136 of Sexting the Boss
He touches my cheek, thumb gentle, and I swear his control has a tender setting that only turns on for me and our daughter.
“Pain?” he asks, and it’s practical, because he’s Ethan and he treats feelings like they need a plan and a backup plan.
“Managed,” I say. “Sore, but managed.”
He nods once, then glances at the bassinet again, like he’s checking she didn’t teleport in the last ten seconds.
“I’m going to say this,” I tell him, “and I need you to take it seriously.”
His brows lift.
“You can blink,” I say. “She will still exist if you blink.”
His mouth twitches. “I blink.”
“You stared at her for forty minutes without moving.”
“That’s not accurate.”
“It’s extremely accurate.”
He leans in, kisses my mouth this time, slow and careful, then rests his forehead against mine. “She’s perfect.”
My throat tightens. I swallow it down because if I start crying again, I’m going to get dehydrated and dramatic, and I already did the dramatic part yesterday when I screamed at a nurse for offering me ice chips like they were a gift from God.
“She is,” I whisper. “I can’t believe she’s here.”
“She’s here,” he repeats, voice rougher than usual. “And you did that.”
I make a face. “We both did that.”
He gives me a look. “Don’t.”
I blink. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to split it into a negotiation,” he says, low and certain. “You carried her. You did the hard part.”
I want to argue, because I always argue, and because giving him credit is my coping mechanism for being scared of how much I love him, but then our daughter makes a tiny noise that sounds like a complaint, and Ethan turns so fast it’s like he’s been trained.
He’s standing over the bassinet again in two steps.
“She’s awake,” he says.
“She’s making a noise,” I correct, because she’s not awake, she’s just announcing her existence like a CEO.
Ethan looks at me over his shoulder. “What does it mean?”
I laugh, which hurts a little, and I press a hand to my stomach. “It means she’s a baby.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“It means she’s hungry, or uncomfortable, or sleepy, or mad, or simply making sure we know she’s in charge.”
Ethan stares down at her again, then carefully, like he’s handling something priceless and also explosive, he slides his hands under her and lifts her out.
My breath catches anyway. It still does when he holds her.
He brings her against his chest, and she settles almost immediately. Her head rests under his collarbone like she’s known him longer than two days.
