Page 182 of Dream House
I nod. “I know. I think it’s the only way I’ll get any rest tonight, knowing that the two of you are right there.”
Lark’s smile is knowing, loving. “I feel the same.”
In my bedroom, my four-year-old is asleep on her stomach in the exact middle of the bed, slumbering like only a child can when she knows she is safe and loved.
Quietly, we ready ourselves for bed and with tacit agreement, Lark and I sink onto the mattress on either side of her.
Before I switch off the lamp, Lark and I turn on our sides, facing each other, bracketing my child. He reaches for my hand and we clasp together, letting our hands rest lightly across Maisy’s back. Her steady breathing tugs at my own exhaustion.
Lark’s questioning eyes meet mine. “You think this’ll be okay?” he whispers. “When she wakes up, I mean?”
I nod, smiling gently. “It’ll be fine. Though, fair warning.” I arch a brow. “She’ll wake up excited to see you and have a million questions.”
His chuckle is rich and low. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. I squeeze his hand.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, the words catching in my throat when I let myself think of how differently this night could have gone.
Lark must read all of this in my expression. He squeezes back tighter. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right where I want to be.”
We whisper a few more questions, then a few sacred words, and when I turn off the light, sleep comes with merciful speed.
“Mama… Mama… Wake up.”I peel open one eye and find my daughter squinting down at me. Behind her, Lark sleeps on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes. With the doors boarded up, the lighting is weird, but I know from the windows that the sun is up. “Is it Saturday?” Maisy asks, confused.
I could sleep for another two days, but with a four-year-old, even two more minutes aren’t in the cards. “It’s Tuesday, baby,” I whisper. “But no school today.”
That’s a bit of a white lie. She has school, but after last night, I knew we all needed rest. I have clients, but not until this afternoon. Maisy looks over her shoulder, squinting at Lark.
“Bark snores,” she says.
“Shhh.” I bite down on a laugh. He’s not snoring now, but I vaguely remember a purring sound blanketing the room last night. I can’t say I minded.
Reaching over, I grab Maisy’s glasses from my nightstand and hand them to her. She puts them on without taking her eyes off Lark. I can’t blame her. He is quite a sight. But as if he senses our eyes, Lark stirs, stretches, and rolls toward us, blinking awake.
He stares at us staring at him.
“Am I dreaming?” he croaks.
“No,” Maisy and I say in unison.
“Good,” Lark murmurs, closing his eyes and nestling deeper into his pillow.
I laugh and Maisy protests. “Hey! It’s time to wake up.” As far as she’s concerned, anything else is nonsense.
He grunts in response, but I can tell it’s all for show. Maisy crawls over and plants her hands on his shoulder. The contrast between her small fists and his stacked muscles is downright endearing—especially when she shakes him with all her might. “Wake up, Bark!”
Another groan rumbles from him. “I only get up for food,” he teases, sending Maisy into fits of giggles. He’s peeking at her, pretending his eyes are still closed, but he’s fighting a smile. “Do you have food, Paisley?”
She throws her head back, laughing uncontrollably.Paisleyis definitely a new one in their name game.
“No,” she says between pants. Then points to the door. “The kitchen’s that way.”
Playing along, Lark looks over his shoulder. Then shakes his head. “Too far.”
I can’t help it. This time I laugh too. And laughing is a good way to get out of bed. “I think I can make it,” I say sportingly, pushing up to sitting, “for the greater good.”
But before I can rise, Lark snatches my hand and hooks an arm around Maisy. “No,” he says, not sternly, but clearly. Then he brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. The look in his eyes makes me go completely still.
