Page 92 of Daddy's Ring
"I love you." He says it simply, like it's the most fundamental truth in the universe. "Never stopped. Never will."
I open my mouth to respond, but he kisses me before I can get the words out—slow and deep and achingly tender. Different from the desperate passion of minutes ago. This is about connection, about promising each other that we're not going anywhere.
When he finally pulls back, I rest my forehead against his, eyes closed, just breathing him in. His scent is familiar underneath everything else—something clean and masculine that I remember from before, from all those mornings waking up beside him.
"We should probably..." I gesture vaguely toward our current state of disarray.
"Yeah." But he doesn't move to separate us, just holds me closer. "In a minute."
"In a minute." I agree, letting myself have this. Letting myself be held and wanted and loved without questioning whether I deserve it or whether it's smart or whether it's going to last.
Just for right now, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—we can actually make this work.
25
ZOLA
Iwake up Monday morning to the smell of coffee and something sweet baking, and for a disorienting moment I think I'm twenty-one again, back in that old apartment where Declan used to make elaborate breakfasts just to make sure I ate.
But I'm not twenty-one. I'm twenty-nine, and Declan's in my kitchen—ourkitchen, really, since he's basically moved himself in over the past week—and the weight pressing against my chest is Maeve, who is snuggled against me.
"Morning, baby girl." I kiss the top of her curly head, and she makes a sleepy sound, burrowing deeper against me.
Declan appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt that clings to his shoulders in a way that makes my mouth go dry, and there's flour on his cheek. "You two look comfortable."
"She's a bed thief." I run my hand over Maeve's back, feeling her steady breathing. "Takes after someone I used to know."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." But he's grinning, that slow smile that used to undo me completely. Still does, if I'm being honest. "Breakfast is almost ready."
"You didn't have to?—"
"I wanted to." He crosses to the bed, bending down to kiss my forehead. Then Maeve's. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you actually eat."
Eight years ago, that comment would have made me bristle. Would have felt like criticism, like he thought I couldn't take care of myself. Now it just feels like care, like someone noticing that I sometimes get so wrapped up in the bookstore and Maeve that I forget basic things like meals.
"Thank you." The words come easier than they used to.
"Always, love." He straightens, and the casual endearment does something to my chest—makes it tight and warm simultaneously. "Come out when you're ready. Stellan's stopping by in an hour."
Stellan's been coming by almost as often as Declan lately. Sometimes with his brother, sometimes on his own. Yesterday he showed up with takeout and a new teething toy for Maeve, then spent an hour reading to her from board books while I caught up on inventory. The day before that, he'd brought coffee and helped reorganize the children's section while Declan dealt with a supplier issue.
It's becoming routine, having them both around. Having this sense of family that extends beyond just me and Maeve.
It's terrifying.
I carry Maeve downstairs twenty minutes later, after changing her diaper and getting us both dressed. Declan's set the table—actual plates and silverware, not the mismatched collection I usually grab whatever's clean from. There are blueberry pancakes stacked high, fresh fruit cut into neat pieces, and my coffee exactly how I like it.
"You're going to spoil me." I settle Maeve into her high chair, strapping her in before she can make a break for it.
"That's the plan." He slides a plate in front of me, then starts cutting up pancakes into tiny pieces for Maeve. He knowsexactly what size she can handle, has learned all her preferences over the past few weeks. She likes fruit but not if it's too cold, prefers her pancakes slightly crispy on the edges, gets frustrated if pieces are too big but bored if they're too small.
He's learned her the way he used to learn me—through observation and attention and genuine care.
Maeve bangs her hands on the tray, making her impatient sound, and Declan laughs. "All right, all right. Here you go, sweetheart." He puts the pieces on her tray and she immediately grabs a fistful, shoving it toward her mouth with more enthusiasm than accuracy.
"She's going to be covered in syrup." I take a bite of my own pancakes—perfectly fluffy, just sweet enough.
"Good thing bath time exists." He sits across from me, watching Maeve with this soft expression that makes my heart do complicated things. "I love you, Maeve. Even when you're a mess."
