Page 93 of Between the Lines

She and Daisy meander back to the guesthouse, Fia whispering to her baby.

36

Fia

Ishield my daughter’s eyes as I tip her head back and pour warm water over her strawberry blond curls. She splashes the bubbles around her, gripping a pink rubber duck.

Hamburger lies on the bathroom vanity, watching us.

Watching me have an internal freak-out about something that’s seemingly so simple.

“Did you have fun with Caden?” I ask Daisy, but she doesn’t even look up at me. She’s lost in her own little world. Wonder where she gets that from?

I never considered dating after Daisy was born. Not for a long while at least. I knew that when I did, no one would get to meet my daughter until I was sure they’d be around for a while, and even then the idea freaked me out.

I run a warm, soapy washcloth gently over her back.

I would do anything to protect her from knowing what abandonment feels like.

Hamburger jumps down, coming closer to me, nuzzling the side of my hip as I kneel on the plush bathroom rug.

“Thanks, buddy,” I whisper, scratching him with my free hand.

It’s not like I chose to introduce Daisy to Caden. We live here—it would be impossible for them not to interact.

The lines with Caden and Daisy blurred long before I even realized they were blurring. I sigh deeply and pull the drain plug.

“You ready for a book and bedtime?” I kiss Daisy’s forehead, lifting her out and wrapping her tightly in a fluffy bath towel.

We go through the whole routine of slathering baby lotion and combing her hair, and though I’m there with her, reading her favorite book in the dim bedroom she’s found safety in these last four weeks, all I see is them.

Caden holding Daisy in the yard today.

He was so gentle, so patient. And she was so calm.

The lump in my throat travels to my chest, and it remains there even as Daisy’s green eyes flutter shut. Silently, I grab her monitor and step outside, exhaling when I see the gleaming pool water.

The water ripples as I swirl my legs in circles, sitting on the edge of the pool. I’ve grown to find comfort in the smell of the pool water, and the familiar symphony of critters in the nearby dark woods.

When the main house’s sliding doors open, I lift my gaze to Caden, who’s walking towards me. He’s in board shorts and a white T-shirt, hair damp.

“Hey,” I start.

He pulls off his shirt—giving me a full view of the toned stomach I ran my hands over just last night—and sinks into the water, dipping down below the surface and popping up next to me. His eyes sparkle under the dusky sky, and I offer a small smile, wishing my anxiety would hush.

“The water is really warm today,” I say, my voice tight.

Caden smirks. “I turned up the pool heater. In case you swam with Daisy one of these days.”

There’s the lump again, pulsing in my throat.

“That was nice of you,” I murmur, my arms tight against my body despite feeling more than warm.

Caden does a lap across the pool, and we fall into the routine we’ve had the last few nights.

Pool, 8:00 PM, sometimes there’s lots of talking, sometimes he just swims back and forth while I decompress from the day.

But tonight I can’t find the easiness I crave.