Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“It is not Hannah’s job to take care of me,” Beau chimed in. “It’s mine to take care of her. And you.”
I shook my head again. “We’ll talk about that and give your daddy a lesson on feminism soon,” I told Clara. “We’re both going to be focusing on taking care of you, that won’t change. That will never change. But you may see your daddy kiss me.” Unease snaked through me, unsure if Beau was going to be okay with PDA. Maybe he wouldn’t. “Is that okay?” I didn’t know if I was asking Beau or Clara.
“Of course, that’s okay!” Clara practically screamed. “I’ve been telling Daddy he needs a girlfriend forever, and I’ve been secretly plotting it to be you. I wish for it every night in my dreams.” She beamed at me. “You’re welcome.”
I couldn’t hold in my giggle. “I am so very glad for you, Clara Shaw.” I kissed her dark hair, inhaling the smell of her shampoo.
“And I am so very glad for both of you,” Beau grumbled. He kissed Clara’s head, in the exact spot where I did. Then he leaned over and kissed me. On the lips. No tongue, but not just a peck either.
Clearly, he was okay with PDA.
As was Clara, who squealed in delight.
“Okay.” She stood up. “I’m hungry.”
My mouth was still tingling from the kiss, my body was liquid, my mind was light, and I was still questioning whether this was all a wonderful dream. Because of that, I didn’t immediately move or answer Clara.
But Beau did. He got out of bed. I licked my lips, admiring the shape of his body, his tanned skin, cut abs as he kicked his legs into jeans that were discarded on a chair in the corner.
“Come on, Bug.” Beau threw on a shirt then grabbed Clara by the mid-section, making her giggle in delight. “You can come with me to brush my teeth, then we’ll make Hannah breakfast in bed.”
Beau was halfway across the room with Clara in his arms by the time his words registered.
I propped myself up on my elbows, watching Beau place Clara on the sink.
“You do not have to make me breakfast in bed,” I told Beau, watching him get his toothbrush before handing Clara the toothpaste to squirt on it.
A small, everyday occurrence that felt precious and intimate to witness, especially from his bed.
Beau’s eyes darted to me as he took hold of the toothbrush.
My breathing quickened. The way he looked at me right then was world ending. He didn’t just want me, he knew me. Every inch of my body was his.
“We don’t have to,” he agreed. “But we want to.” Then he put his toothbrush in his mouth.
I could’ve argued with him, certainly, even if he had the toothbrush in his mouth. But he said we. Him and Clara. And she was sitting happily, swinging her legs, chattering away, grinning at me. Like she wasn’t at all shocked that I was in her father’s bed.
I wanted to get up. Terribly. It felt indulgent and almost fraudulent to be lying there, watching those two perfect humans go about their morning. Like they were mine.
But then maybe they were.
Maybe I’d just gotten everything I had ever dreamed of.
“It’s too early,” Cole whined as a greeting to my phone call.
“I’m in Beau’s bedroom,” I whispered. Clara had come running in with my phone and a book, relaying an order from her father to stay where I was. She came back again about five minutes later, holding a cup of coffee, sticking out her tongue in concentration so as not to spill any.
I’d invited her into bed with me, but she’d refused, telling me very seriously that she was the soup chef. I assumed that meant sous chef.
So I was alone. In Beau’s bedroom. The urge to snoop was overwhelming. I’d used the bathroom, taking note of how clean it was. Not so much as a fingerprint on the mirror, the double sinks almost sparkling. Towels folded neatly. A couple of men’s products on the counter.
The shower held rudimentary body care products. It was a nice bathroom, nothing fancy, but clean.
His room was the same. The walls were white, brighter than I expected, decorated with nothing but a few pictures of Clara. On his dresser were a couple more products, also lined up perfectly. A framed photo of a younger-looking Beau, cradling a tiny bundle with the biggest smile on his face.
My finger trailed over the lines of his face, so foreign, seeing him smile like that. No shadows behind his eyes. Only pure joy.
I thought about his words from the night before, about him not caring if I got pregnant by accident. Then I let myself think about another baby in Beau’s arms. Ours. Clara’s sister or brother.
I did eventually want children. But I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not even with Beau. But one day, I wanted Beau to hold our baby. I wanted to give Clara a sibling.