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To my surprise, she doesn’t cry or try to fight me off. She opens her mouth wide, and I feed her the syrup.
She stops smiling the second the taste hits. She winces and looks at me, teary-eyed as if accusing me of betraying her. I chuckle. She’s the most gorgeous one-year-old ever.
I hold out the spoon to Anya, but I don’t take my eyes off Kira. “Do you like it?”
She shakes her head as if she is protesting.
My heart flutters. Now I feel terrible for betraying her trust like that. “I’m sorry, baby girl. Daddy loves you.”
She grins and says something I can’t yet interpret.
Anya watches us quietly, a mix of emotions flickering in her eyes. “You’re good with her. She’s never that calm after I give her medicine.”
“I learned from taking care of Alessa. Her mom abandoned her the second she was born.” I try to push back the bitter memories of Alessa’s mom. I don’t mind that she left me, but I’ll never forgive her for leaving Alessa. “It was a struggle, but we made it through somehow.”
Anya looks like she’s itching to ask a question about Alessa’s mom.
I sense she won’t ask, so I say, “Is there something you want to know?”
“It’s your private life, I don’t think I should pry even if I’m dying to.” She replaces the bottle of syrup in its box. “I’ll put this away.”
Kira’s eyes are still as bright as a torch when her mother returns.
“We should put her to sleep, see if she feels better in the next couple of hours,” Anya says.
I nod. “Let’s go put you to sleep, baby girl,” I say to Kira as I stand to my feet.
Anya leads me to the nursery, where everything is baby unicorns and pastel colors. She gives me a rundown of Kira’s routine, from her favorite lullaby to how she likes to be rocked to sleep. As I listen, I realize how much I’ve missed out on and how much catching up I have to do.
I spend the morning by Kira’s side, soothing her when she fusses and marveling at the tiny human Anya and I created.
As the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, Kira finally drifts off to sleep. She’s as beautiful as Anya when she sleeps. I’ve only known her for a few days, but this little one already has me wrapped around her finger, and I’ll do absolutely anything to protect her and give her the best life possible. Anything.
CHAPTER 17
Anya
The smell of bacon wakes me up from sleep. I squint and take in my environment. It’s almost noon. A streak of sunlight pours into the room from the slight parting between the drapes.
I slept over six hours. I haven’t slept that long since I had Kira. It’s refreshing to have someone around to look after her so I can rest. Gigi tries, but I don’t expect her to put her life on hold for me and Kira.
I yawn and climb out of bed. There’s a text from Mr. White when I pick up my phone from the nightstand. It’s a reply to the message I sent last night to let him know that Kira was sick and I wouldn’t be able to make it to the clinic this morning.
His reply is short and simple. Take two days off if you need. I’ll take care of things over here.
Mr. White is such a nice man. In fact, everyone in this town is. I may not be earning as much as I could, but I’ll never regret the choice I made to move here.
I silently make my way to Kira to check in on her, she is sleeping soundly. Placing the back of my hand against her forehead, I feel a sense of relief wash over me as I realize her fever has finally gone.
My daughter is really peaceful in her sleep, and I spend a couple more minutes watching her before I follow the smell of bacon to the kitchen.
Brandon is standing in the kitchen, dressed only in sweatpants and no shirt. His bare chest reveals an intricate network of scars and defined muscles. My body can't help but react to his hotness; I feel a throbbing sensation deep within me. For a moment, memories flood my mind - that first night on my couch, and last night with him. I recall the way he felt against me, his scent, the way he touched me. It takes all my mental strength not to walk over and rip off the only piece of clothing he has left on.
Brandon hums a tune to himself as he flips the sizzling bacon in the pan, his muscles flexing with each movement. He turns around at the sound of my footsteps and flashes me a boyish grin I haven’t seen for a long time. “Morning, sunshine,” he greets me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I can’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with the sunny kitchen.
Sunshine. Not bad at all.
I lean against the counter, watching him move with practiced ease. There’s a comfortable silence between us, broken only by the occasional pop and sizzle of the cooking bacon.
