Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Not just rested but refreshed.
With a yawn, I glance around the room and realize that nothing looks familiar. For a split second, panic shoots through me. That’s all it takes for recent events to come crashing back in a jumbled wave.
The bakery’s late loan payment.
Shopping with River.
The eviction notice taped to my door.
River’s offer to let us stay with him.
Falling asleep in his bed.
My pulse flutters as I roll onto my side, inching toward the other edge of the mattress. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in a man’s bed. And even longer since one touched me with something that didn’t feel like an expectation or obligation.
Just care.
I brace myself before finally peeking at the spot beside me only to find it empty. The sheets are cool to the touch and his pillow is undisturbed.
He’s already gone.
I tell myself I shouldn’t care even as a sharp pinch settles beneath my ribs.
This isn’t about River.
I’m not here for a man or some whirlwind romance. I’m here because there weren’t any good choices. I needed help and, for once, someone offered it.
This is about survival.
Mine.
And more importantly, Nora’s.
Still, the disappointment of waking up alone continues to linger.
It’s a quiet ache I refuse to acknowledge.
Like a bruise I pretend not to feel until something brushes against it, reminding me it’s still there.
With a quiet sigh, I push back the covers and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The chill in the air makes me shiver as my bare feet hit the hardwood. I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to shake off the weight of sleep as I pad into the hallway.
It’s time to get moving.
I need to get Nora dressed, drop her off at my parents’ house, and hustle to the bakery. I’ve got custom orders stacked a mile high, and my inbox is already overflowing. There isn’t time to delay.
There’s no space for anything except work, deadlines, and responsibilities.
As usual, my brain kicks into overdrive. I’m already itemizing tasks and prioritizing what needs to get done first. I need to order more flour and eggs. Reprint the catering invoice. Call the supplier about the vanilla extract. Prep for tomorrow’s delivery. Text Sloane to check the display case. The list builds with every step I take until I’m standing outside Nora’s door.
One glance inside stops me in my tracks.
River is sprawled in the oversized chair in the corner, head tilted back, jaw slack with sleep. His chest rises and falls rhythmically as my daughter lies curled on top of him.
Nora’s tiny hand is fisted in the light smattering of hair on his chest, her cheek resting against his skin. Her legs are tucked beneath her, one foot poking out from the blanket wrapped around them both. His arm is looped around her protectively, as if even in sleep, he’s trying to keep her safe.
Something about the sight cuts straight to my core.
This quietly tender moment is what I used to dream about back when I was pregnant and still foolish enough to believe Zane would be the kind of father who got up in the middle of the night without being asked. The kind of man who’d hold his daughter with both arms and his whole heart. Who’d love her the way she deserved. The way every child should be loved.
That dream died long before Nora ever opened her eyes. So I buried it and told myself it didn’t matter. That I’d love her enough for both of us. That I’d be everything she needed. But now River’s here, and he’s holding her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like she’s his.
Like she belongs with him.
To him.
Maybe the cruelest part of all this is knowing he’s not mine.
Not really.
Not officially.
Not in any way that counts.
And yet, here he is. Doing what the man who should have never questioned it, wouldn’t, without hesitation or complaints.
Unable to help myself, I watch them in silence, the ache growing heavier with every heartbeat. For a moment, all I can do is press a hand to my sternum and wonder how I’m supposed to keep him out when he’s already found a way in.
My gaze drifts over him.
In sleep, he looks softer.
Younger.
More vulnerable.
And still so devastatingly handsome it’s almost unfair. It’s not just his face or the sharp cut of his jaw, or the annoyingly long lashes most women would kill for.
I don’t realize I’ve crossed the room until I’m standing in front of him, close enough to feel the heat of his skin. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch his face, to trace the curve of his cheekbone or the sleepy smile tugging at his mouth.
But I stop myself just in time, and curl my hand into a fist at my side.
Letting River in any further would be all too easy.