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“You’ve got this,” she says quietly, and before I can argue or thank her or do something stupid like kiss her again, she’s already out of the car, and for once, I don’t pretend I’m not relieved she’s still here.

Thirty-Six

Lena slips upstairs with Rosie safely tucked in her arms, murmuring softly to her in that warm, soothing voice I hear every time I return from work. That sound alone is starting to feel like home.

I linger in the kitchen, mechanically washing out bottles. It’s just anything to distract me from the memory of what we did tonight. My mind isn’t cooperating; it’s stuck replaying Lena’s soft sighs, the taste of her mouth, and how her body felt against mine.

I press my hands against the counter, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. What the hell is happening to me?

It’s a stupid question and one I already have the answer to.

Lena is happening to me.

Because that’s what she does.

She’s in my house, in my head, under my damn skin. Like gravity, pulling everything toward her without even trying. She’s leaving fingerprints on every part of my life, and I have no idea how to stop her. I’m notsure if I even want to.

None of it makes sense. Everything is messing with my head.

But Rosie called me Dada tonight, and that’s something fucking special.

I set the last bottle onto the drying rack and shake my head as if that’ll knock loose all these dangerous thoughts.

Milo gives me an expectant look from his spot near the fridge.

“You good?”

He bounds over and nuzzles against my knee.

“Alright, man. Just don’t piss on the floor again. We’ve had a long day.”

I let him out back, watching as he sprints across the yard like a four-legged maniac. A minute later, he trots back inside, tail wagging and looking real proud of himself.

“Look at you. Solving all your problems in the grass.”

He flops down and stares up at me with those judgmental little eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ve never had your entire world turned upside down by a woman who has the nerve to kiss like that.”

Milo blinks.

“Exactly. Count your blessings, bud.”

Although the poor bastard had his balls snipped by a female vet, I can’t say I’d want to look at a woman after that, either.

Killing the lights, I head upstairs.

Rosie’s door is ajar, a warm glow spilling into the hallway. I follow it like a moth because I’m a goddamn idiot with no survival instincts.

There’s a familiar hum of Lena singing hushed lullabies.

I lean against the doorframe, fully prepared to give her shit for it until I see them.

She’s curled up in the rocking chair, one arm around Rosie and the other draped over her lap. Her voice is barely a whisper, but the sound of it settles something low in my chest.

I don’t move. I don’t speak.

I couldn’t if I wanted to.