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“He eat?”

“Sort of. I was going to mix up some more of that baby cereal since he decided to paint with the last bowl. Still needs a bottle, though.”

“I’ve got it,” Blake says, waving me off.

Lark is just watching us both, mouth hanging open.

“You good?” I ask her, amused as hell.

She shakes her head. “Sorry. I’ve never seen men around a baby before and It’s doing something weird to my insides. Ignore me. I’m uh, just going to go use the restroom and brush my teeth.”

She tries to wash her plate, but I grab it from her and block the sink, nearly fighting her to get it out of her hands. “You don’t do dishes here. You’re a guest.”

“But…you cooked for me. I want to clean up after myself.”

“Nope,” Blake says, hip checking her a little bit as he herds her from the kitchen. “You’re too cute to clean. Go do what you were going to do.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” she says as she stands there, looking very confused.

“Oh, it’s a thing for sure,” I agree as I start rinsing the plate to throw it in the dishwasher. “At least in this household.”

Chapter Thirteen

Lark, Now

Is that honestly me in the mirror? I stare at my reflection every time I have to do my makeup for work, making sure every detail is flawless, but I never take the time to really look at myself; I’m always looking at the blending or the contouring and the application of eyeshadow, making sure my eyeliner matches on both sides and that my eyebrows are even and my mascara coats every lash.

I’ve no makeup on right now. There’s no getting away from the shadows in my eyes or the way my lips just won’t do anything other than show mild enthusiasm.

I’ve been the broken girl for so damn long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be around normal people that aren’t paying me for my time. That are with me simply because they want to help.

If they weren’t just a few years older than my kid, I’d say I have a bit of a crush. But I’m 39, and crushes aren’t something my lifestyle can support.

Even hot ones that play with their babies and can’t seem to keep shirts on.

They’re the fucking alpha heirs though, there’s no way they’re honestly looking at me.

Since I’m just heading back to the shelter today, there’s no point putting on my makeup. I’m grateful for the toiletry kit I’ve pieced together, because having something familiar when I’m in such a strange environment helps.

The act of brushing my teeth and putting on my own deodorant, of combing my hair and dousing it with a little dry shampoo, the ability to cleanse and hydrate my face so I feel like it’s actually time to start my day helps clear my head a little bit.

I wish I had clothes besides this hoodie that flows to above my knees, but it is what it is.

I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing right now, so I just sort of wander out to the living room and look around, smiling at all the photos they’ve got tacked up and the colorful baby toys Rowan has around; I was never able to provide for Camden this well, it makes me happy to see a baby not wanting for anything.

I spot a stuffed owl that makes me almost tear up, and I have to grab it.

“Hey. All good?”

I spin, read the name ‘Beckett’ in permanent marker still on the side of his neck and try to manufacture a smile. “Camden had one almost exactly like this when he was a baby. Of course, his was plenty used when we got it, but he loved this thing. Kind of funny to see it’s still being sold.”

“You uh, want to talk about it? The shelter?”

I shake my head and put the plush in a basket nearby. “Nobody wants to talk about that place.”

I reach for a blanket hanging off the side of couch and just have to test its softness. It’s got little wolf prints all over it and it might be the softest thing I’ve ever felt.

“I know some things about it; we have a friend, Aspen? She used to live there.”