Page 44 of Hold Me Tight

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.