Page 40 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)
I feel changed, somehow. It’s like he’s rewritten some hidden parts I wasn’t even aware of. It’s heady and wonderful, and everything I didn’t know I needed. I might just get lost in this man—in this feeling—and it’ll be a sweet escape.
Wilder
Little by little, I notice subtle changes around the house, signs of life left behind by the woman who is nothing short of sunshine incarnate.
There’s a new yellow shower curtain, matching towels in the bathroom, and a glass toothbrush holder with three toothbrushes tucked inside.
There are perfectly labeled canisters with baking ingredients in the pantry, a fancy stand mixer on the counter, and a brand new set of boots by the front door—pink, of course.
Every day she brings me lunch, and every day I find a new way to take her—up against the stall, over the bales of hay, in the back of the truck—over and over. I never tire of being inside of her.
When she’s not at the diner, she spends her mornings in my kitchen, baking up whatever new recipe she finds so she can deliver her cookies and cupcakes to the diner. Most days, my house smells like a bakery, and it wraps around me the moment I step inside from work.
I follow the sounds of laughter down the hallway, stopping outside the guest bedroom where Olivia still sleeps, peeking through the crack in the door.
There’s a discarded laundry basket on the bed, as if she started something and never finished.
She does it often; it’s one of her many adorable quirks.
She has Emmy Lou up on her feet in an airplane pose, and Emmy’s smiling ear to ear.
“I’m flying!” Emmy squeals.
I rub at the spot on my chest where the ache grows steadier by the day.
I thought I’d feel guilty watching Olivia fill a role that was meant for someone else, but it’s not like that at all.
If anything, it’s only made me look at her through a different lens—a motherly one—and I can’t wait to watch her with our daughter starting over from the very beginning.
The hardwood creaks, and Olivia’s head turns. “Do you have your boarding pass?” she teases.
“Afraid not. I’ve sworn off airplanes,” I say with an amused smirk. “They make me do crazy things.”
“I like your version of crazy.” Our eyes meet, and it’s clear she’s fighting a smile. I quirk a brow in her direction, and she loses the battle, her nose scrunching as she carefully lowers Emmy to the floor. Emmy barrels toward me, leaping into my arms.
“Where are you two jetting off to?” I ask.
“Hopefully the kitchen,” Olivia says, dusting off her jeans. “I’m starving.”
“Hungry, Emmy Lou?”
Emmy nods. “Uh-huh.”
I grab Emmy by the waist and hold her up in the air, making airplane noises all the way down the hallway until I can set her down at the kitchen island.
She giggles the entire way, and Olivia trails close behind.
The scene is so domestic that it stops me in my tracks, my mind cooking up a million scenarios I have no business imagining.
“You okay?” Liv asks, her hand resting on my lower back.
I clear my throat and shake myself out of my trance. “Yeah. Um. What did y’all want to eat?”
“Cheerios!” Emmy bellows, surprising no one.
Olivia laughs and saunters over to the counter, one hand supporting her lower back as she plucks the box of cereal off the shelf. She dumps a pile of dry Cheerios onto Emmy’s tray just the way she likes it, then puts it right back in its place.
“What about you two?” I ask, resting my hand over her belly. “Any cravings?”
She grimaces. “Um. Nope. Not really.”
Liar.
“What is it, Liv?”
“You’re gonna judge me.”
“Never.”
She considers for a moment, pursing her lips. “Popcorn with honey and M a recollection of a much smaller version of Emmy, and a different woman altogether.
For the first time, I don’t shove those memories away.
Somehow, I know Jess would love this view.
She’d be happy to know there’s someone else here now, dancing in the kitchen with our daughter.
She’s filling the void Jes s left behind, giving Emmy something I never could, and giving me something I didn’t know I needed… hope.
The microwave beeps, and I pull out the bag of fresh popcorn, setting it on the countertop, too captivated to do anything with it. The song ends, and it changes to a soft ballad. Emmy squirms to be let down, and I waste no time taking her place as she darts off to the living room.
I bring Olivia into my arms, swaying us to the music. “You’re good with her,” I muse. “She adores you.”
“She’s an amazing little girl, and you’ve done an incredible job raising her on your own.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I let go of Liv and spin her under my arm, pulling her back to me just as swiftly. She laughs, and that sound pierces straight through to my patchwork heart, held together by tape and glue… and them .
Olivia’s stomach rumbles, and she swats me on the chest. “Wait a minute. Where’s my snack?”
“You go find Emmy. I’ll get your popcorn fixed and meet you on the couch.”