“Kitchen first?”
The GC laughs. “We are doing a big one. Open concept. Commercial-grade appliances. Six-burner range. Oversized island. High-end cabinets. Bronski wants a showpiece.”
I pullthe SUV up to the employee exit behind the rink, anxious and excited, more than I have been since I last saw Claudia a week ago, which should not mean anything, except apparently my nervous system disagrees, because my pulse jumps when the door cracks open.
I don’t see her, not anywhere.
I grab my phone to see if I missed a call when a text comes in.
Claudia:
They let us out early. Meet me a block away at Macklin and Grove. The loading zone. Fewer eyes.
Me:
On my way.
I pull away and circle the block, the pressure in my chest building with every turn. I knew seeing her after a week would mess with me. I did not expect the baby to undo me this much. Maybe it is the contrast. Claudia looking steadier. Savannah sleeping without a worry in the world. And me, stuck gripping a steering wheel I could probably snap in half.
When I reach the corner of Macklin and Grove, I see her.
She is standing under a dim streetlight, the carrier balanced on one hip, one hand tucked gently over the blanket. Hood up. Shoulders straight. She’s doing everything she can for herself and her kid. No backup. No safety net. Just grit and instinct and that soft way she hums to Savannah when she thinks nobody hears her. Protecting her daughter without even thinking about it. She’s protecting the goal, the ultimate goal.
I open the door, step out, round the front, and open the rear passenger side door, “I wanna kiss the hell out of you right now, but since we’re still hiding out, I’ll refrain.” I hand her the keys and take Savannah’s carrier. “You drive.”
“I’m driving?” She asks.
“I’m good, haven’t been dizzy all day, but I’d prefer you drive with Savannah.”
“Dizzy?” She asks.
Shit, I haven’t told her. “Failed VOMS. It’s?—”
“I know what it is. You didn’t mention it,” she says as she walks around the vehicle and gets into the driver’s seat.
“Wasn’t a big deal,” I say as I lean in and try not to wake Savannah as we move, but she stirs, blinking herself awake, her little lashes fluttering as she seems to be trying to figure out where she is. Her eyes land on me, wide and impossibly bright.
“Hey there, little one,” I say quietly as I lean closer. “You may not know this, but I missed your adorable little face.”
I click the carrier into the base, making sure every latch locks, then tug it twice just to be sure.
She kicks one foot inside her fleece suit, a tiny wiggle of excitement, like she might know my voice. Then she gives me this gummy little smile, half sideways, like she is still deciding if she recognizes me.
“You’ve met a lot of new faces, haven’t you, little one?” She coos. “I really hope you don’t forget mine.” I reach in and brush a knuckle gently along her blanket; her blue eyes follow the movement. “You grew. I know it has only been a week, but you definitely grew.”
Her fingers curl around the edge of the blanket, and I swear she looks… brighter. Happier. Or maybe I am projecting. Maybe I am the one who feels those things seeing her again.
Savannah babbles again, her little voice high and sweet, her eyes locked on mine like she is telling me about her week.
I lean close to the car seat. "Your only job is to grow, little one," I whisper. "And you're crushing it."
I secure the final strap, tuck the blanket under her chin. She squirms, her face lighting up with a toothless grin. She comprehends nothing, yet somehow makes everything make sense.
I triple-check the buckles.
"She's not going anywhere, Deacon," Claudia says with a soft laugh.
"I know," I reply, checking one last time anyway.
