I raise a brow at her, trying not to stare at Savannah snoozing against her chest. I swear babies should not be allowed to be this cute. It weakens defenses. “So, you are officially moving in here?”
She adjusts the wrap, soft and careful, like it is muscle memory already. “Yeah. And I start the new job next week.”
“Congrats,” Dash says, leaning a hip on the entry bench. “You excited to go full boss mode?”
“Nervous,” she admits. “Excited too. They have childcare at the facility for staff, so she will come with me. No scrambling for babysitters. No panic calls.”
“That is huge,” Dash says. “Plus, free skate lessons when she is ready. I got her.”
Savannah sighs in her sleep. Tiny hand curls. Claudia melts, and so do I, which is alarming.
“Skate lessons,” I echo, deadpan. “Right. Because what every baby needs is to be on ice knives.”
Dash glares. “They are not ice knives. They are skates.”
“That is literally blades strapped to their feet.”
“You are dramatic.”
I fold my arms. “I am realistic.”
Claudia chuckles, low and warm. “If she wants to skate, she can. If she does not, she will not.”
Dash grins at Savannah. “I will teach you to cross-step like a beast. Your Uncle Dash has you.”
I feel my lip curl, and yeah, she catches it. Her eyes flick up to mine, slow and searching, and I am kicking myself. Dash misses it completely because he is trying to figure out if cross-step is hyphenated.
“You good?” she asks softly.
I look at Savannah, then at Claudia. “Yeah. I just... it’s not safe for her to skate before she can walk. That’s all.”
“Relax,” she murmurs, amused as she takes. “No baby Olympics.”
She kisses her head as she unwraps her and hands her to me, eyes never leaving mine.
“Alright, let’s do this,” Dash squeezes the trigger on the screw gun and Savannah let’s out a cry. “Shit, I am so sorry.”
“You’re fine,” Claudia says.
Turning, I cup the side of Savannah’s head and pull it to my chest, shielding the other ear. “Your mamma is going to be working with tools like this; we’re going to either have to get you some baby earmuffs or take a lot of walks, yeah.” I brush my lips over the top of her head as we head to the back to find Paul.
I stroll toward the back hallway, baby tucked tight to my chest like she’s my VIP.
I find Paul in what looks like a laundry room that moonlights as a command center. He is rearranging folded towels like they offended him.
“Hey,” I keep my voice low. “Little nugget needed some peace from the power tools.”
Paul turns, one eyebrow lifted. “You two putting in locks or building the Pentagon?”
“A lock,” I say. “Dash is just dramatic.”
“Yeah, I figured,” he snorts. “That boy needs to save all that energy for the ice.”
I smirk. “He means well.”
“I hear her sound off?” He asks, making his way out the door, turning toward what I assume is his pad.
I rock Savannah gently, her little lip quiver slowing down, eyes growing heavy. “She is gonna grow up around drills, nail guns, the works. I already promised her baby ear protection.”
