He toddles over to the bookshelf and grabs one of his favorites about a semi-truck that saves other broken-down trucks, and rushes back, handing it to me. “Swoan, book.”
“Let’s get in bed, and she’ll be in to say goodnight.” I don’t have to worry about her disappointing hm. With Sloane, that will never happen. I lie down in his big-boy bed, and he does the same, scooting all the way to the edge. “Come lay with Daddy,” I tell him, feeling my own exhaustion kick in.
“Look at you, already snuggled and ready for bed,” Sloane says from the doorway.
“Swoan, wead,” he says, patting the bed next to him.
“I think Daddy is going to read to you tonight, bud, but I’ll take a hug,” she says, stepping into the room. She crouches down and hugs him, but he won’t let go when she eases back.
“Swoan, book.”
Her eyes find mine, and I nod. “Okay, bud, I’ll read to you.” This has my son letting go of his hold on her. He grabs one of his many blankets and snuggles it close, his back to the railing of the bed. Sloane sits on the carpet next to him and opens the book, but my son’s not having that.
Did I mention he gets his stubbornness from me?
“No,” Camden says forcefully. I’m ready to intervene, but Sloane beats me to it.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asks him.
He pats the bed next to him; the only spot available is between the two of us. “Sweep.”
Again, her eyes find mine, and I nod. Because hell yes, I want her in here with us. My son is a genius. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s playing matchmaker, but he’s two and just wants his favorite people in bed with him.
“Better do what he says. He’s ten kinds of cranky.” I smirk.
Sloane shakes her head at me but still does my son’s bidding and climbs into bed, settling between us. Her back is to me, and she faces Camden. Now that she’s where he wants her, he moves closer to her, snuggling in close. She opens her arms for him and helps him get settled before she starts to read.
“Daddy.”
Lifting up so he can see me, I say, “I’m right here.”
“Mere,” he says, motioning for me to come closer.
Doing as he asks, I move closer to them, which has my front aligned with her back. Camden lifts up, crawls over Sloane, grabs my hand and pulls it around her, then snuggles back into his spot in her arms. Once he’s where he thinks he needs to be, he grabs my hand, and says softly, “Swoan, wead.”
“Um—okay,” she says, and starts the story for the second time.
I crowd them so that Camden can hold my hand better. My arm rests on her hip, and a smile tilts my lips. They say kids feed off your energy, and my son’s doing just that. Since I have an excuse, I mold my body to hers, and her breath hitches, but she keeps reading.
My body is relaxed, my eyes are closed, and I feel… content.
“He’s asleep,” she whispers. She starts to move, but my hand grips her hip.
“Stay.”
“Baker—”
“Please.”
It takes exactly six agonizing seconds—and yes, I counted them—for her to nod and relax into my embrace. With my feet, I grab one of the blankets that Sloane and I use when we snuggle with Camden, and cover the two of us. Camden’s already rolled over, wrapped up in his Nashville Rampage blanket with his stuffed Rowdy the Rhino in his arms. For the first time since I learned I was going to be a father, I enjoy the feel of a woman in my arms and drift off to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Sloane
* * *
I’m jolted awake to the feel of lips pressing to my cheek. “I need to get going,” Baker whispers.
