Baby’s hand tightened around hers. He’d followed her gaze.
“He’s going to be okay,” Baby said quietly. “Better than okay.”
“I know.” And she did. For the first time in a long time, she really did. “He’s going to find someone.”
“Someone who deserves him.”
Quinn leaned into her husband’s side, watching their son explain something to a three-year-old with all the seriousness of a professor delivering a lecture. Marie was nodding solemnly, completely rapt.
Thirty years ago, she’d sat on a shower floor, terrified of what the future might hold. And Baby had climbed in beside her, fully clothed, and promised they’d face it together.
They had. Every unexpected challenge. Every small victory. Every moment that the experts hadn’t predicted.
Together.
She wouldn’t trade a single moment.
?*
* Books from characters in this chapter:
Quinn & Baby Bollinger – BABY
Gabe & Jordan Collingwood – ANGEL
The book with Bear’s Kid Camp – HERO’S PRIZE
Bear & Joy – HERO MINE
Theo & Eva – HERO UNBOUND
Chapter 5
The Weight of Small Things
DorianLindstrom
(Married to Ray Lindstrom; father to Theo, Savannah, and Amari Grace)
Dorian saw it from across the room the moment Derek took the baby.
Annie had handed Denise over with the practiced ease of a grandmother who’d been waiting for her turn to end so she could get off her feet. Derek accepted his tiny daughter carefully, settling her against his chest, one broad hand spanning her entire back.
And there it was. That look.
Derek held her like she was made of glass and C-4. Like the slightest wrong move might shatter her or set her off. Like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch something so fragile.
Dorian knew that look. He’d worn it himself, nearly thirty years ago.
He made his way through the crowd, nodding at people as he passed but not stopping. He wasn’t good at the minglingpart of these gatherings. Never had been. Ray handled the social necessities with a dry wit that people found either charming or terrifying, depending on how well they knew her. Dorian just tried not to hover in corners looking like he was planning escape routes.
Which he was. Always. Even after all these years. But that was beside the point.
Derek had drifted toward the windows, away from the thickest knots of conversation. Dorian joined him there, leaning against the wall a few feet away. Close enough to talk. Far enough to give the kid space.
Kid. Derek was in his thirties, son of Finn, one of his best friends in the world. But Dorian had known Derek since he was in diapers, which made the wordkidfeel accurate regardless of math.
“She sleeping?”
