“We anchored the palette in clay and slate tones, layered with muted moss and off white,” I said. “Everything evokes organic textures. The typography’s humanist and tactile. Youfeelthe brand.”
The slides rotated through packaging mock-ups, subway ads, motion spots where the arcs pulsed outward. “Because at BrightMark, you don’t just save the planet, you belong to something worth saving.”
A few execs murmured approval, nodding toward Nina as they launched into questions about strategy and brand loyalty. She handled it effortlessly, eyes flicking back to me once while Ioffered Nellie my palm for a high-five. She ignored it, nuzzling her face into my chest instead. My heart was so full it stuttered.
I met Nina’s gaze, unable to hide the grin tugging at my mouth. I’d pulled it off. She’d wanted to leave Nellie with the nanny, but I wasn’t having it. She’d be two before I let her out of my sight.
Nina and I took a stroll downtown, hand in hand, while Nellie napped in the harness. The air carried a soft warmth that didn’t belong to February, sunlight flashing off the river’s teal surface as we walked the Riverwalk.
“Told you she’d be fine,” I said, knowing she was still upset I’d brought Nellie to the meeting. Hey, being your own boss should have some perks. Mine was that every day was bring-your-daughter-to-work day.
“It’s unprofessional, Lincoln. It’d be good for her to get to know more people.”
I scoffed. “She knows all our clients.”
Nina tugged on my arm until I faced her. “You looked really hot presenting with our daughter, you know?”
This woman could crack my chest open in the best way. She stood on her toes, and I leaned down to kiss her—just as I was about to swipe my tongue into her mouth, Nellie stirred and whimpered. Nina smiled against my lips and settled back on her feet.
“She’s about to be hungry.”
“I’m always hungry,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
By the time we made it to a restaurant and I helped Nina into a booth, Nellie was on the verge of a meltdown. Nina unstrapped her from the harness, positioned her to nurse, and she latchedwith ease. There were fewer things more beautiful than watching the woman I loved breastfeed the tiny person we’d made.
Which was exactly why nobody else should be seeing it. I tossed the nursing cover at her.
She threw it right back. “She hates that, Lincoln.”
I harrumphed.
“Hello, what can I get you guys today?” A chipper server stood to my right. His gaze dipped. Lingering too long, swallowing too slow.
“Your head on a platter so you stop looking at my wife’s tits,” I said before I could stop myself.
The server stammered an apology and muttered something about getting us another waiter.
“Just give me the cover, Lincoln. Also, I’m not your wife.”
“Semantics. You’re just holding out on me. We’ll get there.”
I stood to hand her the cover, but she caught my sleeve and pulled me toward her lips. I might’ve deepened it, shown her just how persuasive I could be—but then a tiny hand smacked my cheek.
When I looked down, Nellie was smiling, milk-drunk and dimpled, her russet eyes catching the light as she stared straight into my soul. Reflecting everything I didn’t deserve.
“Give Villanelle to me, babe,” I murmured.
“She isn’t done, she?—”
“I need to hold her.”
Nina’s gaze softened as she lifted our daughter and placed her against my chest. Nellie blinked up at me, fingers curling into my collar, her warmth soaking through my clothes. Nina’s arms alsowrapped around me, holding us both. My whole messy, loud, undeserved world.
Our duplex was quiet, the kind of quiet that came after a long day of those small daily miracles that made a life worth living. Nellie had finally gone down—fed, changed, her tiny fingers still clutching the corner of her blanket on the monitor’s grainy screen. I’d have thought it was the soft static hum soothing me, it wasn’t. It was this life I’d salvaged out of burned ashes of my own doing. I leaned back into the couch, the low lamp casting a golden haze over the room, over the stack of folded laundry neither of us had the energy to put away.
Nina padded in barefoot, hair loose, face washed, wearing one of my shirts that hung halfway down her thighs. She glanced at the baby monitor on the coffee table, the faint flicker of Nellie’s chest rising and falling on the screen. I couldn’t look away from it.
“She’s out,” Nina muttered, curling onto my lap.
