Atlas makes a thoughtful sound.“Okay, diapers, sleepers, outlets.Got it.Anything else?”
“Yes.”I narrow my eyes at him.“You need to stop insisting she’ll be skating before she walks.”
He grins, unrepentant.“That’s not coming off the list.In fact, I’d like to addTeach Grayce how to fist-bump.”
“Fist bump?”I scoff.“She’s not even eating steak yet.”
“All the more reason to start training early,” he says, curling his hand into a fist and bumping it against hers.She squeals like she approves.
I shake my head, fighting a smile.“Okay, so my list is practical.Yours is ridiculous.”
“Correction,” he says smoothly.“Mine is fun.Which we also need, unless you want the CEO to grow up thinking we’re boring.”
I laugh, surprising myself with how light it sounds.“Fine.We’ll split the list—half serious, half fun.”
He leans back, smug.“Deal.But when she fist-bumps before she crawls, you’re buying the champagne.”
“Champagne?”My brows lift.“For a baby milestone?”
“For us,” he says, eyes locking with mine.“She gets mashed bananas.We celebrate with bubbles.”
My stomach does an unhelpful little flip, and I duck my head toward Grayce before Atlas can see my smile.
I sip more coffee, watching the way his hand spans Grayce’s back, the way she melts into him like he’s a place, not a person.The warmth that swells in my chest is threatening to become a permanent condition, and the main thing I notice is that my grief doesn’t seem as sharp.
“I watched the game,” I say, trying for casual.“All of it.”
His eyes cut to mine, pleased and teasing.“Did you yell at the TV again?”
“I may have told a linesman to get his eyes checked,” I admit.“And I might have shouted ‘Move your feet’ at one of your defensemen like I knew what that meant.”
Atlas’s grin hits dangerous levels.“I heard you from Boston, actually.Very motivating.”
I try to roll my eyes but end up smiling into my mug.“You were good.I mean… you were great.Whatever.It was fine.”
“Fine,” he repeats, deadpan, but his ears are red.“Did you take notes?”
I set the mug down.“Don’t mock me.I have a spreadsheet.”
His laugh is full and delighted, and Grayce startles, then giggles like she meant to.He softens instantly, nuzzles his nose to her cheek.“Had to show off, huh?”
I swear I feel that tender tone in my bones.
He hoists Grayce into his arms and stands.We end up shoulder to shoulder at the stove while he scoops eggs onto two plates with his free hand.
Our elbows brush and I am acutely aware of how tall he is, how the cotton of his T-shirt pulls at his shoulders, how he smells like soap and coffee and sexiness.
“Sit,” he says, and I blink out of my stupor.“Eat.I’ll do Grayce’s bottle after.”
“Bossy,” I murmur, but I obey.He slides a plate in front of me and then sets one at the corner of the table where the high chair is pulled near, like he’s unconsciously building a triangle out of our lives.
We eat like people who haven’t had a hot breakfast in forever, trading glances and crooked smiles while Grayce narrates the cosmos in happy squeals.
A piece of egg flips off my fork and lands on the placemat.I wrinkle my nose.“I’m an adult,” I announce solemnly.“I swear I am.”
“Barely,” he chuckles, and I kick him under the table.His answering grin curls my toes in my slippers.The way we’re bantering, it’s just like I did with Gray.Did he do that with Gray?
When the plates are pushed back and the coffee is half gone, Atlas leans his forearms on the table, serious cutting through the light.
