Her words hit me hard. Is that what Henley is embarking on right now? That same journey? And do I want to be around to watch it?
Or should I focus on my own path and the journey I’ve been working toward for myself?
***
“God, it smells amazing in here.” Henley’s voice is by my ear before I realize he’s home, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.
“Jesus Christ!” Swatting at him over my shoulder, I twist to find him smirking down at me before he leans down to place a kiss on my lips.
“Sorry. I thought you heard me.”
“Normally I do,” I say truthfully, but I know why I wasn’t paying attention—because between the sound of the water running in the sink and my mental recollection of the words to another song that I wrote this afternoon, I certainly wasn’t aware of my surroundings.
Luckily, Remy has been content in her high chair while I checked out.
I reach for the kitchen towel on the counter, wiping my hands dry. “I made lasagna. It’s my—”
“Mother’s recipe,” he finishes for me. “Seems to me that your mom had a lot of recipes.”
“I told you. Her philosophy was that homemade was always better.”
He kisses me softly again, cupping my jaw. “She obviously knew something since nothing you’ve cooked for me so far has tasted like garbage.”
“I think that was supposed to be a compliment, but I’m not sure.”
Henley chuckles. “It was.” Releasing me from his hold, he walks over to his daughter and extracts her from the high chair. “And how is my baby bear tonight? Did you have a good day with Elodie?” He tosses her up in the air once, making her squeal.
My cheeks are burning from how hard I’m smiling, but I can’t help it. When Henley smiles, so do I.
After my lunch the other day with Laney, I decided to take things one day at a time. Her point about my timeline has also been at the forefront of my mind, that I do have the choice to stick to it or not. And while I decide on that, I want to support Henley. He seems so different since that night when we admitted the feelings developing between us. He’s smiling more, cracking more jokes, and I won’t lie and say that I haven’t enjoyed the kisses and orgasm.
Yes, only the one. Even though I’ve pressed him for more, he’s insisted that we take things slowly, which my libido continues to protest.
Instead of dry humping each other every night, we’ve spent a few hours each evening putting the finishing touches on Remy’s room. The bear decals finally arrived in the mail, so the entire theme is complete. The bears have pink bows on their heads too, which totally brings the color of the walls out. Henley has finished putting all of the furniture together, and I’ve been organizing clothes by size, preparing for the upcoming winter season, and organizing toys and other items in her closet. Her room is almost complete and the admiration I feel for Henley for finally getting it done has been hard to contain.
Luckily, I’ve had a mental distraction of whether or not I’m going to agree to perform at Laney’s family’s winery in a few weeks, even though my heart is leaning toward saying yes. In fact, as I was writing my song today, I realized just how much I’ve missed that aspect, and it would be the perfect opportunity to debut some new lyrics.
“She’s been a little cranky today. I think that tooth on the bottom gums is really affecting her.”
Henley frowns at his daughter. “Well, that’s just unacceptable, huh, baby bear?” His eyes find mine. “Did you give her anything?”
“A little bit of Tylenol earlier, which seemed to help because about twenty minutes later she passed out for two hours.”
“Well, at least she got a nap.”
“I’m convinced that’s the only reason why she’s in a decent mood right now.”
Henley carries her over to the living room, setting her down on the floor in her Bumbo chair that allows her to sit up on her own. He lowers himself to the ground and then reads a book to her, making my heart melt even more for this man.
After we eat, clean up the kitchen, bathe Remy, and shower ourselves, Henley insists on putting Remy to bed on his own. We moved her crib into her room tonight, so he’s nervous about not having her sleeping with him, even though he hasn’t outwardly admitted it. But I think it’s adorable.
I’m sitting on the couch, flipping through Netflix, trying to find a movie for us to watch when my phone vibrates next to me. My mom’s name flashes on the screen and I momentarily debate not answering it. I haven’t spoken on the phone with her since I moved to Blossom Peak. In fact, the last time we texted a few weeks ago, she asked me how L.A. was, and I told her things were great.
Obviously, I lied.
“Hello?” I answer, trying to keep my voice low.
“Elodie? Why are you whispering?”
