“Thanks. For everything. Today and always.”
His cousin left, and he lingered in the archway between the kitchen and living room. Chelsea remained on the floor, listening intently to their child.
“Your hair is long.” Jordan pointed to the frame on the mantle. “I always want Daddy to cut my hair to make me look like you. Maybe I let it grow.”
“Or I could cut it again to be like yours,” Chelsea suggested.
Hopping up and down, Jordan squealed, “Then, we’d be the same again.” Her little head whipped around, spotting him in the doorway. When she turned back, she lifted her hand. “Do you want to play in my playwoom? Can she, Daddy?”
“Sure.” He could hardly take her new mom away so soon, even if what he honestly wanted to do was sit down and have a chat with his wife. God, that sounded strange to say that word again. Yet he needed to hash out a few things and find out exactly what her plans were. If she even had any. For now, he’d allow the two some time to bond. And hope it didn’t backfire in his face.
“This is my playwoom. Daddy says someday I’ll get lost in the mess, and he won’t be able to find me. But that’s silly.”
The room definitely had lots of toys. It had been a sitting room with a TV in it when she’d been living here. Now, it reminded her of the playroom she had growing up, though on a smaller scale. Was Theo compensating for something with so many play things? Like Jordan not having a mother?
But she did have a mother. And Chelsea was here now.
“What’s your favorite thing to play with?” Top priority was getting to know her child. She had almost four years to make up for.
“This.” Jordan toddled over to a large plastic dollhouse that was about the same height as her. Each room opened in the front, and furniture and dolls lay scattered about.
“What do you like best about it?” Her dollhouse had been one of her favorite things, too. Hers had been wooden and handcrafted especially for her. One of her nannies had always reprimanded her if she played too vigorously with it or dared to move the furniture or dolls. Obviously, Theo allowed her free rein. Knowing this made her heart lighter.
“I can make the dolls do lots of stuff.” The little girl picked up a few of the dolls and began moving them about the different rooms, listing what each room was for.
Chelsea studied her child. According to Angie, Jordan looked exactly like her. There were similarities. Same dark hair and tiny ears. Upturned nose that crinkled when she laughed. Thank God her child knew how to laugh. Had she missed having a mother or not known any difference? Her excitement when she’d come in indicated having her mom show up wasn’t a bad thing.
Her smile, on the other hand. That was pure Theo. The tiny dimple near the corner of her mouth, the crooked grin, and how her eyes shone bright with happiness. All Theo. It had been one of the things that had attracted him to her. His smile was addicting.
The color of Jordan’s eyes wasn’t what she had imagined. Neither the blue she had nor the light brown of Theo’s. Jordan’s were hazel with light brown specks in them. Would they change over time or stay the same? Shouldn’t a mother know these things? Not a mother who had no child to show for the nine months of carrying a baby.
“And these are all a family,” Jordan chattered on, showing her three dolls. “The daddy, the mama, and the little girl. She’s Jordan, like me. They’re a happy family, like us. Wight, Mama? Now that you’re back, we can all be happy. Billy at school says I’m not happy, ‘cause I only have a daddy.”
“Aren’t you happy with your daddy?” Fear coursed through her at the thought her precious little girl might be sad. Had she overestimated Theo?
“He’s the best daddy in the whole world.” Her little arms stretched as far as they could go. “I told Billy, but he didn’t believe me. He don’t have a daddy at home, and his mommy is always yelling about him.”
“Does your daddy yell at you?”
“He don’t yell, but sometimes he does this.” She put her hands on her hips and made a face. “‘Jordan Marie Lapierre, get your cute little bottom over here and clean up this mess.’”
Laughter slipped from Chelsea’s mouth at the deep tone of Jordan’s voice as she mimicked her father.
Jordan giggled. “Then, he kisses me wight here.” The girl pointed to the heart-shaped birthmark on her neck. “It’s so he knows where to kiss me.”
“I also have one.” Chelsea pushed her hair aside so her daughter could see. “That’s what your daddy always said about mine, too.”
The tiny squeal of delight that came from Jordan’s mouth sent shivers of love and excitement through Chelsea. Anger at having this stolen from her followed behind.Deep breath. Stay focused on Jordan. Don’t dwell on the past.
“Can I kiss yours, Mama?” Before she could say anything, Jordan stepped closer and pressed her lips to Chelsea’s neck. The sweet touch filled her with longing and an emotion so deep she couldn’t describe it.
“Now, you kiss mine.”
Her daughter tilted her head and Chelsea leaned in, inhaling the sweet scent of her child. Something inside her roared to life. Primal and territorial. She’d die to protect this little girl. Her arms wrapped around Jordan and tugged her close, then she touched her lips to the satiny skin.
Tears welled and her lips trembled at the touch as she held tighter to this precious baby. She didn’t want to let go. Perhaps her daughter didn’t want to either as her hands tightened in Chelsea’s hair, and she practically sat in her lap.
“Why did you call me a princess earlier?”
