“So much for that,” I sigh.
Disappointment for missing my window is replaced with guilt the moment I see her. How could I be disappointed about missing a shower when I get to see this?
She’s rolled on her side, kicking at the crib rails, with a cheeky smile in place. Her curls are a frayed heap on top of her head, and somehow, she has maneuvered one arm out of her sleep sack, now fashioning a toga look. A beautiful little mess.
I scoop her up, nurse her, change her, and kiss every squishy part of her I can reach. And by the time she’s ready for the morning, I have maybe,maybe, ten minutes left.
“Why is it always like this?” I coo at her. Her round cheeks scrunch, and her button nose crinkles as she erupts into a laugh that melts every irritation. I breathe her in, kissing every soft spot again until I finally, reluctantly, take her downstairs to Cindy.
She’s showing Steven where the boys’ lunchboxes are and what to pack. He’s listening intently and takingnotes.
I pause on the stairs, watching him. I’m taken back to finals week in college, when he’d spread his papers across the living room floor and study until his eyes were glassy. I used to doodle tiny hearts and stick figures in the margins of his notes, just to remind him he wasn’t alone. It was intense to witness—the lack of sleep, poor nutrition, constant thrum of anxiety—but he always had this glimmer in his eyes: he loved what he was learning, who he was becoming.
That same glimmer is here now, shining, as he learns how Sawyer prefers his sandwiches to be cut and how Easton needs an even number of berries. He wants to know them. Steven wants to know his children. And this sends a tiny, vaguely familiar flutterblooming in my chest
“Mrs. Jones, you have to leave.” Cindy waves a tea towel toward the microwave clock.
Shoot. My shoes aren’t even on. I sprint upstairs, throw myself together, and skid back down thirty seconds later.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” I ask Steven, hopping on one foot to zip up my boot. “I’ll be back in three hours. I have the interview, and then I can grab lunch—”
I lose my balance, toppling toward the floor, but before I can hit the carpet, Steven’s thick arms are around me. He lifts me easily, pulling me into his chest. My hands land against him, and suddenly I’m wrapped in heat and memory and the scent of coffee on his skin. I’m momentarily lost in his eyes and the curve of his lip, the tilted smile that’s only for me.
I can feel his heart hammering into my chest, or maybe that’s my heart? The moisture on my tongue dries out as his hot breath caresses my lips. All breathing stops. We’re so close—closer than we’ve been in weeks.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and he swallows.
“Be careful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself.
I clear my throat and step back, but the loss of him is sharp and unexpected, like I’ve lost an important appendage. I haven’t felt this way in years, this visceral pain that tugs on me when I’m apart from him.
These feelings scare me. What if they slip away when his memory returns? But they make my chest glow too. There’s something deeply romantic about rediscovering my husband, about the way love flickers back to life like a dimmed light surging to full glow.
“Are you sure you’ll—”
“Yes.” His smile is so easy that for one disarming second it erases everything we’ve been through. “I’m good here. Now go.”
He guides me toward the door with his hand firmly on my lower back. The boys are already outside, their backpacks bouncing as they race to thecar. Steven hands me my purse then hesitates before deciding that giving me a side hug is safest. It’s an awkward interaction for all watching. Even still, his fingers trail the waistband of my pants before he lets go. It’s barely a brush but enough to jolt every nerve in my body.
And when I make it to the car… I’m breathless.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” I sidestep Malcolm, who is lingering in my office, and start my quick, yet slightly neurotic, morning routine. Bag under desk, computer on, coffee lid off, blinds open, and binders stacked.
“I just want to make sure she finds the right place.” Malcolm shifts on his feet as he glances out the window.
“We’re the only high school in a twenty-mile radius. I think she’ll be fine.”
“You can’t be too sure; she got lost in a gas station once.”
I arch a brow at him.
“She was six.”
“Exactly. Just go wait in your office, and I’ll call you when we’re done.” My shoo-ing is ineffective, so I physically turn him toward my door and shove him into the hall. “Please don’t make me fire you for a day.”
He scoffs out a laugh as he walks away. I grab the binder, my coffee and phone, then head to our conference room on the other side of the building. On the way, I check the nanny cam. Even though it’s only been an hour, I can’t shake the nerves brimming under my skin. But this time it has nothing to do with being away from Josie.
I can’t stop worrying about Steven.
