She took Olive’s hand again, careful and cheerful while Dusty helped them gather their things. They walked toward the house talking about lunch and naps and how they’d put all the jewelry in one place so it wouldn’t get lost.
“A vault,” Olive murmured, proving that she listened and was smart as a whip and Tessa could try but she couldn’t love the child more.
Inside her chest, something cracked cleanly in two, the pain too deep to even make a fuss over Olive’s brilliance, which she usually praised.
Back in the house, Tessa moved with calm efficiency. She laid Olive’s clothes out on the bed, all of them neatly folded and rolled. From the kitchen, she could hear Dusty’s voice.
“Peanut butterandjelly, or just peanut butter?” he asked.
“Boff,” Olive said decisively.
“Good choice,” he said. “That’s also my choice. More is better. Or more is just…whoa. Not that much more.”
There was a pause, then laughter—Olive’s giggle, breathy and delighted. Tessa didn’t know what Dusty had done to earn that, but she could see his face, animated and playful, and Olive’s, beautiful and innocent.
Tessa pressed a folded T-shirt to her chest and closed her eyes, a loud voice echoing one question in her head:How did she miss this part of life?
The question came unexpected, sharp as a blade that sliced her heart in two.
But how could shenotask herself the obvious question? Why hadn’t she gottenthis—the mess, the noise, the weight of loving someone who needed you completely? Why had she not chosen differently when she’d had the chance?
Not just Roman, though that decision was very deliberately safe and selfish at the time. She’d told herself she was choosing freedom. Possibility. A full life—and giving one to her newborn.
Frankly, considering Roman Matteo’s personality and upbringing and outcome, she’d done the right thing giving him up for adoption.
But other times in life—when a man got too serious, when a job wasn’t the be-all and end-all, when she could have made a commitment—she ran. There’d been so many times she could have taken the marriage and motherhood path, and she so vehemently and desperately took off in the other direction.
Why?
She’d always said no man could hold a candle to her father, but was that just an excuse for a girl who had been too wild, too impulsive, and too addicted to a good time?
She hadn’t been stupid or careless. She’d made the best decisions she could with what she knew at the time. And she chose pleasure over responsibility.
But standing here now, listening to Dusty laugh softly and talk about the evils of crusts on bread, she felt like she’d missed therealpleasure in life.
Was there anything worse than regret?
Letting out a groan, she leaned against the dresser, breathing through the sadness, reminding herself—again—that those emotions wouldn’t change history.
Normally, she didn’t give a second thought to her decision to remain childless. She had a niece and nephew, and now she had Lacey, who was like a daughter. She had Jonah’s little baby to scratch that infant itch and she had?—
A car pulled into the driveway.
She had run out of time.
She walked to the window and looked down to see a small blue compact car and, a moment later, the driver’s door opened and a young woman stepped out.
Morgan looked much better than she had when she’d dropped Olive off—straighter, stronger, cleaner. Ready to take her daughter away.
Not away.Home.
And Tessa had to face the fact that this brush with faux and temporary motherhood was officially over.
She pressed her hands together, blinked away tears, and walked toward the hall at the sound of footsteps coming up the outside stairs.
Loving Olive had been worth every second. Even this one.
Tessa walkedinto the living area just as Morgan knocked. Dusty was at the sink rinsing a cup, sleeves pushed up, sunlight catching in his hair. He turned at the knock, and the look that passed between him and Tessa was brief, but it said everything:This is going to hurt.
