The baby had settled somewhat, her distressed cries fading into small hiccups..
“Hello,” James murmured.
Violet babbled.
“I know,” he said. “It’s very loud.”
“I told her that already,” Isadora drawled.
“Did it help?”
“Not much.”
Lightning flashed again, and the room briefly went white.
Violet flinched and grabbed Isadora’s nightgown by the collar with both fists, which was efficient and also meant that Isadora was now tethered to a frightened baby and could not easily move.
“Here.” James stepped closer and put one hand lightly on Violet’s back. Not to take her, simply to add warmth. “It’s all right,” he murmured, and the baby’s breathing slowed. “It’s just the weather.”
Violet turned her head toward his voice, still gripping Isadora’s collar.
The three of them stood there in the warm nursery while the rain pelted the windows and the thunder slowly moved east, James’s hand on Violet’s back and Isadora’s arms around her and the distance between them approximately nonexistent.
Isadora was acutely aware of his warmth, with his sleeve brushing against her arm.
She looked down at Violet again. The baby was calmer, her dark lashes beginning to lower with the gradual surrender of exhaustion.
Do notlook at him.
She looked at him.
He was looking at Violet, his expression unguarded. His jaw was unshaven, the shadow of it visible in the low lamplight, and his collar was still undone.
There was something about the whole picture that was so different from every version of James she had encountered before that she found she had no defense against it.
His eyes moved away from Violet and found hers. She did not look away quickly enough.
His eyes traced every inch of her face and the fall of her hair, and something shifted in his expression. It was not teasing.
Then his eyes flicked to her lips. She felt it even though it lasted barely a second. He opened his mouth, but she was not certain what he intended to say.
Violet chose that moment to whimper, and both of them looked at her immediately.
“She needs rocking,” Isadora said.
“Yes,” James agreed, his voice slightly lower.
She moved to the chair, sat down, and began rocking. Violet’s grip on her collar loosened gradually.
The storm continued raging outside, and James stood in the center of the nursery for a moment before seemingly deciding that there was nothing further for him to do there.
“Is she—” He cleared his throat. “Will you be all right?”
“We’ll be fine,” Isadora assured him. “Go to bed.”
He stood there another moment longer.
“James,” she said. “Go to bed.”
