Page 93 of Stay Wild Darlin’

My stomach tightened, breath caught somewhere in my chest.

“Tonight, you trusted me and let me take you apart like that. It was . . . different. Real.”

I furrowed my brows. I didn’t want to be compared to Cora’s mom, though there really was no comparison to make. I was never going to be her mother. I was still only the nanny.

He pressed a kiss to the side of my face, like maybe he could feel the shift in me, the walls coming back up.

“You still up?”

I closed my eyes and pretended like I was asleep. I couldn’t hear this.

Because what I had taken from Dalton—what he gave me—had cracked my heart in half.

It made me feel safe. Warm. Wanted in a way that wrapped around the quietest parts of me.

This conversation was making me feel cold.

I’d been compared to other people my whole life.

To siblings who were louder. Smarter. More talented.

More everything.

I never quite fit in with the rest of my family.

I couldn’t go through that again.

Not with him.

Not with Cora.

I couldn’t be measured next to someone who gave birth and left.

Because even if I stayed, even if I gave all of myself, I would still be the nanny. Still temporary.

I stayed still, breathing slowly, hoping he’d believe I was asleep, because if I opened my mouth, the truth would pour out.

35

Dalton

The next morning, I took Cora and drove to the bakery in the next town over to grab some pastries and coffee. I wanted to make the morning special for Poppy and show her how much I appreciated her.

When we got back, even though she’d left my bed at some point before I woke up, she still hadn’t come out of her room.

“Do I go in there?” I asked Cora as I handed her a piece of muffin. The doctor had cleared her to start trying solid food, though she was mostly playing with the crumbs.

“Ughugh,” Cora babbled, her mouth full of mashed muffin.

“You’re no help.”

I sighed and started cleaning up breakfast, tossing napkins and wiping up sticky bits of jam while Cora slapped her palms on the tray of her highchair, happy in her own little world.

I kept checking the clock. Each minute dragged. Eight turned into nine, nine into nearly ten.

Was she sleeping in or avoiding me?

Last night replayed in my head like a film I couldn’t shut off. What I said. What I didn’t say. How she went still in my arms.