Page 71 of With a Grain of Salt

I smile at Larkin who grins back at me, but her mother isn't as easily swayed.

"I pulled the car seat from your car before Boone towed it away, and I grabbed the diaper bag too.”

“It’s not a diaper bag,” she argues, as if there's more to the story, but she doesn't elaborate. "Thank you for getting the seat."

Claire makes sure the car seat is buckled correctly, quick to praise me for getting it right, and it thrills me so much that I don't even mention that Chase, having experience with that sort of thing, was the one to do it.

The truck is already warm inside before we climb in. Although I thought of gripping her thigh if she rode here with me, I know better than to do it with Larkin in the truck.

I glance at the girl in the rearview mirror more than once on the drive to their house, and I can't help but grin as I watch her eyes droop several times before she falls asleep.

After parking in front of her duplex, I lean over to kiss Claire, but my lips meet her hand instead.

"She's asleep," I whisper against her fingertips, smiling when she pulls her hand away and looks over the seat to make sure. "Kiss me."

She only wavers for a few seconds before leaning in and brushing her lips against mine.

I climb out of the truck when she does, annoyed a little that she opened her door before I could get around to her.

"Leave the car seat. I'll pick you up in the morning for work."

She doesn't argue with me this time, and I know it has more to do with her limited options than her wanting me here in the morning. I guess I'll just have to take what I can get.

Chapter 30

Claire

I couldn't sleep last night, although that's not really a change. I'm so stressed out all the time that my mind races even while exhausted, but last night I wasn't thinking about bills and debt.

Last night, Walker managed to sneak into every thought I had.

I didn't have some eye-opening epiphany, but I know that the man is one of the good ones.

I also know that I'd never tell Larkin when she was older that sacrificing all her happiness is okay. I'd never instruct my daughter not to spend time on herself because she's making sacrifices for those that she loves. It's just not healthy. I reason that it would be different once she's older, when she has a little more independence, then maybe I can too, but that doesn't feel right either. Don't happy children have happy parents?

I don't know how many online articles I've read about kids being able to sense conflict in their parents even when they don't witness strife.

I watch Larkin as she brushes her troll doll's hair, only occasionally looking up at the cartoon playing on the television. She doesn't seem maladjusted, but I'm not a child psychologist either. I have no doubt I'll mess her up in some way no matter how hard I try to be the best parent I can be.

While waiting for Walker to show up, I pull my phone from the front pocket of my scrubs and instantly open the text thread from last night.

Walker texted me because I was so quick to get Larkin inside last night that we never discussed what time I needed him here. When I asked if he drove all the way back to the bar to get my number, he shocked me when he told me that he'd had it in his phone since the night I filled out the application in his office.

He was straightforward in his texts, and it left me feeling a little annoyed. I don't think the man has an ulterior motive, but he's always so flirty when we're together. It frustrated me that none of that came through last night.

His last text simply read sweet dreams.

That was it. He missed an opportunity to tell me to dream of him or mention maybe that he'll be dreaming of me.

A knock on the door has me clicking my phone off and shoving it back into my pocket like the man has x-ray vision and can see me staring down at his text the way a high school girl might.

I pull in a deep breath, knowing I don't have enough time to get the heat of embarrassment from my cheeks, before pulling open the door.

"It's time to go," I tell Larkin as I walk past her to open the front door.

She doesn't argue as she stands, placing her trolls in the small basket on the TV stand before grabbing her little coat from the sofa.

"Good morning," I tell Walker, who looks like he slept just fine last night.

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