Page 4 of Fated Secret Baby

My phone works. I know Orion’s number. I’ve had it since we finished our masters’ degrees together, since he gave it to me when he was assigned as my lab partner the first day of the program.

I used to call him all the time.

But since I left his pack? I just never did.

Hopefully, he didn’t change his number when the pack moved from Alaska to Oakwood, Colorado.

“I’m happy you’re here, Calista,” Amara says sincerely. “I missed you.”

I look up at her and smile. “I missed you too, babe.”

“You stayed with us for so long after you and Orion came back from that program. I really thought the two of you would?—”

“I know,” I cut her off. “I thought so, too.”

“You know, you never told me what happened.”

I shake my head. “I probably won’t. I just can’t.”

Hearing him tell his mom that he would never mate someone like me? It killed me. Especially because I thought, for certain, that he was the one for me.

Amara nods. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re doing this. I’m here for you. And I’m happy to spend some time with Juniper.”

“Oh, trust me.” I smile. “She’s happy to be around you, too.”

“She’s a sweet kid.”

I grimace. “They’re all sweet… until they’re not. Just wait.”

Laughing, Amara sits back. “Come on. She’s four. How bad can it be?”

In the morning, Amara finds out exactly how bad it can be.

Juniper is not a morning person. Never has been. As a baby, she slept through the night like a champ, but she’s never been fond of waking up.

When she wakes up, I realize in the worst way possible that I forgot to get her cereal. The one and only type of cereal she will eat. The only one that transforms her from a horrible gremlin into a somewhat reasonable child.

There’s a two-second lag when I realize that I forgot it. And then, the screaming begins.

“Okay,” Amara says, taking her hands from over her ears. “This is pretty impressive.”

“It’s actually gotten better. When she was three, she used to melt down without telling me what she needed. At least now I know,” I say back.

We’re outside on Amara’s porch. Inside, my kid is shrieking bloody murder.

“How long does it last for?”

“At this point, she’ll probably just exhaust herself and fall asleep on the couch,” I say. “She’s overstimulated and tired and hungry, and she’s going to shut down in about…” I glance at my watch. “Somewhere between one and two minutes.”

“How do you know that so well?”

“Kids,” I shrug. “I may not know all of ‘em, but I know mine.”

True to form, in two minutes, the crying stops. Amara and I peer inside, and Juniper is flopped out on the couch, her brown hair in a huge ratty nest, her bright blue eyes shut. There’s a little wrinkle between her eyes, like she’s still thinking about how angry she is about the cereal.

Amara looks at me. “Anyone who sees her is going to know she’s Orion’s kid.”

“Yeah. I know,” I sigh. “Can you watch her for a little while? I’ll go to the store and pick up the cereal she wants. We’ll just start over as soon as she wakes up, and it’ll be like this whole situation never happened.”

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