Page 96 of Rumor Has It

Since I intend to chuck whatever I find upstairs, I asked Cassidy what she thought of the idea; to give Aria a gift to open as she entered adulthood that no one else could truly understand the value of. I’d hoped Cassidy would bring up the proof of Aria’s father being there. But she didn’t.

In hindsight, I’m grateful. I can’t wrap my brain around giving a child I love to someone I don’t know. I can’t see my life without the baby’s dimpled smile. Or Aria’s constantmmms, which she uses to get Cassidy’s attention. Yet, I don’t bring up that our doe-eyed little girl is asking for her mother because I’m uncertain Cassidy recognizes what Aria believes. She’s completely filled that hole in the baby’s life. I don’t want to take a child away from Cass that I placed in her arms. I don’t want to tear Aria away from another mother. I don’t want them to lose one another.

I feel guilty that I’m filling another man’s shoes. And after almost a year, I’m more reluctant to give the shoes back than when I squeezed into them.

“Is it the baby, the girlfriend, or performing that’s got you exhausted?”

“All three?” I chuckle, running a hand through my hair. “Not in a bad way. Everything is perfect. I wouldn’t change it for a million bucks.”

Though it’s at an ungodly hour, the proximity to the show venues allows me to climb into bed with Cassidy. After waking, I find my girls still in their pajamas, playing in the nursery. We spend most of our family time there since there’s not much in Aria’s room she can get hurt by or that we have to tell her not to touch.

This morning, while I was stretched out on the floor, Aria pulled herself up using the crib slats. She cruised around, bouncing happily. Then one, two, three, she took her first steps. She fell forward with a loud squeal of delight, her chest colliding with mine. I was so proud of Aria I clutched her tight and told her so. But afterwards, I immediately did what any dad worth his weight would do. I tossed her in the air and made her shriek some more. When I looked over at Cassidy to make sure she saw, she was wiping tears from her eyes.

Last spring, I hadn’t considered how I’d feel when Aria began walking. Her milestones were hers alone. Nowadays, they’re mile markers for how far we’ve come. They’re part of our story.

“Your net worth far exceeds a million, so I’m glad,” Will replies, cheekily.

Will and I discuss the usual. Endorsement deals, interview requests, maintaining the party-line on the red carpet at the Country Music Network awards show while Cassidy is on my arm. Will says the interest in Cassidy has gained momentum. I’m not surprised. She’s bright. She’s beautiful. She’s a talented chef. What else could anyone wish for in a partner?

The call ends and I catch a whiff I haven’t smelled since we left Kingsbrier. In a bizarre twist, it makes me homesick.

I follow my nose to the kitchen. It’s apparent Cassidy’s been busy during my morning meetings with Vespa and Will. Grocery brown bags litter the floor. Mixing bowls, pans, and cooling racks I didn’t know I owned are scattered over the range and countertops. Interspersed are measuring cups of wet and dry ingredients. In the midst of the baking explosion is a barefoot Cassidy. She’s piled her hair on top of her head to keep it from getting in the way. From my vantage point, she’s wearing a pair of pink short shorts and a ribbed tank top and she’s tied an apron in a bow above her pert little ass.

“Where’d all this come from?” I ask, watching her peel a banana.

Now that I’m in the kitchen, and can see Cassidy from the front, I notice the apron hides her clothes. I’m half-hard imagining what her mouth could do with the banana and envisioning her nakedness underneath the dusty, flour-covered smock.

As soon as I smacked my head on the fridge, I began struggling to act like a gentleman. Then I got a taste of Cassidy and her cooking. Both are irresistible. Unable to help myself, I reach for a cooling muffin.

“Wait! That one’s good. I have another that the top popped off of.”

“You’re feeding me seconds?” I joke.

Whatever. They taste the same and I’m going to slather butter on the muffin, so she’s cut down a step.

“I’m trying to make sure that I’ve baked enough for everyone.” She pours batter into an eighteen slot cupcake pan, slides it into the oven, and sets the timer.

“Chou, there are three people here and one has four teeth. You’ve got,” I stop to count and lose track. “Enough to feed an army.”

“Exactly. I wish I could bake this many on the bus.”

“Hold on. Are these for the band? The roadies?”

“Who did you think they were for?”

“Me,” I state matter of fact. “I want all your muffins… Or I did until I saw how many I’d have to eat.”

“Funny, you’ve never had a problem indulging in seconds with my muffins before.” She bites her lip and her cheeks turn a subtle shade of red.

“I walked into that.” I slide around the counter, slipping a hand around her middle and drawing her back to my front.

“Damn straight.” She leans into my chest, unable to hide her laugh.

I grin, kissing the top of her head. “I missed this. You and me in the kitchen.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cassidy stops messing with the bowls and spatulas. “Going to elaborate?”

“I might have a fantasy about you,” I admit.

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