Page 45 of Worship Him

"Dammit," I mutter, slamming the laptop shut.

The events of last night come rushing back. Adam's hands on my skin, his lips on mine. The urgency, the passion. It felt so right in the moment, but now...

I pace the room, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the connection we shared was undeniable. The passion, the intensity – it felt like coming home.But on the other, the hurt and distance between us that led to our separation still linger.

"What the hell am I doing?" I groan, collapsing onto the couch.

After a few moments, I return to my laptop. The inbox icon taunts me with its unread message count. Might as well tackle this mountain of emails. Anything to keep my mind off... everything else.

"Let's see what we've got here," I mutter, clicking open the first message.

It's from my fabric supplier. They're having issues with the silk I ordered for my new collection. Great. Just what I need right now.

I type out a quick response, my fingers flying over the keys. "Hi Jenna, Thanks for the heads up. Can we set up a call to discuss alternatives? I'm free tomorrow morning."

Send.

Next.

An invitation to a fashion week event in Paris. Any other day, I'd be thrilled. Now? The thought of jetting off to the City of Light feels hollow.

Delete. Slight regret.

I open the next message. It's from my assistant, reminding me about the photoshoot scheduled for next week. I'd completely forgotten.

"Shit," I groan, rubbing my temples. "Get it together, girl."

I fire off a reply, confirming the details and asking her to double-check the model bookings. At least someone on my team has their act together.

As I work through the inbox, a pattern emerges. Every email answered is a tiny victory, a moment where I'm not thinking about Adam's hands on my skin or the way his lips felt against mine.

But then I hit send, and reality comes crashing back.

The silence in the apartment feels oppressive. I strain my ears, hoping to hear Avery stirring in her crib. Nothing but her adorable sleeping sounds. No distraction to truly lose myself in.

My cursor hovers over the 'Compose' button. I could email Adam and sort things out digitally. Keep it professional. Ask about his visit with Avery. Pretend last night never happened.

My fingers twitch, ready to type. But what would I say?

"Hey Adam, thanks for the mind-blowing sex last night. By the way, when do you want to see our daughter again?"

I slam the laptop shut once more, disgusted with myself. This isn't solving anything. It's just delaying the inevitable conversation we need to have.

Avery’s soft cry from the baby monitor on my desk pulls me back to the present. Finally. I hurry to her room, glad for the distraction.

I cradle her against my chest, her tiny body warm and comforting as I return to the living room. Her soft breaths tickle my neck as I pace the living room, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"What are we gonna do, baby girl?" I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She coos in response, her tiny hand gently holding my finger. The simple gesture sends a wave of love through me, so powerful it nearly brings me to my knees.

"Your daddy..." I start, then pause, unsure how to continue. How do I explain the complicated mess of feelings I have for Adam to our three-month-old daughter?

"He loves you so much already," I tell her, my voice cracking. "And I love him. God, I love him more than I ever thought possible."

But love isn't always enough, is it? The memory of our arguments, the hurt and betrayal in Adam's eyes when he thought I'd cheated, it all comes rushing back.

"What if we mess it up again?" I ask Avery, as if she could provide the answers I'm desperately seeking. "What if we hurt each other, and you get caught in the middle?"

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