Page 127 of Paternal Instincts
Then, it was time to go home.
Quaid was too anxious to drive and insisted on sitting in the back seat with our daughter. We met gazes in the rearview mirror more than once on the journey and shared smiles.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Yes.”
Edwards had contacted Quaid that morning, offering well wishes and requesting a meeting once he had settled at home. Costa, Torin, and Jordyn had called with congratulations as well but hadn’t been able to visit since wrapping up a case of this magnitude took a tremendous effort. Especially a case with a tragic ending. They promised to swing by in the coming days once things calmed down.
I parked in the driveway, and Quaid collected the car seat, carrying Juniper to the house. We walked out the door the previous day as a couple. As two. We returned as a family. As three.
“I wonder what Oscar will think,” Quaid said as I unlocked the door.
“We’ll soon find out.”
The cat waited beyond the threshold, always ready to greet us when we got home. Oscar was curious about the bundle of smells Quaid sat on the ground, but after a few quizzical sniffs, he backed away, seemingly unimpressed, and strutted off toward the living room and his cat tree, where he curled up, facing away from us, and slept.
“Are we being snubbed?” Quaid asked, unlatching the car seat straps and transferring Juniper into his arms again. He’d hardly been able to put her down since she was born.
“Definitely. He’ll get over it.”
We stood in the front hallway and stared at one another. I cupped Quaid’s cheek, stroking the stubble along his jaw. “How does it feel, Daddy?”
“Good. So good.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”
I kissed him. “It’s real.”
Juniper fussed, and Quaid rocked and bounced her automatically, a frown cutting aVbetween his brows. “Do you think she’s hungry? I still can’t tell what all her noises mean.”
“Maybe. It’s been a couple of hours. Why don’t I make a bottle, and we can see if she wants it.”
“No. I’ll do it. Making formula is very specific.” He passed Juniper to me, kissing her head, and informed me he was going to figure out the bottle thing and would teach me the science behind it another day.
I chuckled and let him go without arguing or pointing out that I’d made bottles before and wasn’t inept. This was Quaid, and his comfort depended on control.
Alone in the hall, I stared down at my new daughter as she scrunched her face and squinted up at me with her dark brown eyes, tiny squeaks leaving her parted lips.
“Hey, beautiful. Welcome home.”
Her limbs flailed of their own accord since she still had little control. I offered her my finger, and she clung. “How about a tour of your new home?”
We stopped momentarily in the kitchen to kiss Daddy as he learned the art of making bottles. He cooed over his daughter and then shooed us away lest we disrupt the process or he make a mistake.
I showed Juniper the nursery that we’d spent months preparing and turned on the mobile so we could dance. She calmed as I gently swayed with her in my arms, humming the tune and inventing my own lyrics.
We sat in the rocking chair to read her one of the many board books in her collection, most educational since Quaid had picked them out and was convinced our baby would be a genius.
Juniper fussed, not interested in the story. The fussing turned to crying, and she did all she could to locate her thumb or fingers to suck, turning her head this way and that as her lips searched and sucked the air. I helped her, and the moment she had a knuckle, she contented herself, slurping and slobbering as I headed back downstairs.
“She’s definitely hungry. How’s the bottle coming?”
“Almost ready.” He tested it on his forearm, frowning. “Put your wrist out. Does this feel too hot?”
He dripped a few drops on my skin. “It’s perfect.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Quaid. Trust yourself.”
