Page 54 of One More Heartbeat
Peony giggles and tries to run away. She trips and falls onto the grass.
Athena scoops her up. “Gotcha.”
Peony squeals. Athena blows a raspberry on her stomach, and Peony giggles uncontrollably.
Athena says something to her that I don’t hear and puts Peony on the grass. They both turn to the door and, at seeing me, startle.
Athena’s eyebrows disappear under her bangs, and her freckles become even more noticeable against her suddenly paler-than-normal skin. “How long have you been standing there?”
I take a casual step forward but maintain my distance so as not to upset Peony. “Not long. You two were having so much fun, I didn’t want to interrupt. I came out to thank you for making dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” Athena’s gaze roams down my body and up to my face. The color has returned to her cheeks by the time she’s finished her perusal. “You’re a Marine. Can you teach me self-defense?”
“Sure. I can do that.” Kellan and I taught Zara and Emily self-defense two or three years ago. “We can use the training mats in the main Wilderness Warriors building.”
Athena catches her bottom lip between her teeth, and something sparks in her eyes. “Can you teach me how to shoot a gun?”
Her question has me mentally stumbling back, although it probably shouldn’t. She survived a mall shooting. Like other people who have been in her situation, she’s thinking of arming herself with a handgun in case something like that happens again.
“No. I’m not a licensed gun instructor. Also, I don’t allow guns in the house.” Gun accidents happen all the time. Deadly accidents. Accidents often involving children.
Athena nods, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve just passed some sort of test I didn’t know about.
The three of us go into the house and get ready for dinner.
“Can I put you in the booster seat?” I ask Peony as Athena spoons the rice and sauce onto the plates.
Athena smiles encouragingly at her. “That’s a good idea. Let your daddy put you in the seat. I bet he would like that.”
Peony eyes me like I’m an insect she’s not too sure about, but there’s no hint in her expression that we’re heading for another crying fit. She lifts her arms up but doesn’t close the distance between us.
I take three slow steps toward her, careful not to spook her, and cautiously pick her up as if she’s a live explosive.
I grimace, waiting for the worst to happen. But there are no tears, no wobbling lips, no warning signs she’s about to detonate.
And I ease out a long, relieved breath.
20
GARRETT
The early-evening springbreeze is cool against my cheek as Athena and I walk to the neighborhood park. But as cool as the temperature might be, it isn’t cold enough for me to wear a jacket. I only have on a hoody.
Athena is carrying Peony, who is bundled in her coat. She’s babbling in a toddler language, and hell, she has a lot to say. To Athena.
Not to me.
“Peony seems happier now,” I point out.
“She had a nap.” Athena smiles fondly at my daughter.
“When does she usually nap?”
Athena shrugs. “Whenever she needs one.”
I might not know much about young kids, but even I know they have regular naptimes. As someone who thrives on keeping to a routine, I can appreciate that. “She doesn’t have a regular naptime?”
“Nothing specific.”
