Page 67 of Better Daddy
Cal looks up, giving me a once-over. “Better grab your rain jacket.”
No. I refuse to believe it will rain. “It’s supposed to snow.”
“Nah.” Lo shakes her head. “A warm front came through this afternoon. Instead of the ice and slush, we’re supposed to get a few inches of rain.”
Teeth gritted, I zero in on Madame E. “Tell them it’s going to snow.”
She purses her lips as she studies me. “Do not fret, Sullivan. It’s going to be a perfect night.”
I let out a long breath. That’s all I need to hear. If she says it’ll be perfect, then it won’t rain. Because a perfect night in Central Park requires a light snowfall. I even have a blanket in the car to tuck around us. I can already picture Sloane’s soft smile as the white flakes settle in her dark hair.
“Perfect might be a bit much for a night with Storm,” Brian jokes.
Oh. That’s right. They think I’m meeting a very demanding client. A few years ago, his ex falsely accused him of abuse against their then two-year-old. It took over a year and multiple court appearances, but eventually, the record was cleared, and he was givencustody of their daughter. Recently, the ex has started up the claims again, and it takes a lot of coddling to keep him from giving in and retaliating.
“He won’t care about the rain.” Lo shrugs. “He’d meet you during a cat-5 hurricane if he thought it was important.”
That last part is very true. He’s a devoted parent.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave them off and head down the hall to say good night to my son.
“Night, T.J.”
He jumps off the bottom bunk and throws his arms around me. “You promise you’ll be here if I wake up in the middle of the night? And you promise we’ll get donuts in the morning?”
I nod and hug him tight. One of the unfortunate side effects of our separation is the constant need for reassurance that he now requires. It breaks my bloody heart to hear the concern in his voice when he’s worried I won’t be around.
He finally releases me and goes back to his bed. “Love you, bud,” I say as I step into the hall.
On the drive to the city, I ignore the temperature reading on the dash. So what if it’s forty-two? Now that it’s dark, the temperature will surely drop. And Madame E said it would be a perfect night, so it will not rain.
The fates want Sloane and me to work out. Even Madame E knows it. They wouldn’t let rain ruin our night.
The nerves that swirl in my gut as I take the elevator up to our old flat are unfamiliar. Coming home, to the penthouse we shared for years, to Sloane and T.J., used to be the most peaceful part of my day. I want to get back to that, and tonight, I’m taking one more step in that direction. Showing my wife how special she is, how much she means to me, is my sole focus.
I made meticulous plans, even booking the same company I used twenty years ago for the horse-drawn carriage ride. Then I made reservations at her favorite restaurant.
As the elevator reaches our floor, Ishift the bouquet in my hand, and when the doors open into the small hallway, I stride straight for the door. I have a key, but rather than use it, I knock.
Sloane opens the door moments later, beaming. “I love the gray suit on you.” I know. It’s the entire reason I wore it. “Am I underdressed?” With a small frown, she glances down at her black pants and the blue cashmere sweater that molds to her body like a second skin.
I can’t help but focus on the small bump where our baby is growing, my hand itching to touch her. At sixteen weeks, she is starting to really show.
It probably isn’t my smartest move, but I give in and settle my palm over her lower abdomen.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper. With my other hand, I hold up the flowers. “For you.”
Her eyes go soft as she takes them and brings them to her nose. When she lowers the bouquet, I angle in and press my lips to hers.
She sighs into my mouth, and my heart stutters.
Yes, this is going to be perfect.
Though as we stand outside the building ten minutes later, I’m doubting that sentimentandMadame E. How in the bloody hell has it gotten warmer since I left Jersey? And when did all the clouds appear? Like this, not even the full moon is visible, let alone the stars.
It’s strangely quiet as a man on a bike stops in front of us. Attached to the bike is a small, half-covered cart with a neon sign that saysLove.
“What is that?” Sloane says.
