Page 137 of When We Were Reckless
I’m two seconds away from pushing down my briefs and gliding into her when I hear the pitter-patter of little feet running down the hallway.
I groan and bury my face in the crook of Quinn’s neck, inhaling her scent. She still smells like sunshine and summertime.
“Oh my God, how does she do that?” Quinn mutters.
“She’s a little magician, like her mommy.”
“She’s a little daredevil, like her daddy.”
True on both counts.
“Da-da. Da-da.” Our little magician is smacking her palms against the door—our morning routine to let me know she’s awake and ready to play.
“So unfair,” Quinn mutters.
I laugh because, hey, what can I say? Fable Willow McCallister is a daddy’s girl through and through. I kiss Quinn’s hair before I reluctantly roll away from her. “I’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Is everything packed? We have to leave soon,” she mumbles.
“Everything’s packed and in the car. We’re not leaving until nine.” We’re headed down to Galveston for a two-week McCallister family beach vacation—a tradition we started a few years ago before Fable was born. It’s going to be pure chaos. “Go back to sleep.”
She’s still half asleep, so it doesn’t take much coaxing. “Love you,” she says with a sweet little smile as her eyes drift shut.
“Love you more.”
I hear Fable babbling as I get dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. She loves to make up stories, just like her mama does.
“Daddy’s coming,” I assure her. Satisfied with my answer, I hear her running back to her room.
A few seconds later, I head down the hallway past the framed photos. Quinn and I on our honeymoon in Bali, our Malibu beach wedding, the hot air balloon ride over Napa Valley when I proposed, our trips to Europe, Quinn receiving her diploma from UCLA, Fable’s baby photos, and family photos grace our walls.
Our house was built on love, and some of our best memories are captured in these photos.
I find Fable in her fairytale bedroom, where she’s dragging every stuffed animal she owns into the center of the rug. Her bedroom looks like Narnia, complete with a secret wardrobe and a playroom with a lifelike oak tree.
I’m not even biased when I say that our baby girl is the most beautiful baby in the world. No offense to all the other babies out there, but my girl has them beat by a mile. She looks like an angel with her halo of blond curls, apricot skin, and big blue eyes. Because sheisan angel.
And don’t even get me started on how smart she is. Pretty sure she’s a genius.
How many other sixteen-month-old babies have cracked the code on how to escape their crib? My girl, that’s who.
Pride swells in my chest as I lift her off the floor and swing her up into my arms. She’s all smiles, but the smell nearly knocks me out. “Whoa, baby, you stink.”
She giggles like that’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.
“Keep it up, Chuckles. You’re not the one who has to change the diaper.”
That makes her giggle even more.
Five minutes later, diaper changed and dressed in shorts, and a T-shirt from Jude that says:Sorry Boys, Daddy Says No Dating; I carry her into the kitchen and sit her in her high chair while I make us some breakfast.
My baby girl and I are morning people. Quinn, not so much. Last night, she was up until two-thirty in the morning, finishing her book so she could meet her editor’s deadline and not have to worry about it while we’re on vacation. Quinn never misses a deadline, even if it means she has to forfeit sleep. I make sure she eats and has healthy snacks within easy reach because she has a tendency to forget.
I still help her with her research too. That’s my favorite part of the writing process—the research. What guy doesn’t want to hear: “I’m kind of stuck on this one part. What if they do Reverse Cowgirl? How would that work?”
