Page 81 of Wylder Ranch
The moment she spots her, Everly squeals in delight, and again when Blackberry joins them.
“Baby, shhh. Daddy’s still sleeping.”
She kicks her feet out, giggling at the momentum jiggling her chair, and it’s enough to keep her occupied while I switch on the coffee machine, before feeding Dollyand Blackberry. I swear their breakfast barely touches the sides before they’re by Everly again.
The four of us sit at the table and enjoy our morning.
Blackberry’s figured out how to spin the colored blocks on the bouncer by hitting her paw on them. Everly hungrily drinks the bottle I’m holding, while I enjoy my coffee and Dolly lays on the floor.
It’s my favorite time of day with her, enjoying the solitude of early morning, watching her smile at her new best friends.
I wonder if she’ll miss them when we’re back in Aspen. Mr. Frosty was my dog growing up, but after he died, we never got any more pets, and it wasn’t long after that my mom got sick. But as I watch Everly open and close her fist with Blackberry peering on, I’m wondering if maybe I should.
“What do you think Daddy would like for breakfast? Pancakes? Eggs?”
Everly squeals.
“Yeah, you’re right. Eggs, it is.” I chuckle and get up to switch on the stove, pick up the spatula, and wave it through the air so her eyes follow the movement. “Too soon for pancakes. Daddy’s still traumatized over the fire engines.”
I’ve barely started breakfast when he quietly pads into the kitchen. It’s so quiet that Isensehim before I hear him and turn in time to see him kiss Everly good morning—all abs and pajama pants—before he looks up at me with a heart-stopping smile.
“Good morning.”
I don’t know if it’s me who’s different, or him, but after what we did last night, there’s been a fundamental shift in my brain chemistry. It’s not just Everly and me livingin Alex’s housewithhim. It’s the three of us living heretogether.
And when he snakes his arms around my waist, pulls me in and his lips find my neck, I sigh in contentment. Like an actual audible sigh.
“Good morning to you.” His lips travel up to the sensitive spot right below my ear. “I missed waking up with you.”
My head lolls. “Hmm. Me too.”
When my eyes flicker open, they land on the window, and the audience of one peering in. Any contentment I feel is killed with my loud shriek.
Alex spins around, ready for a fight, then a laugh barrels up his throat. “Fuck’s sake, Churchill.”
Snatching an apple from the fruit bowl, he cuts it into slices and opens the window. Churchill takes the pieces one by one, and after he’s sniffed around to check there’s nothing else to eat, he trots off.
It’s literally the cutest thing. More so because I know how Alex fakes being annoyed, like now with his “bloody goat” grumble while he gently hands the fruit over.
“You know if you keep feeding him, he’ll keep arriving for breakfast,” I say, pushing my tongue into my cheek.
“I know.” He rolls his eyes. “But there’s nothing on the trees right now. And Mrs. Winston’s is so fucking boring.”
“You’re very sweet, you know that.”
He turns to me and shrugs, a smile curving his lips. “I know.”
“And what does my very sweet man want for breakfast?”
His head quirks. “What did you call me?”
“Um. . . sweet?”
“Nope. The whole sentence. Repeat it.”
I frown, wondering what I’ve said wrong, probably some weird American versus English thing. “What does my very sweet man want for breakfast?”
“There it is.” He steps forward and his hands slip around my waist. “Yourman.”
