Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“No.” Every word he says feels like another threat. I can’t lose my baby. “He doesn’t need a new routine. His routine is just fine.”
“What do you mean no? Listen—”
“No, you listen to me.” Bolting to my feet, I hold the phone in front of me as I stomp down the hall into the living room, ready to storm this city looking for my son. “Maxwell—”
“Maxwell what, Liv?” I look up from the phone to see Noah sitting at the dining table with Maxwell in front of him tucked in his high chair. My heart floods with a combination of relief and love for my son the second I lay eyes on him. Noah lowers the spoon and smiles. “Good morning, sunshine.”
Maxwell looks over his shoulder. When he sees me, he squeals with joy and starts kicking his feet. “Mamamama.”
As much as I love hearing him call my name, even in a funny way, rage grows for the man next to him. “Are you kidding me right now? You were here all along?” I take a few steps, but the lump in my throat hasn’t cleared and my chest still feels full of congested emotions. “You scared the life out of me, Noah.”
“I’m sorry.” With a shrug, he cocks a grin. “I tried to tell you we were in the living room.”
My hand rests on my chest as I take in the sight before me, which is so unnatural to how most of my mornings begin. I try to calm down, but the upset is lingering. “I thought you took him.”
Disappointment craters his expression and sinks his shoulders. “So you said.”
Tears swell in my eyes, which I hate. I hate feeling in front of anyone, especially him. Vulnerable in ways that can make me shrink into myself if I’m not purposeful on stopping it from building.
Noah stands. “I’m really sorry, Liv.” This time, his tone holds no laughter, and I hear the depth of regret instead. The effort he’s making matters to me. I called him irredeemable, but he proves me wrong as I watch him sit with my son. Our son.
Does it fix it? No.
Does it make him redeemable? Probably . . . definitely. And it makes me swoon because he’s taking responsibility. “I panicked when I saw Maxwell wasn’t in his room. My mind went to the worst place possible.” Now I need to redeem myself for the distress I brought on myself. “I’m sorry for assuming you would do that to me.”
Noah watches me with a spoon for Maxwell in his hand. He lowers it along with his head. Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs. “I’m not sure what to say about that.” When he looks up again, he adds, “I said it last night, but it bears repeating. I won’t hurt you or Max. Not ever.”
Maxwell waves his arms in the air, and another delightful giggle escapes. I toss the phone on the couch and move in to give him a kiss. Maxwell, not Noah. Although Noah does make it hard to resist him sometimes. Especially when he says things like he just did. And how he looks. Like now.
How does he look so damn good on so few hours of sleep? His hair’s a mess but in that sexy just rolled out of bed and then walking the runway and hanging out on a yacht in the South of France hair.
My train of thought disappears down the track, and I’m left drooling over the man I was just arguing with. Seeing him shirtless, sitting in his dress pants with bare feet. . . . I fan myself. “Is it warm in here?” I say, playing it off while his incredible abs are on display, along with that billion-dollar smile that weakens my knees.
He's stupidly handsome, and his deep, dulcet tones shoot straight to my—“Liv?”
“Yeah?” I dumbly stare at him like he didn’t just catch me preoccupied with him in real time.
Typically, how I look in the morning is not something I concern myself with since I’m getting a sweet baby out of bed and feeding him, which almost always results in a mess on me. But mainly because it’s just Maxwell and me here alone, and he loves me as I am.
I still pull the scrunchie from my hair and wrap it around my wrist as if I can look even 10 percent as good as he does when I get out of bed. My hair was still damp when I put it up, so it’s wild with kinked curls and teased sections that patting with my hand has no real effect on taming.
Real sexy, I bet . . .
I cringe with a small eye roll, imagining he must be figuring out his exit plan after seeing me. Noah is probably used to waking up next to supermodels or women who have trained themselves to sleep on their backs to avoid having any wrinkles form during the night. That’s not a skill I’ve acquired. It’s one I’ve not even tried to achieve.