My eyes fill with tears that I have to blink back. I hadn’t considered that when I chose Micah and Abby, I was also choosing his parents. I guess that’s how love works. His family becomes yours and yours become his. Will he want to meet my mama one day? Or visit with my little siblings?
I’m quiet on the three-mile drive to Micah’s place. He’s the one who lives closest to the Kringles. He may not have been born to them but it’s clear that he is their son in every way. I’m still quiet as Micah gives Abby her usual bath and sings her a lullaby.
“You all right?” He asks with an arm around my shoulders. We’re standing over the crib, watching the world’s most beautiful little girl drift to sleep. Do babies dream? If they do, I hope hers are always pleasant and filled with the sweetest images.
“She’s perfect,” I whisper, overwhelmed with awe and wonder. Will I carry my own children one day? It’s not like Micah and I used protection tonight. The thought should worry me, but it doesn’t. Because despite everything in my past, I know we’re going to be together forever.
“I’m afraid she’s going to be taken from me.”
I glance at his face.
He blows out a breath. “I mean, it has something to do with being a foster kid. Getting ripped away from whichever home I was in that week or month. It’s always in the back of my mind. That one day, I’m going to lose everyone I love. That I’ll wake up and they’ll just be gone.”
I put my hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the material of his dress shirt. “But it’s worse with Abby for some reason.”
He searches my face. Whatever he sees on it must reassure him because he says, “She’s not mine.”
I look between him and the crib, trying to work out what he means by that. They adore each other, that much is clear. Babies know when they’re loved and wanted.
“She just showed up on my doorstep one day with a note.”
“Are you sure she’s not yours?” I ask, my stomach sinking at his confession. “Maybe it was a drunken thing you forgot about. That stuff happens sometimes. You may not even remember her name.”
He shakes his head. “Tonight was my first.”
“Your first what?” It takes my brain a moment to catch up, then I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face. “Really?”
He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, and I wonder if he’s embarrassed. I don’t ever want him thinking that he has to be ashamed of anything with me. “I think that’s pretty special.”
He moves back to the topic of Abby. “She didn’t even have a name when she showed up, so I just picked Abby. Took me a whole day. I must have read half the internet advice on the topic of naming a baby.”
I can’t even begin to imagine what I would do if a baby showed up on my doorstep. Would I take her in? Would I call the cops and let them sort it out? “What made you choose Abby? Was that just a gut feeling?”
He smiles down at the little girl, the look instantly softening his harsh features. “I picked Abigail because it means my father’s joy. I didn’t want her coming into the world with this legacy of being unwanted and abandoned. I wanted to give her something that proved someone is glad she’s here.”
My heart shatters right there. This man is nothing like I was raised to believe men are. He’s good and kind and true and an amazing father.
8
MICAH
“You have seven brothers and sisters?”I repeat as I sit against the headboard of my king-size bed. We’re snuggled together under the covers. We’re both naked because I had to have her again. She listened when I told her about Abby. She promised to help me find her mother and promised me we’d find a way to legally adopt our little daughter.
My heart about stopped tonight when she called Abby our daughter. It was one of the sweetest moments of my life and no matter how old I get, I’ll always treasure it.
“Seven,” she confirms with a cute little nod of her head.
I offer her another bite of the fudge covered brownie. I love watching her lips wrap around the fork. Love imagining that it’s my cock instead. One day, we’ll have to do that. There’s so much I want to explore with this woman. I’m glad I waited. I never quite understood why I wanted to wait but now I do. Some part of my soul knew she was out there.
She makes a soft whimpering noise and when some of the hot fudge dribbles down my chest, she leans forward to lick it off.
I groan at the contact, then her lips go lower, hitting puckered skin. There’s sensation, but it’s different than on the rest of my body. She hasn’t asked about the burns that mar my skin or the obvious grafts I never quite grew into.
She pauses and looks up at me. “Sorry. Does it hurt there?”
“Feels good,” I reassure her as I set the dishes on the nightstand. She goes back to pressing kisses, and I thread my fingers through her hair. “Do you want to hear that story?”
She leans back and cups my face, just like I did with her earlier. “Only if you want to share.”