Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
She was perfect.
Even when she was calling me old man.
I thought of last week.
I’d heard her in the kitchen, humming away as she baked. I opened the office door so I could hear her better, finding myself humming the tune with her. I knew it but couldn’t place it. It went round and round in my head until I thought I would go crazy. Giving up the task I was trying to accomplish, I headed downstairs to ask her.
I walked into the kitchen, the answer solved quickly. She was singing now, softly, with a wide smile on her face. But I heard the words and recognized the tune finally. “Frosty the Snowman”—with a twist.
Frosty, the old man, was a grumpy, grouchy soul
I changed him, you see
’Cause he loved me
And my heart of gold…
She stopped when she saw me.
“Hi,” she squeaked.
“Think you’re clever?”
She put down the piping bag. “Pretty much.”
“You know what happens when you call me old man.”
She darted to the right, heading for the patio. I chased her, catching her before she got too far.
She never really tried too hard to get away these days.
And the pool was still her favorite place to frolic.
I grinned, thinking of the amount of water that had been splashed. I turned and let my managers know I was leaving and headed across the street. Inside the bakery, I inhaled the warm aromas of cinnamon and sugar, chocolate, and coffee. I loved coming in here, not only to see my wife, but to snag some treats.
The women behind the counter greeted me, laughing as I grabbed a cookie from the display and headed to the kitchen. The shop was empty now, and they waved as they left, turning the sign on the door to Closed.
I found Brianna working in the kitchen, her brow furrowed in concentration as she piped a design. I studied her for a moment, noting she looked a little tired today. Maybe she needed a break. She had staff she trusted, and I was at her constantly not to work so much. This seemed a good time to bring up the idea of a trip.
I stood behind her, looping my arms around her waist. I kissed her neck, liking the fact that she still shivered at my caresses.
“Hey, Little Bee. Almost done?”
“Yes. I see you were dipping into the profits again.”
I reached around her and grabbed some cake scraps on the worktop, munching them. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She laughed and added a final swirl. “There. Done.”
“Special order?”
“The most special. A very picky customer.”
She moved away, and I studied the cake. It was a pair of baby booties, yellow and white, the icing mimicking the knit pattern. It was so realistic, even the size. I narrowed my eyes and read the writing.
“Congratulations, Daddy.”
I kissed her temple. “Seems a shame to have such a little cake, but it is fabulous, Little Bee. Someone is going to be happy today.”
“I hope so.”
“Are they picking it up or delivery?”
“We can just take it home,” she murmured.
“Home? They’re picking it up at the villa?” That was a first, and I wasn’t sure I wanted people coming to the villa to pick up a cake. “I can take it to them.”
Brianna sighed, her voice patient. “I made it for you.”
“But why would I want—holy shit.”
Everything stopped. She was tired. Extra cuddly these days. She made me a baby bootie cake. Because the baby was mine.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
I pulled her into my arms, joy filling my body. I kissed her repeatedly, running my hands over her stomach in wonder. “How pregnant?”
“About six weeks. The trip to Naples for the weekend.”
I grinned at her. “The terrace.”
She nodded. “The terrace.” She winked. “Not bad for an old man.”
I laughed.
“Is everything okay? You’re okay?”
“Everything is good. I’m a little tired.”
“No more working every day.” When she began to protest, I shook my head. “I mean it, Little Bee. You’re cutting back. You have great staff, and you can let them run it. Oversee it the way I do the galleries. No more.”
“So bossy.”
“You love it.”
She leaned into me with a yawn. “I do.”
“Let’s take the cake home and have a nap, then celebrate.”
“Is that a euphemism?”
“That’s whatever you want it to be, my wife.” I kissed her. “Thank you.”
She smiled at me, her dark eyes glowing. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
A YEAR LATER
I stared down into the crib. My daughter slept, a fist in her mouth even as she slumbered. Her dark hair curled on her forehead. Her beautiful eyes were closed, but when open, they were the most stunning combination of Brianna’s chocolate and my golden hue. Almost amber with deep brown flecks. We had watched them change in wonder, amazed when they finished.
I was as obsessed with her as I was with my wife. I had immersed myself in Brianna’s pregnancy, reading books, learning everything I could. But none of it mattered when Melody was born. All that mattered was her and the immense love I had for my daughter.