Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~7 min read
Lily’s cheerful babbling woke me at six-fifteen.
I dragged myself out of bed, my eyes gritty from too little sleep, and stumbled toward the nursery. Macy was already there, changing Lily’s diaper with practiced efficiency.
“Morning,” she said brightly. Too brightly for this ungodly hour. “I heard she had a rough night. Teething?”
“Yeah. Damon helped.” I immediately regretted mentioning him when Macy’s eyebrows rose.
“Did he now?” Her tone was carefully neutral, but I caught the curiosity there.
“He heard her crying,” I said quickly. “Showed me the teething gel.”
“Mm-hmm.” Macy finished with the diaper and scooped Lily up. “Well, she seems happy enough now. You want to do the morning bottle?”
“Coffee first?” I asked hopefully.
She laughed. “There’s a coffee station in the family kitchen. Down the main stairs, left at the foyer, through the formal dining room. Or I can have Tess bring you some?”
“I’ll manage.” I needed to learn my way around this massive house anyway. “I’ll be back in ten?”
“Take your time. We’ve got this handled, don’t we, Lily-bean?”
Lily gurgled in response, and despite my exhaustion, I smiled.
I threw on one of the designer loungewear sets Damon had provided—soft gray cashmere that probably cost more than my monthly rent—and headed downstairs. The house was quiet, just the soft sound of my footsteps on marble and the distant clatter of what I assumed was kitchen staff preparing breakfast.
I found the family kitchen easily enough—a massive space with commercial-grade appliances and a coffee station that looked like it belonged in a high-end café. I was attempting to figure out the espresso machine when a voice behind me made me jump.
“It’s intimidating, isn’t it?”
I spun to find Damon leaning against the doorframe, already dressed in a sharp navy suit, his hair still damp from a shower. He looked like he’d gotten a full eight hours of sleep instead of being woken at three a.m. by a crying baby.
Unfair.
“I just want coffee,” I said, gesturing helplessly at the gleaming machine. “This thing looks like it requires an engineering degree.”
His lips twitched. “Here.”
He crossed to the machine, his movements confident and practiced. Within seconds, he had it humming to life.
“Cappuccino? Latte? Americano?” he asked.
“Just… black coffee. Strong.”
“Rough night?”
“You were there. You know how rough it was.”
He glanced at me as he pulled a shot of espresso. “I meant after. Did you sleep?”
The honest answer was no. I’d laid awake replaying our conversation, his text, the way he’d looked at me in the dim hallway. But I wasn’t about to admit that.
“Enough,” I lied.
He handed me a cup of coffee—perfect temperature, perfect strength—and our fingers brushed. The contact sent electricity up my arm.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t move away, and suddenly the massive kitchen felt very small. “I have back-to-back meetings today. Board presentation at nine, lunch with investors, conference calls all afternoon. I won’t be around much.”
“Okay.”
“But I’d like to do dinner. With you and Lily. Nothing formal, maybe just in the family room? Macy can show you where everything is.”
A family dinner. The three of us, playing house like we were actually a family and not just two people tied together by a dead woman’s will and a baby’s uncertain paternity.
“Sure,” I heard myself say. “What time?”
“Seven? After Lily’s bath but before bedtime?”
“That works.”
We stood there, coffee cup between us, morning light streaming through the windows. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but his phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
He glanced at it and sighed. “My mother. She wants to come by today to ‘check on things.'”
His tone made it clear that “checking on things” really meant “checking on me.”
“Should I make myself scarce?” I asked.
“No.” His response was firm. “You live here now. She needs to accept that.”
“Damon, I don’t want to cause problems between you and Marissa.”
“You’re not causing anything. Ophelia did that.” The bitterness in his voice was sharp enough to cut. “My mother needs to understand that Lily’s well-being comes first. And right now, that means you’re here.”
The phone buzzed again. He silenced it with more force than necessary.
“I should go,” he said. “Driver’s waiting. But I’ll see you tonight? Seven?”
“Seven,” I confirmed.
He grabbed a travel mug from the cabinet, filled it with coffee, and headed for the door. But he paused at the threshold.
“Keira?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For last night. For being there.” His blue eyes held mine. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”
Before I could respond, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
I stood in the empty kitchen, clutching my coffee cup, trying to slow my racing heart.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Macy said from the doorway.
I nearly dropped the cup. “What?”
She walked in, Lily on her hip, a knowing smile on her face. “The way you look at him. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. This is going to get messy, isn’t it?”
“There’s nothing to get messy,” I protested. “We’re just… we’re co-parenting.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.” She settled Lily into a high chair and started preparing a bottle. “Look, it’s none of my business. But I worked for Mr. and Mrs. Vale for eight months before she died. I saw their marriage. And whatever that was, it wasn’t what I’m seeing between you two.”
My stomach clenched. “What do you mean?”
Macy hesitated, clearly weighing how much to say. Finally: “They were polite. Cordial. They functioned well as a unit. But there wasn’t… spark. You know? No heat. No longing looks across rooms.” She gave me a pointed glance. “Not like what I just witnessed.”
“You’re reading too much into it.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Or maybe I’m reading it exactly right, and you’re both in denial.”
She handed me the bottle. “Here. You feed her. I need to go coordinate with the house staff about Mrs. Vale senior’s visit. Fair warning: she’s going to hate you on principle.”
“Great,” I muttered.
“But don’t let her intimidate you. You’re Lily’s guardian. That gives you power here, whether Marissa likes it or not.”
Macy left, and I was alone with Lily, who was making impatient sounds and eyeing the bottle.
“Alright, sweet girl,” I said, settling into a chair and positioning her in my arms the way I’d learned. “Let’s do this.”
She latched onto the bottle immediately, her brown eyes locked on my face. I watched her drink, marveling at how something so simple could feel so monumental.
This was my morning routine now. Coffee with Damon, bottles with Lily, learning to navigate a house that felt more like a museum than a home.
Two weeks until the DNA results.
Two weeks of mornings like this, pretending everything was normal.
Two weeks to fall deeper into a life I had no right to want.
Lily finished her bottle and let out a satisfied burp that made me laugh despite everything.
“Good job,” I told her, wiping milk from her chin. “Now what? Playtime?”
As if in answer, she reached for my face, her tiny fingers grabbing my nose.
“Okay, playtime it is.”
I carried her to the nursery playmat, settling her among soft toys and colorful blocks. She immediately grabbed a plush elephant and shoved it in her mouth.
This was good. This I could do.
As long as I didn’t think about Damon’s fingers brushing mine. Or the way he’d looked at me in the kitchen. Or Macy’s words about longing looks and denial.
As long as I focused on Lily, I’d be fine.
I had to be.
Because the alternative—letting myself hope for something that could never happen—would destroy me.
Again.
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