“She’s okay, Wren. I promise. The Riggins men don’t do anything they don’t want to. Marshall snatched her right up and volunteered to watch her. They’re all sleeping. When she wakes up, you can take her back. For now, enjoy the break we know that you never get.” Aurora places her arm over my shoulders, and we follow after Aspen and Sawyer.
I know it sounds crazy that I’m just leaving my daughter with him, but something deep inside me knows that I can trust him with her. That I can trust all of them with both of us. My gut has never steered my wrong, so I’m going to do exactly as Aurora suggested, and try to relax. She’s right. I never get a break, and I’m okay with that, but since it’s being offered, and it’s obvious that Marshall isn’t giving my daughter back anytime soon, I might as well try and enjoy myself.
Sawyer hands me a glass of lemonade. “Lena made it. It’s the best you’ll ever have,” she says as she continues to pass out Solo cups of lemonade.
“So good,” Aurora sighs, taking a huge drink.
“So, Aspen, wedding planning,” Sawyer prompts.
“I don’t really want anything big. Just all of us, and at the end of the day, I want to be Conrad’s wife.” She shrugs.
I’m listening to the conversation, but my eyes keep straying to Marshall. Why do I find it so damn sexy the way he’s holding my daughter as if he’s protecting her?
“Earth to Wren.” Aspen waves her hand in front of my face. “We lost you.” She smirks.
“I just… I can’t seem to look away,” I admit. What I don’t say is that for the first time since losing Travis, I notice a man as more than just an acquaintance. Marshall Riggins is sexy on a normal day, but with my sleeping daughter on his chest, Aspen was right. Ovary explosion.
“So, is it the man or the man and the baby?” Layla asks.
“Both,” I confess. With my free hand, I cover my face to try and ward off my embarrassment.
“No need to hide. Not from us. You’re forgetting that we’re all married or soon-to-be married to a Riggins.”
“Hey!” Sam interjects.
Sawyer waves her off. “Jase might as well be a Riggins. Besides, he’s just as sexy.”
“Did you just call my husband sexy?” Sam asks, amusement in her voice.
“Yep.” Sawyer grins. She has zero shame in admitting it. “I’m married, but I’m not dead. All six of them are sexy. You know I’m right.”
“Agreed.” Layla chuckles. “And, Wren, we know how it is when you first meet them, and the tension. We get it.”
“Oh, there’s no tension. At least not before today.” I glance back over at Marshall and Madeline.
“He’s good with her,” Aurora comments.
“He’s a good guy.” This from Layla.
“He acts like a big goofball, and he is,” Aspen adds.
“But he has a heart of gold. They all do,” Sawyer chimes in.
“I have a feeling that Marshall is going to fall harder than the rest of them,” Sawyer says.
That grabs my attention. “What do you mean?”
“All of them”—she points to the guys—“have fallen in love differently. We each”—she motions to our small group—“have our own love stories. However, the common denominator is that when our men finally accepted that they had fallen head over ass in love, they didn’t stop fighting until we were so wrapped up in them, until our hearts were entwined that there was no going back for any of us,” Sawyer explains.
“Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“What about you? Your husband?” Layla asks. Her tone is soft, as if she’s afraid her asking might upset me.
“Travis and I were different. We were friends first, and one day we were more. I can’t even tell you when it happened. Then, my father died, and the next thing I know, we’re getting married.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “I loved him. He gave me the greatest gift I’ll ever receive.” I glance over at Madeline, where she’s still sleeping on Marshall’s chest. “It wasn’t a grand tale of love. It just kind of happened, and we just were.” It’s the best way that I can explain it. I loved him. Of course, I did. However, our love was uniquely ours.
“You’re young,” Sam speaks up. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re young, and there’s still time for you to find your fairy-tale love.”
“I agree,” Layla adds. “I’m not dismissing your husband and the love that you shared. I believe that everything happens for a reason. While losing him was tragic, maybe Madeline was his purpose?”
“You deserve a love that consumes you, Wren,” Aspen adds.
I swallow hard, pushing back the tears. “Maybe one day.” I’m not opposed to finding love again. I miss Travis every single day. He left me the best part of him, and that love that we shared will live on through our daughter, as for me. I’m open to finding love again. I am young, and surely being a widow isn’t how my story ends. Maybe when Madeline is older, and we’re more financially stable, I can think about getting back into the dating pool.
A whimper comes from where the guys are sitting, and we all turn our heads. Madeline is stirring. “That’s my cue,” I tell the girls. Placing my Solo cup of lemonade on the ground, I stand and head toward my daughter. As I get closer, I can see that Marshall’s eyes are still closed, but his hand is gently rubbing Madeline’s back.
“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, baby girl,” he murmurs to her. “It’s all right.”
I watch in fascination as she quiets down. Her little body shudders as she sinks into him. With each step that carries me closer to them, I fight back the tears. My little girl will never know her daddy, and that hurts worse than losing him. Her losing him will always be the greater tragedy. I know from first-hand experience, losing your parents never fades.
I stop next to the lounge chair, and Marshall’s eyes slowly slide open and lock with mine. Neither of us says a word. I can’t seem to think as his blue eyes bore into my soul. There’s a connection that is flowing between us, one like I’ve never experienced before. My blood whooshes in my ears, and I know he has to be able to hear my heart as it threatens to beat right out of my chest.
“Hey, Momma,” his deep raspy voice greets me.
“Hey.” I swallow thickly. “I can take her.”
“We’re napping.”
I know. I’m suddenly jealous of my daughter. She doesn’t realize how lucky she is to be lying on his toned muscular chest. “She’ll be waking up soon.”
“Why don’t you lie here with us?” He pats the side of the lounge chair. There’s plenty of room for me to snuggle up to them, but I won’t.
“Thanks for watching her,” I tell him, ignoring his offer. Instead, I bend down and lift my daughter from his chest. She stretches, and her eyes blink open. Me? Well, I’m trying to ignore the fact that my fingers feel as though they’ve been lit on fire, just from the soft brush of my skin against his chest when I picked her up.
“I need to change her.”