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The weekends have never mattered much to me. Some people get excited for them—the end of the work week, the time they can spend with friends and family. My weekends have never been like that. I’ve never worked the sort of job that gave me weekends off, and I’ve rarely had friends or family taking up my weekend free time, anyway. In college, I spent my weekends studying or writing my first book. Despite how quickly I pounded out a first draft of Dreamcatcher, my first book took much longer. It was a labor of love, and one I wanted to wallow in for as long as I could. When I finished writing that book, I didn’t feel accomplished, I felt sad.
But waking up a little before ten with Derek’s strong arms curled around me, his naked body pressed snugly against my bare skin, I can sort of see the appeal of Saturday mornings.
Sighing with contentment, I shift in his arms. My back is to him now, and I want to face him. I like feeling him against me, but I want to be able to see him, so I roll over and curl close.
He’s awake now, stretching and giving me a sleepy smile. “Good morning.”
“It is a good morning,” I agree, throwing my leg over his and pulling his body closer. “We should get up.”
He drapes his arm around my waist. “I disagree. We should stay here for a while longer.”
“Cassidy is probably up. She’s probably confused and thinks she has the whole house to herself. She’s probably hungry and thirsty and needing a million things.”
“She has a water bottle in the fridge, so she won’t dehydrate. We’ll feed her when we get out of bed.”
“Parents of the year,” I say dryly.
“Six years running,” he agrees.
“All jokes aside, we need to go see what she’s up to.”
“Trust me, she’s fine. She knows to grab her water and play in her room if she wakes up before me. She’s not an invalid, she’s just short.”
“It really seems like you’re nailing this whole dad thing,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “I’ve always had to do the heavy lifting. When She Who Shall Not Be Named was still around, she mostly liked having Cassidy as an accessory. She liked to order her expensive shoes and headbands and clothes, she liked to take pictures and show her off, but she was never in love with actual parenting. I was the only other option, so I had to step up.”
I nod my head, running my fingers along the curve of his bicep. “Well, it suits you. As the daughter of a much less adept single father, I give you all the props.”
“I don’t deserve p
rops for doing the job I signed up for,” he says, smiling faintly.
“You didn’t really sign up for it though.”
He shrugs again. “It all worked out. Not the way I would have liked, but hey, we got here eventually. Sometimes stories need to unfold their own way, not the way we want them to.”
I murmur noncommittally.
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t want to fight about it,” I tell him.
“We’re not fighting, we’re talking,” he reasons.
“I’m not sure I’m a subscriber to the belief that the harder you have to work for something, the sweeter the victory. I’m a hard worker, and I still don’t believe that. Honestly, even though I wasn’t smart enough or qualified enough to make these kinds of decisions when I was just a dumb girl in love, I wish I would have. I should’ve committed to the first person I fell in love with and started having babies before I could legally drink, because I think I’ve let myself get old enough now that I see what a terrible idea all of it is.”
Frowning, he says, “Explain.”
“When I was 18, I was already damaged. I was already jaded and afraid. I already hated love. Nothing about the years since has made me feel less of any of that. The older we get, the more cautious we get. I couldn’t really afford more caution than I came into adulthood with.”
“So, what, you don’t want to have a family anymore?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I do in a sentimental way, but I feel like I’m very near the point of outgrowing it. If you ask me again in a few years, I think the answer will be a hard no.”
He doesn’t appear to like that response. “Why?”