The right side of the bar opened up to a larger area where the lunch and dinner guests would sit. The way to the kitchen was there too, along with Darius’s office and an accessible bathroom.
He’d spent his funds wisely, and whatever he could do on his own, he did.
Since he was turning thirty-nine next month, his folks had paid an interior decorator to stop by for two hours as a birthday present. She would give Darius the advice he needed to turn this into a proper fish camp, which he’d only protested a little. Because, to his credit, he’d come a long way with the tables alone. They were the type of rustic he was looking for. Only the tabletops would be new. And he’d bought old fishnets to hang from the ceiling. Still, a professional would probably give the place that final necessary touch for a restaurant with a boardwalk address.
Deciding that my water break was over, I went back to work. While Darius polished the tabletops, I was in charge of pre-drilling the barrels for the only screwing I did these days.
Speaking of… “Do you talk to Elise a lot?” I asked, sort of dreading the answer.
While my daughter still enjoyed her two Skype calls a week with Pipsqueak, I had to settle for a couple texts a week and a phone call, if I was lucky, once a month.
Darius snorted and wiped sweat off his forehead with his arm. “Last time I texted her, I asked if she’d forgotten my number. We talked on New Year’s.”
Oh. Oh, okay. It was petulantly satisfying that, despite how infrequently I got to speak to her, it was still more than her own brother. Sometimes she just sent a little red emoji heart, and I felt ridiculous for how much that mattered.
“I get weekly reports from Ry, though,” he said. “That helps. She’s just busy. She’s basically studying all hours of the day.”
I hummed, equally happy to hear it and a bit worried, because I hoped she got some rest too.
Twenty-Five
“This isn’t going to end well for me, is it?” I leaned back against the headboard and eyed my sobbed-out girl. She’d screamed herself hoarse, and she’d refused to settle down to sleep. But there was one sanctuary. My bed. Watching cartoons in my bed and drinking ice-cold strawberry lemonade calmed her down instantly.
Grace sniffled tearfully and drank from her sippy cup.
I checked my alarm clock. Almost midnight.
This couldn’t turn into a habit. I’d read enough baby books to know that once your child was in your bed, they were unlikely to want to leave. Problem was, I enjoyed having her close. We could cuddle, my eardrums could get some rest, and she’d fall asleep to the cartoons while I finished up work. Though, tonight I’d replaced paperwork from school with a book on domestic traveling. Top 100 sights in America.
I’d seen two of them…because they were right here in Washington. Olympic National Park and the Space Needle. Go me.
Could I count the Washington Monument? I’d seen it from afar at Jake’s funeral…
I had a book about Barcelona on my nightstand too, but it would have to wait. It would be a costlier trip, and I’d rather go when Grace was old enough to remember.
I lifted my gaze from the book when I caught Grace slowly turning her sippy cup upside down.
“Grace Elise Becker,” I warned.
Her wide-eyed stare snapped to mine, and she flipped the cup again and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I told her.
I had a sneaking suspicion that she was teething, though that wasn’t the extent of it. When her front teeth started poking up from her gums months ago, she’d run a low fever on and off for weeks, and she’d been irritable. This was more. This was a phase where she constantly tested the waters—and my limits. Add teething, perhaps her molars, and it made for one hellion of a girl.
“Come lie down here with Daddy,” I suggested, patting the pillow next to mine. “We both need some sleep.”
She mumbled a weak protest but handed me her sippy cup and lay down beside me.
In return, I gave back her pacifier.
As she quieted down and caught a few more sleepy glimpses of her cartoons, I wove my fingers through her hair and got back to reading.
Halfway through a passage about the Everglades in Florida, I noticed I was straining my eyes. I was completely useless about remembering to wear the damn glasses I’d been prescribed. Most of the time, they collected dust on my desk in the other room, and I had no desire to get them now.
Looked like I didn’t have to anyway, because my phone buzzed on the nightstand, and there was no stopping the smile when I saw Pipsqueak’s face lighting up the screen. She’d applied the photo to her contact in my list so that I wouldn’t “forget” her.