Sophie smiled as warm arms wrapped around her shoulders. She'd been anticipating this moment since she'd heard the front door slam thirty seconds ago. Soft lips kissed the top of her head, and strong, calloused hands tilted her head back for a kiss.
She was situated on a burgundy sofa, her eyes affixed on the infant nestled in her arms. Calla Foster had been sleeping for nearly an hour, but Sophie hadn't had the heart to put her daughter in her crib. There was nothing, she'd decided, that was better than newborn snuggles.
As her daughter's eyes opened, Sophie's breath withered. She'd been born nearly two weeks ago, and yet Calla's honey-brown eyes still took her mother by surprise. They shouldn't have, of course; Sophie knew from the start that brown eyes were a dominant trait.
But still . . .
"Foster?" Her husband leaned over the couch and studied her irregular pale cheeks. As he traced a hand over her cheek, his cool wedding ring brushed her skin and sent a shiver down her spine. "Are you feeling okay?"
Sophie forced a nod. It was hard, sometimes, to convince Keefe she was really okay, but today he didn't make much of a fuss.
To distract herself, Sophie lifted Calla's head to see her father. "Guess what? Daddy's home."
"The excitement is home," Keefe corrected, prompting an eye roll from his wife. With that, he rounded the couch and sat beside Sophie, smiling that smile that was reserved only for his girls. He kissed his wife, his lips lingering, and whispered, "Can I hold her?"
Sophie pouted. "I'm not done yet."
Keefe raised his eyebrows. "You've had all day. It's my turn."
Disgruntled that she had to share, Sophie begrudgingly handed him their newborn. "It's not my fault you have to work all day."
"No," he agreed, cradling the infant in his arms. "And it's not Calla's fault she gets to see less of her favorite parent."
Had he not been holding a baby, Sophie would've shoved him. Instead, she settled for resting her head on his shoulder. Their entire living room was cluttered with cozy blankets, but nothing would ever compare to the warmth of Keefe's skin — especially against her own. She let herself enjoy it for a few moments before asking her routine question: "How was work?"
He shrugged one shoulder. Keefe's eyes were still fastened on his daughter, and it seemed more out of distraction than adoration. Calla was smiling up at him, though, a feat Sophie rarely achieved. Keefe wasn't wrong when he'd joked about being the favorite parent; Calla was definitely daddy's girl.
The day she was born, Keefe had been petrified. Really, really petrified. So scared, in fact, that he'd huddled in the corner while his wife held their daughter for the first time. She'd ushered him over soon after, of course, but it was clear Keefe was having a panic attack. Being a father might have been the one thing Keefe felt incapable of doing. But now that Sophie had seen him be one?
It was like falling in love all over again.
Like kissing him for the first time, wrapped up in his arms, her fingers tangled in his hair. Like feeling the new weight of a ring on her finger the morning after they'd been engaged. It might have even been better than walking down the isle toward him . . . but Sophie wasn't sure.
The only thing she was certain of was that has past had softened him — not hardened him. Because of his less-than-perfect upbringing, he was becoming the best dad in the world.
"It was fine," Keefe said, pulling her back from the memories crowding her mind.
She focused in on him, her smile slowly fading. "You're lying."
Keefe bent to place a kiss in the little blonde hair that Calla had. "Yeah," he admitted. "I am."
"What happened?"
He shrugged. "I hate working for the council. I want to focus on art."
Sophie ran a gentle hand up his arm. She knew, despite Keefe's good heart, that he didn't enjoy his job. He'd never been prime emissary material — or regent, for that matter. "I'm sorry."
Keefe gave his wife a reassuring smile. Calla, thinking the grin was for her, smiled up at her daddy.
This time, Keefe reserved the expression just for his daughter. "She's beautiful," he told Sophie, as he had every day since she was born. He smirked lightly. "Takes after me."
"Hey," Sophie mumbled, sitting up straighter. "She has my eyes."
"Point taken."
"That deserves at least five points."
"Eh. I don't think it merits that much."
Sophie crossed her arms, glaring at him.
Keefe laughed. "I'm kidding, love. Relax."
Sophie didn't return his smile. The only thing she could manage was hiding her face in his shoulder. "She's going to get bullied," she whispered, a familiar panic invading her chest.
"For what?"
"Her eyes. Her mother. Heck, Keefe, we even named her after a gnome."
An amused smile lit up his face. "Please. You just listed everything good about her."
Sophie's eyes watered. "Not necessarily. And plus, people love to bully me. Why do you think it's going to be any different for her?"
"Because," Keefe said, his lips lifting into a slightly wicked grin, "if anyone even tries, they're dealing with me first."
