No one except for me and Shelly had ever put her to sleep before, and I doubted Colin had tons of childcare experience, so I wasn’t expecting success. Still, grateful for the reprieve, I leaned against the counter with my eyes closed for a few minutes.

I took a bunch of pills to help with various symptoms and then headed to Bailey’s bedroom. The door was cracked open, and I peeked inside. Bailey lay on the bed with her eyes closed.

Colin sat on the edge stroking her hair and singing. “In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who stand looking…”

Led Zeppelin! I clapped my hand over my mouth.

This big, strong man, wearing a muscle shirt and cargo pants, sang rock songs to a toddler in the middle of the night. I was so toast. Game over. And it was doubly terrifying, considering I had no idea how to make him stick around. He would leave and take his sweetness and his Pepto and our hearts.

Chapter Eight

In disgust at my own vulnerability, I stalked into the living room and started picking up Bailey’s things. How was I supposed to hold myself emotionally aloof when he was being so damn sweet? But the truth was, he might be a knight in shining armor—but I couldn’t be saved. I was too far gone for that. I’d been too far gone since I was sixteen. And now, three years later, I felt ancient.

Colin came in and leaned against the door frame. “Hey, I can do that. You can rest.”

“Is she down?”

“Out like a light.”

I closed my eyes again for a long minute, savoring the peace. “Thank you. Really.”

“No problem.”

“Here.” I patted the couch. “Come and sit. Not too close, you don’t want to catch this thing.”

He rolled his eyes and sat. “After what we did earlier, I don’t think an extra foot is going to help me.”

I laughed, which kicked off a coughing spurt. When it was over, I groaned and rolled my head forward. Colin shifted closer and kneaded my shoulders.

“Jesus,” I said. “Stop being perfect.”

His hands froze. “I’m not perfect.”

“Okay,” I said, partly because I hadn’t meant to offend him and partly because I wanted him to continue. His fingers, thick and calloused, started to move again, pushing away my knots. Those hands were strong enough to hurt me, but instead they brought me pleasure and now comfort.

God, this was better than sex. It was probably best not to tell him that, male ego being what it was, but it was true.

“So good,” I managed to groan, to let him know I appreciated him.

“Shh,” he said. Even better.