He snorted. “My hammer is what got us into this mess.”
“True,” she said. “But it was worth it.”
Jordan stared at his little family—minus one because Hunter was at school—and had to agree.
They were worth every hour of lost sleep and the gray hairs and the vomit and poop and fallen block towers.
But a week later, he had to wonder if Abby felt the same way.
She was getting more sleep, Emma having taken to the bottle like a champ and giving them each a block of almost four hours. It felt like nirvana, like the skies had cleared and the sun was shining down on them.
Or at least it did for him.
Abby had grown steadily quieter, even as the dark circles beneath her eyes faded.
Hormones, perhaps. Or a case of the baby blues. He’d read somewhere that they didn’t always come on right after birth, that depression could slide in later.
He made a mental note to keep an extra close eye on her.
He’d just returned from dropping Hunter at school and was looking forward to a nice, hot shower and maybe a cup of coffee sans the side of tears, in that order, so he traversed the stairs as quietly as possible, slipping into the bedroom to not wake the beasts—er, his lovely, beautiful children.
Then tiptoed through the bedroom to not wake his lovely, beautiful wife.
He pushed open the door.
Abby was naked and in the shower, her gloriousness visible through the glass panes, and he was abruptly reminded of how long it had been since he’d held his wife, the water pouring down on them, her silken curves against him. She was still the most gorgeous woman he’d laid eyes on, and he needed to hold her. His gaze flicked to the left, to the monitor that showed his younger two children were still sleeping.
And he seized his opportunity.
He stripped down and slid into the shower behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him.
“Jordan!” she shrieked, trying to squirm away.
“Hi, beautiful,” he murmured, flicking his tongue out and tasting the shell of her ear.
“I—” She kept squirming, and he released her, frowning when she stepped out of the spray and reached for the towel hanging over the side, using it to cover herself.
“What is it?”
She shook her head, clutched the towel to her like it was a lifeline and she’d just fallen off a ship in the middle of the ocean. “I—uh—the baby is up.” She stepped out of the shower.
Emma wasn’t up.
He could see that much, but he could also see that his wife was uneasy about something. Jordan wasn’t sure whether she thought he was trying to get lucky—he certainly wouldn’t turn her down, but he wasn’t expecting anything, especially this soon after she’d given birth—or if she was uncomfortable with her body or if she was still tired and hormonal and just off, but any idiot could see that she needed some space.
“I’ll hurry up and shower and grab her,” he said, reaching for the bottle of shampoo.
“No!”
His eyes shot to hers, hands covered in suds, soap dripping down his temples.
“I—uh—” She was wrapping her robe around her still towel-covered body. “I’ve got her.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” he said.
But inside, he recognized the tell she’d just given him.
And he filed it away to deal with later.