She didn’t look the same for him any longer and she wasn’t doing enough.
Double, double, toil and trouble.
“And great,” she muttered, hurrying out of the closet and down to Carter’s room, “now I’m going as mad as Macbeth and company.”
“Mama!” he called, lifting his arms up.
She went over to him, hugging him close. “Hi, my lovely boy,” she whispered. “Good morning. You hungry?”
“’Gry!” he exclaimed.
“Should we have bananas and oatmeal?” she asked, grabbing him a set of fresh clothes and getting him ready for the day.
“Yes!”
Emma had begun fussing by the time they emerged into the hall, making animal sounds—“A dog goes woof!”—so they detoured to grab her and then made their way down to the kitchen.
Jordan was on the phone when they came in, and he slipped out with one finger raised, but he’d already prepped the oatmeal with a side of bananas and put her nursing pillow on the table beside her chair.
And her heart squeezed again, guilt sliding through her.
The man was doing too much.
How in the hell was she ever going to make things even between them again?
Chapter Four
Jordan
He hung up the phone after confirming that the others thought his plan was sound and then went back into the kitchen, ruffling Carter’s hair as he determinedly spooned oatmeal into his mouth.
Well, about half of it made it into his mouth.
The rest was on his face and the highchair and his clothes and the floor.
But he loved feeding himself.
Jordan had just gotten in the habit of making twice as much so that a reasonable amount made it into his son’s stomach.
Emma was also eating happily, and he sat next to Abby at the kitchen table. “You hungry?”
She bit her lip, nodded. “But I can get it—”
He stood. “Cinnamon toast and tea? Or are you sick of that yet?”
She smiled. “Is it even possible to get sick of cinnamon toast and tea?”
“I’m guessing the correct answer to that question is no.”
“Exactly, but Jor—” She stopped. “You really don’t have to wait on me hand and foot. You’re already doing so much and—”
“This is my family, sweetheart. I couldn’t carry Emma”—he grinned—“and thank God for that, but let me at least take care of you in this way.”
Guilt flashed in her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Yes.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “In fact, it makes me feel like I’m finally doing something productive.”
More guilt. “Baby—”