Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(39)

I'm so stoked to take Claire to school that I woke up at five a.m., eyes popping wide open. Energy flowed through me like a river. I went to the gym and punched a bag until my arms burned. Unless there's an emergency, which could easily happen, I don't have a scheduled surgery for two more days. Enough time for me to eat some bananas and keep my arms from getting too sore.

It's only seven, but I'm dressed and ready. I wonder what Aubrey's doing right now?What’s the morning routine? Claire's an independent child—I recognized that right away. So much like her mother. But with her broken arm, she needs help.

I look around at my place, picturing Claire here, needing me to make breakfast, tie her shoes, get her to pre-school.

I grab my bag, pat my pockets to check for my wallet and phone, and leave. I don't think Aubrey will mind if I'm early. Extra hands, right?



Aubrey minds. She's trying not to look annoyed, but her eyebrows keep pulling together. She answered the door with wet hair, one of those towels that looks like a turban in her hand. She's wearing light gray pajamas pants and a white tank top.

“You're early,” she says tightly, smoothing back her hair with her free hand. The moisture makes it glisten. It has that messy look, the fresh from the shower tangles.

I clear my throat. It's hard to collect my wandering thoughts, but I do. “I thought maybe you'd like help getting Claire ready for school.”

She opens her mouth, pauses, then closes it. I can guess what she was going to say. Something like I've been doing it on my own and I can keep doing it on my own. A comment like that would be part of Aubrey's armor.

“Sure.” She walks ahead of me, using the small towel in her hand to squeeze water from her hair and catching it with the other end. “Claire’s eating her breakfast.” We walk into the kitchen, where Claire sits in a chair that dwarfs her. When she sees me, she hops down, nearly falls, rights herself, and runs to me.

“Daddy's here!” she yells, hugging my knees. Through the thin fabric of my scrubs I feel her cast digging into the back of my leg.

“Hey, little lady.” I swoop her up into my arms and brush back a curtain of long brown hair that has fallen into her face. “How are you this morning?” Sparing a quick glance at her mother tell’s me Aubrey’s still not used to Claire calling me Daddy. Honestly, neither am I, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it.

“Mommy made me pancakes this morning. With jelly. Strawberry jelly. Because I don't like syrup.” She sticks out her tongue for effect.

It makes me laugh, and she bounces with the movement of my chest. I put her down and direct her back to her breakfast.

“Here,” Aubrey hands me a cup of coffee. “Can you hang out with her? I need to blow-dry my hair.”

“Definitely.” I wink at Claire and she beams. Aubrey leaves us, a coffee cup in her hand also, and I take the seat across from Claire.

“Are you excited for school today?” I'm not sure what to ask her, but this seems like a good start.

“No. I saw mommy put broccoli in my lunch box. And I do not like broccoli.” She shakes her head defiantly and stuffs two pieces of pancake in her mouth.

To keep from laughing, I take a sip of coffee. “What do you like?”

“Pancakes. And carrots, the purple ones with the yellow center. And grandpa's lasagna. And ice cream. And…” She goes on and on, using the same five fingers of her right hand over and over.

“Wow. You like a lot of things.”

She pushes back her plate. “I’m done. Can you help me wash my hand?”

I stand quickly. I want to be put to use. Care for this child somehow. Together we walk to the kitchen sink and I lift her, holding her around the middle with one arm and washing her hand gently with soap from the dispenser next to the sink.

“Thanks,” she says brightly when I've set her down and dried her hand. “Want to play LEGOs?”

“Um.” I look toward the hall, knowing Aubrey is somewhere down there. The blow dryer turned off a few minutes ago. “Are you all ready for school?”

She nods.

“OK, then. Lead the way.” I hold out my hand.

Claire takes me down the hall, to the very place I was afraid to venture. She pulls me into her room, where the LEGO dragon sits on her white dresser.

We're sitting on the floor, one of the Elves preparing to board the flying dragon, when Aubrey walks in. She's dressed in black slacks and a black and white polka dot button up shirt. It has fabric bunched at the the collar, a lanky bow falling into the valley her breasts create.

“Claire, you need to brush your teeth, baby. I put the toothpaste on the brush for you.” Aubrey leans against the door frame.

Claire sighs in protest, but with my help she stands. When the sound of her electric toothbrush starts, Aubrey says, “I’m sorry I was short with you when you showed up. I was surprised you were here and a little embarrassed.”

I get to my feet. With her heels on she’s only a couple inches shorter than me.

“Embarrassed of what?”

She runs her fingers through her hair, eyes flicking off to the side. “I didn't want you to see me all wet-dog like that.”

Wet-dog? That's the last thing I would've called her. Gorgeous, definitely. Tempting, absolutely. Maybe I can ask if we can screw all this nonsense and give in again? The words pile up inside me, heavy, but they stay there, an anvil on my chest.