Mia chortles. Then she swivels her head toward me, her mouth parted in an open smile.
I step forward and brush my finger tenderly along her cheek. "Hello, Mia."
"'Ello," she says.
"Mia is quite a talker," Darcy says. "She speaks surprisingly well for her age."
"Is it all right if I … ?"
"Of course." Darcy hands me the child.
I cradle her against my heart, feeling her slight precious weight. Mia was born small, and if it hadn't been for Darcy and Ray's assistance, I'm not certain she would've gotten the medical care she needed. The labor was very difficult, and I was too young and too out of it afterwards to figure out what needed to be done. It also didn't help that I felt so alone, knowing that I could never depend on Lucas for support. In many ways, Ray and Darcy have been better parents to Mia than I ever could have. What I feel for them extends beyond mere gratitude.
With prickling eyes, I look at Darcy over Mia's head. My foster mother gazes back at me with a sweet smile that says she understands.
The sound of the doorbell breaks the moment. Darcy and I look at each other. The digital clock on the wall says it's barely eight a.m. Who could be visiting so early?
Darcy marches out of the nursery, me following closely behind. As she walks past the kitchen, she calls out, "I got it."
"Thanks, hon," Ray says, whisking something in a bowl.
The second Darcy opens the door, she stiffens. I gasp when I spot Lucas over Darcy's head. He's freshly showered, his hair slightly damp, his face carefully shaved. A black untucked button-down shirt fits over his strong, muscled shoulders and chest, and a pair of well-worn black denim pants and suede leather shoes complete the darkly foreboding look.
"Lucas," I say.
Darcy shoots me a quick look over her shoulder, then turns her attention back to him.
"What are you doing here so early?" she asks, her tone neither polite nor impolite.
"I wanted to take Ava out for breakfast," he says.
Whoa. I knew he would visit, but I didn't realize he meant to come by so early or monopolize my time because-despite what he told me yesterday-there's no way he popped up merely to say hello to my foster parents. I search his face. Fatigue has etched lines in the corners of his eyes and his mouth. What happened? He sounded fine when we talked last night.
His gaze lands distractedly on Mia in my arms. "Pretty girl."
My insides freeze. Before I can respond, Darcy pulls Mia away from me, her hands gentle but slightly shaky. "Lucas, meet Mia. My daughter." The second she's done, she purses her lips and lifts her chin. Most people wouldn't pick up on her mood, but I know she's flustered. She wasn't prepared to have Lucas see Mia, at least not yet.
Lucas says, "Hi Mia," even as he glances back and forth between Darcy and Mia a couple of times. My mouth goes dry. No matter how you look at it, the chances of Darcy and Ray having a child as young as Mia are almost nil.
For a moment it looks like he's about to say something, but he doesn't … which only unnerves me further. What is he thinking?
"And I'm afraid Ava's not available to go out to breakfast," Darcy continues. "She's eating with us."
A muscle in Lucas's jaw ticks. He shifts his weight forward.
"But you're welcome to join us. I'm sure it's not too late for Ray to make extra batter for his Belgian waffles."
Lucas's visible eyebrow scrunches. "I'm … " He recovers. "Thank you. That would be nice."
Darcy nods once and goes to the kitchen to announce to Ray that we have an additional guest. I lean closer to Lucas and whisper, "I didn't realize you were coming this morning."
"I wasn't planning to, but I missed you." He gives me a reproachful look. "You could've just told them you can't eat with them."
"That would've been unbelievably rude since I already told them I would." I give him an impish smile. "Don't worry. You'll be able to charm them, and if everything goes well, we can spend some time together after breakfast."
"All right. After breakfast, we're going for a long, long drive far away from here, just you and me."
Something's really bothering him, and it puts a damper on my mood. Even though I made tentative plans to have a picnic with my foster parents, I nod. "Deal."
* * *
Lucas
Breakfast takes place in the dining room. The cherry-wood table is set for four, with a highchair-plus-tray contraption for Mia. I guess that means the girl's eating with us. The idea is somewhat surreal; I don't remember dining with my parents until I was old enough to use napkins and utensils properly. Mom has always hated dealing with messiness, and children are inevitably too messy for her taste.