7:03 am

This time, Alex woke completely naturally. Feeling refreshed, she stretched, and found herself snuggled up deeply under her comforters. She frowned for a moment when she remembered where she’d fallen asleep, and was then greeted by a foggy memory of Hayden scooping her into his arms and carrying her to bed. The sugary memory shouldn’t have caused a smile to spread across her face, and when it did, a little tug of irritation nagged her. She wasn’t supposed to find anything Hayden did sweet. Not anymore.

Her feet found the carpeted floor and she made her way around her queen-sized bed to peek into Alena’s cradle. A frown creased her brow when she found it empty. Automatically, a ball of worry lodged itself in her throat, and she quickly left her bedroom to make sure Hayden had their child.

She drew up short, when she found the living room, at the sight of Hayden laying on her cramped, uncomfortable little couch. His feet were propped on the far armrest, flannel pyjama pants covering his legs. The only covering his chest received was the seven-week-old baby that sprawled across it. Her breath caught in her throat briefly at the scene before her, but she forced herself to keep moving into the kitchen and tear her gaze away from her sleeping ex.

She was in the process of frying some eggs for herself when she heard Alena’s wake-up babble. Hayden grumbled a response to his daughter, and in response, Alex cracked two more eggs onto the pan, ready to do them up over-easy for Hayden. Other than that, she didn’t acknowledge that he’d awakened until he appeared behind her, Alena in one arm. His hand brushed over her shoulder in an absent-minded gesture that, normally, she would have chastised him for. But this time, she didn’t. This time, she kept her mouth shut, the slight tensing in her body the only sign that she’d even noticed he’d touched her.

“Morning,” he greeted. She used a spatula to flip her eggs over, and kept his covered with the lid of a pot. He lifted the lid to peek underneath it. “You’re making me eggs?”

The blonde immediately felt a light flush colour her skin. He had to go drawing attention to the fact that she was showing him more consideration today than she had at all in the past two months. He was making her uncomfortable on purpose.

“Yeah,” she forced out. “I mean, unless you aren’t hungry. I’m sure Mrs. Harris down the hall would be glad to get breakfast in bed.” She risked a glance over at him, and found a playful smirk on his lips. She inhaled sharply and refocused on the food, not used to his playfulness anymore. They’d spent too long in antagonist mode.

“Any chance you’ll serve me breakfast in bed?”

She had once. There had been syrup involved, but the gooey liquid hadn’t even made it to the pancakes. It had ended up in her bellybutton, and he’d had a lot of fun slurping it out.

When she spoke, her voice was tight. “If by ‘bed’ you mean ‘couch’, then sure.”

Alena murmured to herself, pleased as punch when Hayden dipped his finger in the strawberry jelly on the counter and let her suck it off.

“Grape jelly on the toast,” he requested, “and can you squeeze the juice, so it’s fresh?” She fought the smile that threatened with all her might.

“You get breakfast when you change the baby. And I don’t squeeze. I only pour.” It was a miracle, in her book, that she was managing to be so conversational with him. In the past seven weeks, the closest thing they’d had to a conversation was her snapping at him to keep his hands to himself or him insisting that she should just give in and marry him, or at least move into his stupid mansion. Arrogant rich kid, all grown up.

He winked at her, then, and a ghost of a smile fluttered across her lips in response. It was an automatic reaction, ingrained in her genetics, to get melty when he winked, or smiled, or looked at her. And she’d spent her entire pregnancy insisting it didn’t mean anything, but still, even after all he’d put her through, he could weaken her knees without even trying.

He sighed resignedly. “I guess you can’t have everything.”

The toast popped from the toaster as though to punctuate his statement. She reached for it as he turned toward her bedroom, where Alena’s changing table was housed. “Guess not.”