CHAPTER TWO
The thin sliver of moonlight slicing through the blinds cast a pale glow across the room. The soft whimper of an infant stirred Joe from the shallow sleep he had just drifted into. He sat up, the creaking of the bed frame the only sound as he moved swiftly to the door. The sound grew louder as he approached the guest room, a relentless cry that made his chest tighten.
Blossom was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair disheveled, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and her fingers curled around her little daughter, Bloom, who seemed inconsolable. The baby's face was red, her tiny hands flailing as if reaching for something that just wasn't there.
It was three in the morning, and Joe knew how hard this was for Blossom, the weight of being a single mother. He could see it in the slight tremble of her shoulders, the weariness in her eyes.
Without a word, Joe stepped into the room. The low hum of the city outside was the only background noise, muffled and distant. Blossom didn't notice him at first, too focused on trying to calm her daughter. But when Joe gently placed his hand on her arm, she flinched and looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes.
"Let me," Joe said softly, his voice carrying a reassuring calm.
Blossom hesitated, her brows knitting together. "I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't want to wake you," she whispered, her voice cracking. The guilt in her eyes made Joe's heart ache, but he wasn't about to let it stop him from helping.
"It's okay," he replied, his eyes warm as he reached for Bloom. He slid his arms around the baby, scooping her up with practiced ease. The moment his arms wrapped around her, the cries began to soften, the tension in her tiny body easing into the familiarity of his touch. Bloom's big brown eyes locked on Joe's face, and he smiled at her, making soft shushing sounds.
Blossom's eyes followed Joe's movements, a pout forming on her lips as she watched him rock the baby back and forth. "You shouldn't have to do this," she muttered, pulling the covers tighter around her. The exhaustion was beginning to show in her voice, but there was something else there tooârelief, maybe, or gratitude.
Joe looked up, catching the look on her face. "Go back to sleep, Blossom," he said, the softness of his voice a gentle command. "I've got this."
"Butâ" she began, but he shook his head, giving her a playful look.
"I'm not letting you worry about it, not tonight. You need to rest."
Blossom sighed, the weight of the night pressing on her. She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that she couldn't just lie there while he took care of her daughter, but the exhaustion was taking its toll. The warmth in the room, the lull of Joe's voice as he sang softly to Bloom, worked its way into her mind. The melody was unfamiliar but soothing, a Samoan hymn that had a rhythm so peaceful it made her eyelids grow heavy.
Joe caught the brief moment when her eyes started to flutter. He watched as her breathing slowed, her body sinking back into the mattress as she succumbed to sleep. It wasn't long before he noticed the steady rise and fall of her chest, the soft sigh escaping her lips. He smiled, his heart warming at the sight of Blossom finally letting herself rest.
The gentle humming continued, and Bloom's cries quieted into little hiccups before fading altogether. Joe kept singing, letting the soothing notes fill the room, knowing how important this moment was for both the baby and Blossom.
It wasn't just about quieting the criesâit was about being there, being present, and showing that he could be trusted. That, when it mattered, he would be there.
By the time the morning sunlight trickled through the blinds, painting the walls with golden hues, Joe had been up for hours. The warmth of the sun kissed his face as he moved around the kitchen, the faint smell of eggs and bacon drifting through the air. Bloom was nestled against his chest, her small hand wrapped around one of his fingers, her head resting on his shoulder as she slept.
Joe's heart swelled as he stirred the frying pan, the sizzle of bacon filling the kitchen. The morning was bright, full of life, and even though it had started with exhaustion, it was now bustling with peace. He glanced at Bloom, who was safe and content, her tiny face serene as she slept in his arms.
It was then that he heard the soft shuffle of feet behind him. He turned to see Blossom standing at the entrance to the kitchen, her eyes bleary but open. The sight of her in the doorway, disheveled and beautiful in her tiredness, made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth.
"Morning," he said, a smile breaking across his face. The tension from the night before was gone, replaced by a strange, comforting ease. He nodded toward the stove, where the breakfast was almost ready. "You're up just in time."
Blossom's gaze flitted from Joe to Bloom, her expression softening as she took in the sight. There was a small, tender moment where she just stood there, watching them, as if she were afraid it might disappear.
"Joe, I... I don't know how to thank you," she whispered, her voice catching. She was standing there, her eyes wide and glistening, and Joe felt the gravity of the moment, the rawness of it all.
He shook his head, letting out a low laugh. "No thanks needed." He moved to set Bloom in the high chair that had been pushed up against the table, carefully adjusting the little blanket around her and placing her tiny toy in reach.
Blossom's smile was small but genuine, and it made Joe feel like he had done something good, something right. She moved to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down as she let out a sigh of relief. The sunlight hit her face, giving her an almost ethereal glow.
Joe reached for the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, placing a portion in front of her. "Eat. You need your strength," he said, the teasing lilt to his voice making her chuckle.
Bloom's tiny voice wasn't much more than a coo, but it was enough to make them both laugh. Joe leaned over the high chair, brushing a hand over her soft hair.
He turned to look at Blossom, who was now eating, her expression softening as she took in the morning scene. Joe felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name as he watched her. It was a mix of pride and something deeper, something that felt a lot like hope.
"You're a natural," Blossom said, her voice quiet but sincere. "You're good with her. With both of us."
Joe shrugged, the warmth in his eyes betraying the nonchalance of his gesture. "I guess it runs in the family. I'd do anything for the people I care about." His voice carried an honesty that made Blossom look at him again, really look at him.
"You're a good man, Joe," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he glanced at Bloom, who was watching her mother with wide, curious eyes. "And I think Bloom agrees," he said, giving the little girl's tiny hand a playful squeeze.
The kitchen was filled with the sound of a happy baby, the clatter of forks on plates, and the soft warmth of a morning that, despite its rocky start, promised something better for the days ahead.