I can hear Dorian's steady tread long before he pokes his head around the corner into our half-painted makeshift nursery. He cranes his neck, peering first into one crib, then at Alexis' toddler bed, before he focuses on me in the rocking chair. "Ready, kitten?" he whispers, keeping his voice low so he doesn't awaken Charli snuggled against my shoulder. "The babysitter is here."
"Come and get her."
He beams, taking three long steps to cross from the door to me. Pecking a kiss on my lips first, he slides his large paws smoothly under Charli, then lifts her limp little body adroitly onto his own chest.
She gurgles little sleepy baby noises, one tiny hand balling into a fist that Dorian guides towards her pouty baby mouth with one long finger. As soon as the tip of her thumb touches her lips, she opens and starts suckling.
