There were a lot of expressions Noa was familiar with, but she’d never quite seen the one that Bishop wore looking at his boys before. It wasn’t the same kind of fond that he’d seen soften up his rugged features, it was something else. “No, there ain’t no way to stop time,” she murmured before she reached a hand and smacked at his arm lightly. She supposed that it was a good sign he could prod at her, that she was successful in not looking as brittle as she felt around the seams.
“Smartass.” Noa can’t seem to put bite in her words though, and she hesitates only a fraction longer before she gently lifts one of the boys out of the bassinet. She’s never been real good with babies, so her every action is carefully controlled as she settles him into the crook of her arm. “Don’t you bother with your daddy’s manners,” she murmurs more softly to the infant she’s cuddling. “He don’t know a thing ‘bout being nice.” She’s confident that Bishop won’t retaliate much at the ribbing. Squawk a little, probably, but he’s not insecure enough to believe that Noa believes a word of what she just said.
Noa perches on the small couch, and a little of the weight she’s been carrying dissipates. The names she can’t bring herself to say are pushed to the fringes of her mind. She refuses to give them a foothold to make her mood worse. If she allows how betrayed she feels to take a foothold she knows she won’t recover from it. Not for a long while. “They’re growing okay?” Noa darts her eyes up to Bishop.