Chapter Thirty-Five
Thirty-Five
“Unca J made pancakes!” Anna tugs me to the island. “My fav’rits!”
I settle her onto a stool, her little legs swinging excitedly, surveying the spread before her.
A stack of fluffy pancakes, a bowl of fresh berries, and a container of orange juice wait for her to devour.
The scent of vanilla and butter fills the kitchen.
I turn to grab my coffee, only to be met with a steaming mug.
“Here you go.” Oat milk froths around the rim, perfect as always.
“Careful, I might never let you return to Boston.”
His eyes pin me in place. “I hope not.”
We stare at each other, a silent agreement passing between us: we’re not going to take this slow.
“Snowman, Mama?” Anna asks between bites of pancake, syrup dripping down her chin.
“Of course, Bug. That sounds like fun.” I force a shiver, half for her amusement, half to shake off the lingering arousal. “We’ll have to bundle up, though. Looks freezing out there.”
Anna turns her hopeful gaze to James, clutching her fork with syrup-sticky fingers. “Unca J, play in snow too?”
Her voice is so full of trust, of certainty that he’ll say yes.
“That is the best idea ever, Anna-Bug.” James wraps an arm around us both.
I sink into it, let myself feel the solid warmth of him, his hand resting on my hip, Anna beaming between us. The three of us here, at last. Not stolen moments or careful distances, but simply a lovely morning. The ordinary magic of pancakes, snow plans, and sticky little hands.
“I heard from Gary while you were showering. They can’t get in until tomorrow. He wanted to check in and make sure everything was good.”
I nod, sensing there’s more.
Quieter, more measured, he adds, “He said Ivy is arriving later today, assuming her flight isn’t canceled. She knows I’m here.”
“Mason’s supposed to fly in this afternoon too. But let’s not let them ruin this morning. Jules texted and they’re waiting until tomorrow; Tom got called into an emergency at the hospital.” I drain my coffee as their eager expressions lock on me. “I think it’s snowman time. What do you guys say?”
With Anna distracted, I tug James around the corner.
Three-year-olds aren’t known for their discretion, and I don’t want to risk a moment she might repeat to the wrong person.
I kiss him hard, hungry and grateful, tinged with desperation, knowing that soon this perfect bubble will pop.
But I need this kiss. And I need this morning, this sliver of peace, before we face everyone else.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips.
“For what?” His mouth travels over my jaw, down my neck, finding a spot that snatches the air from my lungs.
“For making pancakes. For wanting to build snowmen. For being here.”
He pulls back, hands bracketing my face. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
And I believe him.
With full bellies, we pile on layers to face the frigid cold and a little girl’s dream of a snowman.
The winter air nips at our cheeks as we step out onto the snow-covered world.
A thick blanket of white stretches as far as the eye can see, sparkling under the bright morning sun.
Anna, bundled in her puffy pink snowsuit, squeals with delight, her tiny mittens reaching for the fluffy snowflakes that continue to fall.
“Mama! Make a snowman!”
“Let’s make a whole snowman family.” James grins, quirking a brow.
“A family? Like us?” Anna asks.
The words hang in the frozen air, simple and profound all at once. My heart, like the Grinch’s, grows three times its size.
“Exactly like us,” James says, his eyes finding mine over Anna’s head.
We set to work, rolling the snow into balls of varying sizes.
She darts between us, her tiny hands helping to pat the snow into shape, leaving miniature handprints everywhere.
James lifts her to place the carrot nose in each snowman, showing her how to use twigs for arms and pebbles for the eyes and mouth.
His patience is endless as she adjusts each twig to her satisfaction.
Anna steps back to admire our handiwork.
“Look, Mama!” she exclaims, pointing to the three snowmen standing proudly in the snow. “It’s me, and you, and Unca J!”
The casual statement, something Anna cheerfully shares without understanding its weight, takes my breath away.
She sees it so clearly—what we are, what we’ve always been under all the pretense and waiting.
Whatever happens next, whatever complications walk through that cabin door, I know this is us. Forever.
With Anna in my arms, James envelops us, blocking the bitter wind and warming us in his embrace. His lips brush against my hair, whispering, “This feels like home.”
“Because it is,” I say.
After hours of play, we make our way inside for a quick lunch before tucking Anna in for her nap. She falls asleep, clutching her ladybug, her little face peaceful and rosy from the cold.
The soft strains of Tinashe draw me down the hall, the familiar melody calling me toward the sunroom. It’s where laughter and secrets curled into the corners, forbidden but undeniable. Where we found love in small, fleeting moments.
He stands at the windows, his silhouette a dark outline against the snow-covered landscape.
He’s changed into a soft gray t-shirt and faded jeans, hair tousled.
I wrap my arms around his waist and press my nose into the fabric.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. His hand comes up to cover mine against his stomach.
I close my eyes and let myself enjoy this simple comfort.
“Dance with me?” Still holding my hand, he spins around and guides me into a slow, intimate sway. The music surrounds us, its rhythm a heartbeat in the quiet house.
We stay tangled in the moment, kissing and whispering sweet nothings, getting lost in the freedom of being able to touch without the risk of someone coming in. There were so many broken moments, interruptions pulling us back. But now, in this sacred space, we can just be.
But I can’t shake the knot in my stomach, the certainty that the outside world is going to invade soon. Neither of us has heard from Ivy or Mason. Their flights should have landed by now.
I pull back, making sure he’s looking straight at me. “I know I told you I moved out. But I filed for divorce. In case that wasn’t clear.”
Pinching his eyes shut briefly, James’s chest expands on a deep breath.
His lips claim mine, firm and demanding, a groan rumbling from his chest that sinks into my skin and rattles through my bones.
He’s pure heat and need against my tongue, something I’ll never get enough of.
His grip tightens, pulling me closer until there is nothing between us but breath and desperation, the music forgotten as we sway without rhythm, lost in each other.
“Hold on.” I push back, gasping for air. “Are you going to stay after Gary and Margaret arrive?”
“I don’t know.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Guess I’ll see how it goes. If Ivy is cool or not. How Mason reacts to my being here. He’s not my biggest fan.”
His face falls, realizing the distance we’ll need to keep once everyone else arrives. My chest aches at the thought of pretending again.
“What happened after the wedding? When you and Ivy went for the walk?”
“I never intended for it to happen that way,” his voice softens.
“I just… couldn’t let her keep going on like she was.
I told her I didn't want to reschedule and that we needed space.
She begged me not to break up with her that night.
So I left. She wouldn't listen. A few weeks later, back in Boston, I made it official.”
“How did she take it?”
“Not well. She still calls, texts regularly. I don’t think she wants to believe it’s really over.”
“This is going to be so awkward when they get here.”
He kisses me softly. “How is Mason handling everything?”
“As you’d expect. We just need to get through the next few days as best we can.” I link our fingers, holding tight to the rough warmth of his palm.
“Okay. Once everyone else is here…” his grin fades. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
I see his hesitation, and instead of answering with words, I melt into him.
Our lips devour each other. A soft whimper escapes my throat as his hands skim lower, pulling me flush against the hard lines of his body.
He holds me like he’s pressing me into memory, so I’ll still be with him when we have to pretend we’re something less.
And he’s leaving something of himself behind for me to remember.
He steals the breath from my lungs, and I let him.
Tires crunch against packed snow. We freeze, breathing raggedly. My chest tightens. His hands cup my face.
“It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” James doesn’t promise me easy or feed me false hope. He stands there, solid and sure, offering something far more powerful than words. His presence. His strength. The unwavering truth that I’m not alone.
“Together,” I whisper.
It’s more than an agreement. It’s a quiet promise to him and to myself.
But a surprised laugh slips out.
“You might want to… take care of that before we head downstairs.” I lift a brow, nodding toward the very obvious evidence of his arousal.
His smirk is slow, shameless. Unbothered. He pulls me close one more time, his palms warm against my skin, his lips brushing mine one last time. He dips his mouth to my ear and murmurs, “Yeah… pretty sure what’s waiting for us will take care of it.”
And with one last look—dark, amused, and far too confident—he grabs my hand… and leads us toward the stairs.