Chapter 11
The sun is now higher in the sky, and the first crack of direct light seeps just inside the double doors.
It’s getting later. I check my watch. Eleven o’ five.
I remind myself that sleeping in late is normal. Especially for people carrying a tiny human in them. But knowing something is normal doesn’t stop the twitch in my chest that tells me to go back and check on her.
But if I do, the door might make a noise and wake her, or Santi’s dogs might bark since they’re always there, sniffing around my place. I think I have some animals under the porch.
“Relax,” Santi says from the other end of the workshop, not looking up from the small wooden horse he’s carving.
“I’m relaxed,” I mutter. “Just…concentrating.”
I’m that obvious?
“Uh-huh. Concentrating on that cute-ass woman you have up in your bed.”
“She’s not in my bed.” I scowl.
Though that would have been nice. It felt good having her in my hands again.
I go back to the piece of alder wood on my bench and run the sandpaper along the grain. Smooth, steady strokes. It quiets my mind the way nothing else does. When my hands are busy, the rest of me follows.
But this morning? My head’s all over the damn place.
Last night keeps replaying in loops. Freya curled on my couch. Her foot on my thigh. Her worries about work…everything. All the real shit that normal life contains was there, on that three-person sofa.
Our time together last night did nothing to make it feel less like the future I used to want.
Hell, it made it seem like a better future than I ever thought about.
Freya is more woman than I ever could have imagined getting back in the day.
She’s more curious, more tenacious, and braver than anyone I’d ever imagined behind my picket fence.
She’s got more of everything. Beauty…curves…
Santi continues the story he was telling about his boys. Kat’s son, Theo, and Santi’s foster kid, Owen.
“I mean, be honest,” he says. “You’re a dad now…”
“Not quite…”
“Close enough.” He leans forward. “Am I a good dad or bad dad? The boys wanted to drive the ATV. I was doing that way before Owen’s age, so obviously I said yes.”
Santi could probably stay on a bull by then, too, but I don’t interrupt.
“Gave them both helmets and a driving lesson—the whole works. I have to add, it’s not a powerful ATV so I thought it would be fine…but they ran into a fence.”
That stops my sanding. “Damn. I’m assuming they’re alright since Kat hasn’t killed you.”
“Yeah…they’re okay. These things happen.”
I suppose when you grow up on a ranch, certain accidents feel par for the course.
He continues. “I brushed them off and told them we’d give it a rest for a while. And not to mention it to Kat.” He blows dust off his little piece of wood. “But good boys that they are, they attempted to fix the fence. Hammered it in so crooked, it looked like modern art.”
“I’m guessing Kat saw it?”
“Damn right she did. Woman doesn’t miss a thing; I swear she knows if a new fly moves into the stables.”
I laugh roughly.
“Kat wasn’t happy I didn’t ask her first, but I kind of thought she might say no. It’s tough because I grew up with free reign of our ranch from about ten years old. Had to learn how to drive equipment around Owen’s age.”
“You should have talked to her anyway…”
He’s unimpressed. “Did I ask for husband advice?” He sits back in his chair. “Kids need to test their own limits, don’t they?”
It makes me wonder about parenting with Freya. The female urge to protect is different from how men protect, or so it seems.
“I see your point. You can’t tell someone how to climb a tree; they just have to do it.”
He nearly jumps up. “That’s exactly what I said.” He shakes his head, amused.
I know how I was raised. My parents let me and my brother roam until the street lights came on, and we tested all sorts of limits for sure. But were we always safe? Hell no.
Would I have let my kid take the ATV out…?
Would Freya and I see eye to eye? I’ve led teams. I’ve kept men alive. But this—sharing decisions with someone else—hits different than anything I’ve faced before.
And this is why we’re just friends. Friends talk things through. They don’t freeze each other out.
Just then, I hear footsteps on the gravel outside.
Freya steps into the doorway, sunlight flaring behind her, and something stupid inside me jolts. She is so damn sexy all casual like this. She has on jeans, a loose T-shirt, an oversized varsity jacket and beat-up old sneakers.
“Morning,” she says, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“Hey,” I answer, trying not to sound too relieved she’s upright and alive and within arm’s reach.
Santi rises, brushes wood dust off his jeans. “I’ll give you two the workshop.”
I’d stop him, but I want to be alone with Freya.
He sweeps past her, tips his cowboy hat slightly with two fingers in way of goodbye, and steps out into the sunlight.
Freya steps fully inside, eyes sweeping the space. “This is…not a shed.”
I glance around at my sanctuary. “Just a hobby.”
She goes to my meticulously organized tools that hang along one wall. “You’re full of surprises, Easton.” She turns and those big, sparkling eyes land on me. “How long have you been…is it woodworking? Carpentry? What’s the difference?”
“Woodworking is smaller pieces, more detailed items. Carpentry is the big stuff.” My eyes sweep the ceiling where I nailed every beam. “I like a bit of both. I built this shed, so that’s carpentry. But I like making useful items, like…furniture.”
Like cribs. I’ve thought a lot about it, and it would mean the world to me to see our baby sleeping peacefully in something I made.
I’m not sure Freya will like the idea, but that’s why I asked her out here.
I wipe my palms on my jeans. They’re balmy, which is ridiculous. I’ve stared down armed men with less adrenaline in my system.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask.
“Took me a while to pass out as I was thinking about that case.” She scrunches her nose.
I didn’t like that she hesitated for anyone else. Though I’ve quickly learned small towns survive on compromise and careful words. Still, this isn’t a “your pig ate my petunias” dispute.
“That says something.”
“I suppose it does.” The glint in her eye tells me she’s not dropping it.
Good.
Freya shoves her hands in her back pockets, pushing her shoulders back and those round breasts forward.
“Sorry I didn’t wake up earlier,” she says. “I would have liked to spend some time out here and learn about your hobby. Looks fun.”
“That’s alright. You need time with Lara.” I wipe some dust off my worktop so I stop staring at her.
“How long have you been working with wood?” She laughs lightly at the innuendo.
I give a light laugh in return. “It was something I used to do with my dad and brother growing up. The only thing we had in common really was building stuff. We caught the bug when Dad was building our second house.” I scratch my eyebrow. “Actually, my brother, the one in Brazil?”
She nods. “Alex?”
“Good memory.” I only mentioned him once, half-asleep, during a 2 a.m. stakeout.
I didn’t expect her to remember.
“When he took off, he said he was going to build a whole community down there. I’m pretty sure he’d have done it. He was better at the structural stuff than I was. I probably prefer tinkering with something smaller.”
“Do you ever think about trying to find him?”
“Course.” My gaze drops to her belly. “Especially now… But it’s been…fifteen years? I’m sure he took me for dead a long time ago. I don’t even know where to look, but he’s definitely off-grid. No social presence. Nothing.”
She touches her stomach. “I guess that’s why you were ready to claim this one so quickly.”
I cock a half smile. “I wanted that whether I was surrounded by a village or on my own. I always wanted a kid.”
She hesitates but doesn’t take her gaze off of me. There’s the same look in her eyes as last night, and I have a feeling she’s about to launch a question.
She does.
“You were married once? What happened there?”
It’s not raw anymore.
And I know Freya was cheated on, too, though she told me it didn’t sting that much since she never felt she had anything real with that guy.
This is different. This was a woman who chose me as a husband, then decided I wasn’t enough. Admitting that to Freya tightens something in my chest. I don’t want to see the moment her perception of me shifts.
I don’t want to watch her quietly reassess me.
A downgrade.
But I don’t dodge it. I give her the truth.
“I had a long deployment, and my wife decided she liked my best friend better.”
Freya’s reaction is sharp. “What a bitch…” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I just…” Her expressive eyes go from sharp to warm in an instant. “I just can’t believe anyone would do that to…to you.”
The way she says you, the knot inside me instantly unravels.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know them but…” She smiles softly. “They obviously didn’t see you the way I see you.”
A fear I didn’t realize I was holding on to collapses.
Fuck me.
I never thought someone’s approval would mean so much to me again.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I turn back to the workbench, grateful for something solid to focus on. I change the subject.
“I know you have to get into town, but I wanted you to come here so I could show you something.”
Her brows lift. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not.” I inhale. “Just…come here.”
She steps closer, curiosity tilting her head. I unlock my phone. Swipe to the album with my inspiration. “Come…”
She steps into my space, and the air shifts. Freya smells like peaches and fucking vanilla. I focus on my phone. “Here, have a look at these.”
She takes my cell from my hands, and her fingers sweep my skin. My bones light up.
Her eyes flicker over the pictures. She scrolls through them, and the corners of her mouth slowly lift.
“You want to buy a crib already?” she asks gently.
My throat goes dry. “I wanted to build one.”
Her mouth parts, just slightly—the way it does when something catches her off guard. Not in a bad way. More like she wasn’t expecting this from me. And maybe she shouldn’t have. We’ve barely begun figuring out how to live under the same roof without combusting.
She doesn’t say anything right away.
My grip cinches around the edge of the bench.
I might have misread the situation.
I clear my throat. “You don’t have to decide anything. It was just an idea. Lara has three cribs on that list already. If you like one of those…”
She steps closer, holding my phone against her chest.
“Anton,” she says quietly. “I didn’t hesitate because I don’t want it.”
She glances down at the designs again, then back at me.
“I hesitated because it’s…beautiful.”
The heat under my skin shifts.
“Call me old-fashioned, but I love the idea of an heirloom.” Her eyes flicker. “Show me your favorite design.”
A warmth spreads through me.
I scroll to the design I like best: a curved, sleigh-bed-style crib, mahogany, clean lines.
“I love it,” she says.
“I’ll draw up plans and show you.”
She reaches out and squeezes my arm—a simple touch that hits with the force of something we haven’t lived yet— but will.
Her gaze drifts around the workshop again, taking in the beams I built, the polished wood, the chair I carved. Then her hand slides over the rocking chair’s armrest, fingers following the grooves.
“You’re really good at this,” she says. “I feel like I’m seeing a whole new side of you.”
I swallow hard. “Probably my better side.”
She laughs softly. “I like all the sides.”
I’ve opened up a lot, and I don’t know if she’s aware, but those words stitch me back together.
We stand in silence for a beat before she hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “I gotta run. See you later.”
“Sure. Have fun.”
She holds my gaze a moment longer than necessary, and neither of us looks away.
The workshop falls quiet again, but it’s not the same quiet as before she walked in. This one is charged with heat.
“Right then…” she gives me one last smile. “See ya.”
She turns and leaves.
I plant my hands on the workbench and stare at the empty doorway.
My control has never slipped like this before.
I drag a hand over my jaw, feeling the scrape of stubble under my palm.
This woman is moving things I don’t usually lose track of.