Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
SOPHIE
“ M ama, look!” Heather gestures proudly at the tower of blocks she’s just finished making in the kitchen. I blink and close my gaping mouth.
To be frank, I haven’t been paying much attention to Heather’s tower, even though I’m sitting on the kitchen floor with her and Julian. My eyes keep getting pulled back to the counter, where Will and Gwen are busying themselves with making dinner. Gwen is up on her stool and peeling potatoes while Will cuts them into fries as they continue chatting and laughing away.
A man cooking is one thing. But a man cooking and getting along with my daughter while she helps?
I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life.
Yet, I can still sense the echoes of his rejection at the hot chocolate place bouncing around in my mind. Because I can’t deny how much I want his lips on mine. Not anymore.
I keep telling myself that it’s a bad idea to cross that line with Will. I keep trying to come up with stupid reasons not to.
But, in reality, I’m having more and more trouble justifying those reasons.
What if they’re all excuses born out of fear?
Because, yes; I am afraid. Of course I’m afraid. I had to watch my own mother get cheated on over and over again, only for the same thing to happen to me. So, excuse me if I have my own reservations about a man who has jumped from one woman to the next and who can’t seem to be satisfied with any of them.
But I don’t think it matters, anyway. Looks like I’d misread his signals. Almost as soon as he started holding my hand, he pulled away. Like he just wanted to try out the experience and then found it wasn’t for him.
So what’s with the dinner offer?
Don’t be an idiot, Sophie. He’s being a good friend. He said you were like family to him. That’s what friends and family do for each other.
“Mama!” Heather pulls on my sweater sleeve, and I finally focus on her, biting my lip. I’m not being the best mom right now.
“Oh, wow, honey, good job!” I try to put as much heart as I can into my statement, and Heather gives me a big, toothy smile. Julian coos, eager to have my attention too.
“Gwen, what kind of music do you like?” Will asks my eldest, right before turning to me and raising his eyebrows. I think he’s asking me for permission to put on music.
I give him a nod as my belly flutters. Why does he have to be so God damn thoughtful?
“Ooh, I have a playlist!” Gwen says, her eyes lighting up like fireworks. She stomps off her stool and runs into the hallway, toward her bedroom.
Will looks at me with questions in his eyes. “She has one of my old phones for stuff like this,” I explain. “I installed Spotify and a few other approved apps on there.”
Gwen runs back into the kitchen with the phone in her hand. “Here!” she exclaims right before handing it to Will, then climbs back on her stool and points to the Bluetooth speaker settled on the counter. “Can you turn that on, please? I can’t reach.”
Will obeys, and seconds later the kitchen is flooded with the sound of Les Colocs’ Passe-moé la Puck blaring from the speaker. I laugh with my whole chest at Gwen as she sings along to the tune while she keeps peeling her potatoes. Is it weird that my five-year-old daughter is a full-on Les Colocs stan? I don’t know, but I’m certainly not complaining.
But my laugh intensifies when I notice Will swaying his hips to the beat of the tune next to her.
While Gwen and Will prepare dinner, Heather erupts into dance. I follow along with her, helping her twist and twirl while holding her hands. We continue on like this, dancing along to other classics like La Rue Principale and Julie until the aroma of Will’s homemade gravy and French fries hangs in the room around us. My cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing. At some point, Will ends up losing his kitchen assistant, and Gwen joins her sister in her dance party. Both Heather and Gwen have flushed cheeks from dancing and jumping, and I beam at the sight of my daughters.
I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.
“It’s ready!” Will calls out, right before setting steaming plates of homemade poutine on the table. Dinner passes in a blur, and much more exhausting than the dance party was. I have to keep wrangling Heather to stop playing with her food while making sure Gwen stays firmly in her seat without squirming. Meanwhile, Will eats with a fussy Julian in his left arm.
Once dinner is done and the table is cleared, I think Will sees my patience beginning to wane. As I’m placing dishes in the sink, he comes up behind me, the heat of his chest seeping through the knitted fabric of the sweater on my back. My lower belly clenches.
“You look like someone who needs a break,” he whispers so the girls can’t hear; they’re still in the kitchen, busy playing with Heather’s big train. He’s close enough that I feel his warm breath behind my ear.
“It’s not so bad,” I whisper back.
“Come on,” he says right before grabbing plates from my hands. “Set this down. I’ll do it.”
Heat floods my chest at his thoughtfulness. But right now, it’s the kids that have got me overstimulated. Not the dishes.
Come on. Ask for what you need, Sophie.
“Actually,” I begin, turning to face him as I lean back against the counter, “could you …” I’m having trouble concentrating on my words when he’s this close. Damn. If he hadn’t pulled away from me at the hot chocolate place earlier today, I don’t think I could stop myself from pulling his mouth towards mine right now.
Will raises one eyebrow. “Yes?” The air is so thick I can hardly breathe.
“Could you …” Come on, Sophie. Breathe. “Play with the girls instead? I can handle the dishes.”
Will pauses for a moment, and I try to make out what thoughts are hiding behind those dark eyes of his. Then he speaks up: “I’d be happy to.”
Relief floods through me. In all honesty, I’m feeling a bit touched-out. This was a wonderful day, and I’m grateful for every moment that will now live in my memories, scattered atop every other precious fragment of my kids’ childhoods.
Yet, it can be a lot. When I don’t have anyone else to share the load with me, I tend to get overstimulated, even if I have a high threshold for such things. So it means a lot to me that Will is willing to act as a buffer, even just for a short time while I wash some dishes.
I’m about to thank him, but Will continues, “I can do the dishes too, you know. Later, when they’re in bed. Why don’t you go enjoy some time to yourself?” He leans back, giving me space. In more ways than one.
“I’m not lying down and doing nothing while you do everything here.” My heart hammers against my ribcage. The truth is, I want to be selfish and take him up on his scrumptious offer. But it’s not right.
“Why not?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve had plenty of time this morning to be by myself and do absolutely nothing. I think it’s fair to say it’s your turn.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t your responsibility.” I furrow my brows and plant my hands on my hips in defiance. “I chose this lifestyle.” Well, I didn’t choose to get cheated on and become a single mom. But when you willfully choose to have kids, you do it while assuming the risk that a million things can go wrong at any time.
“What if I want to choose this, too?” Will steps close again, his voice almost a whisper. “Would you believe me if I told you I actually enjoy being here with them? With you?” The air between us is so palpable I can hardly move or think.
“Why?” It makes no sense that he’d go to these lengths to be here. This is more than just being a friend. And from what I gathered, it’s not about trying to get in my pants, because he can hardly stand to touch my hand.
So, why?
A strange look passes through his eyes. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he clenches his teeth. “Just … please let me do this for you. Sophie …” That tenseness in his jaw loosens, giving place to a cocky smile. “I can see you’re exhausted. Come on. Give in.”
Give in.
Those two words alone are enough to make my knees weak.
“Okay,” I whisper, slowly shimmying to the side of the counter so I can walk around his ridiculously hot body. For a moment, we lock eyes as I back away, but he stays by the counter. Only when I finally turn to head into my room does he step away.
“Okay, girls, show me what you’re playing!” I hear him exclaim. Two seconds later, I’ve closed the door of my bedroom behind me.
I collapse face-first into my bed. For a brief moment, I stay right there against the duvet, breathing in the clean laundry scent of the fabric. I revel in being completely alone and being touched by absolutely no one.
Although I have to admit, I’d like to be touched by a very specific someone. Someone who isn’t related to me in any way.
Once the overstimulation has dissipated from my body, I settle on my bed and doom-scroll through social media for a few minutes. From the kitchen, I can make out the sounds of the girls squealing and Will laughing alongside them. It feels strangely odd to be an outsider to this moment. But it is a relief.
Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I’m so surprised to see Will having fun with my girls. When I was still with Matt and Will came over, he’d play with Gwen all the time. He’d hold Heather when she fussed. Some days, it almost seemed like he was more interested in the kids than in Matt.
A trickle of doubt drops down my back, sending a shiver across my spine. But I push the thought away as soon as it materializes: What if Will cares about the girls more than about me? But it’s a completely ridiculous thought. If Will wants to be a father, all he has to do is stop jumping from one relationship to the next. Settle down.
A wave of disgust flows through me at the thought of Will with another woman. Yet another ridiculous thought. I don’t have any claim to Will. And even if I did? I don’t want it. I need someone who can commit. Someone who won’t run away when the dullness of my domestic life gets too overwhelming.
Does that man even exist?
After I’ve had a solid twenty minutes to myself, I return to the kitchen and join Will and the girls in their game of house. I even enlist Julian, who becomes the house cat; don’t ask me how Heather came up with that idea. The next hour whizzes by in a blur of laughter and play, and before I know it, it’s time to get the girls ready for bed.
Will takes care of Julian while I bathe the girls and guide them through their evening routine: brushing teeth, changing into pyjamas, and reading each of their favourite bedtime stories. Before Gwen agrees to close her eyes, she asks for Will to come tuck her in, which sends a strange flutter through my heart. Feeling unusually brave tonight, I decide to press my luck and attempt to put Julian to bed at the same time as the girls. After all, he’ll need to start sleeping earlier eventually.
Why not tonight?
After all is said and done, I’m exhausted. Letting out a long breath, I collapse on the couch, throwing my head back against it. From the kitchen, the familiar sound of the faucet running and dishes getting scrubbed filters in my ears.
Right. He said he’d do the dishes.
I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel the heaviness of my body. With a deep breath in and out, it seeps from my back to the couch cushions. It cleanses me of the day. As I’m lying there, revisiting every moment, the achiness and tiredness I feel in my body are worth it.
I wish every day could be like this.
If Will and I were to be a thing … if we were to take the leap and become more than friends … every day could be like today. This could be my new normal. My new family unit.
For the first time, I allow myself to fully feel what’s blossoming in my chest, its delicate petals fluttering against my ribcage with tenderness. But then my stomach sinks, leaving this flower to wilt.
Will doesn’t see me like this. I’m just a friend. Family. Like a sister, maybe. And to hope for anything more is setting myself up for heartbreak all over again. Because even if he were to feel something more than friendship for me—whether it’s lust, or something deeper—he’d get bored of me quickly.
That’s just how he is. I can’t ask him to change.
My train of thought gets interrupted by footsteps coming my way. I sit up just in time to see Will entering the living room. The sleeves of his black shirt are pulled back from doing the dishes, his forearms jutting out, tantalizing me. His dark hair is slightly mussed up from playing with the girls. It makes the sight of him almost unbearably hot.
“Dishes are done.” He’s holding a steaming mug, which he promptly deposits on the coffee table. “I went ahead and assumed you still drink this.” I lean over the table to see what’s inside the mug—it’s herbal tea. More specifically, licorice root. My favourite evening beverage. In fact, it’s been my favourite for almost five years.
Will used to tease me about it when I’d stroll into the living room while he and Matt were gaming. “Who chooses licorice root tea? Of all the options available?”
But he remembers. And there’s not a hint of teasing in his eyes now.
My heart skips a beat.
“So, what do you usually do with your evenings once the kids are in bed?” He walks around the coffee table and drops in the centre of the sectional couch, his knees only about an inch away from my toes. “And when you’re not sick out of your mind?”
“I take out the coke and meth. Invite twenty or so friends. Start blaring out EDM as loud as the speakers will go.” I roll my eyes, and the corner of his lips move up. “I’ll just zone out in front of the TV. Or, if I’m feeling particularly adventurous, I’ll read a book.” I raise my eyebrows in false shock, and he responds by faking an exaggerated impressed look.
“Is it okay if I tag along?” His eyes are hopeful. “Just do what you’d usually do.”
“It’s kind of boring.”
“That won’t kill me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Have it your way.”
He smirks. “I intend to.”
Electricity floods my cheeks—and elsewhere, too. I don’t want to read too heavily into what he just said. But it’s hard not to.
It’s either that, or I have a dirty mind from not getting properly touched in over a year.
I pretend to ignore what he just said and grab the remote off the coffee table. “Thanks for the tea. And the dishes. And playing with the girls. And … for everything, I guess.” I finally glance back at him, noticing his intense gaze fixed slightly lower. Following his line of sight, I quickly spot the reason: my shirt has ridden up, exposing a patch of skin on my sides.
Scarred skin.
I cough and pull my shirt down, then turn on the TV and choose one of my shows on rotation at random, settling on the latest season of Love Is Blind . Is it quality television? No. Is it entertaining and mind-numbing? Absolutely. I love it. And I’m hoping it can distract me from the gorgeous man sitting at my feet.
But it doesn’t. I grab my mug, letting the warmth seep into my hands, but the more I try to concentrate on the screen, the more my attention screams at me to look back at Will. Because he’s not paying attention to the show at all.
Instead, he’s staring at me.
I finally turn my head, my eyes narrowing in confusion. “What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face, or what?”
Will hesitates. Something flashes through his eyes, poking at the hunger prowling within me. He gets on his knees and scoots closer to me. Painfully slowly, he lowers his weight against my side, his hand rising to cup the side of my cheek.
I’m frozen in place, but the skin he’s touching is on fire. “What is it?” I whisper.
He takes in one quick breath. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Sophie.”
My breath hitches. A thousand thoughts swirl in my brain at the same time. Before I can formulate a response, Will’s eyes fall to my lips. “Can I kiss you?”
I blink a few times, unable to move. My entire body’s on high alert, but it’s especially primed in the places he’s touching me. His rough hand on my cheek. His chest against my shoulder. Something else—a bulge—against my hip.
I was wrong.
My lips part, and my eyes lock into his. “Yes.” My voice is hardly more than a whisper.
Will’s warm breath grazes my skin, and as he inches closer, the tension between us becomes almost suffocating. One hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair to gently tilt my face upwards. The other hand finds my waist, his grip firm yet non-restrictive. Our eyes lock in a silent standoff, each daring the other to make the first move.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I lean in, closing the minuscule distance between us, and press my lips to his. His lips are soft yet firm, and the instant our mouths meet, electricity crackles through every vein in my body. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this needy—no, this needed.
Will doesn’t hesitate for a moment, responding with an urgency that mirrors mine. His tongue slips into my mouth, exploring every crevice as if he’s been longing to do this for years. The taste of him is enough to make me lose myself. I moan into him, and he takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss further, his hand on my waist pulling me impossibly close. Our bodies align, and I can’t help but notice the bulge between his legs pressing against me.
His hand trails down my hip to grip my ass, squeezing possessively as he deepens the kiss even more. My entire being feels ablaze. Slowly, Will grinds his hips against me, eliciting a small gasp in his mouth. Our lips move together in a rhythm of their own, matching the movements of our hips. His hand squeezes my ass tighter, pulling me even closer, as if he can’t get enough of me. His other hand runs up my back and into my hair, gently fisting it as he intensifies the kiss; the jolt sends a rush of heat pooling in my belly.
My heart beats in double time as I tangle my fingers into his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath it. I press myself closer, but I don’t think we can get any closer than we already are, not with the fabric between us. Will groans into my mouth.
“Sophie,” he murmurs against my teeth. “God, Sophie.” With a quick nibble of my bottom lip, he pulls away just long enough to lock eyes with me, his gaze deeply lustful. “You’re going to destroy me.”
As if he can’t hold back any longer, Will lifts me onto his lap. I gasp at the sudden movement but don’t pull away. Instead, I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, a sigh escaping my lips in response to the heat of him surrounding me.
Everything comes to a halt when the sound of Julian’s cries reverberates to us.
I should have known. Julian is ready for his evening snack. Shit.
Shame spirals through me, crawling through every tiny part of my being to solidify its hold on me. The logical part of my brain knows I have nothing to be ashamed of—that there’s nothing more natural than a baby needing his mother. But another part of me, held deeper within my chest, screams out at me, threatening to burst my eardrums:
You can’t satisfy him. You never will.
“I’m sorry.” I pull away and stand, making a beeline for Julian’s room. I hope my swift retreat hides the saltwater welling up in my eyes. When I reach Julian, I scoop him up from his crib, blinking away the tears as I hold him close.
“Sophie …” I turn to see that Will has followed me, now standing in the doorway with a look of concern on his face. “Are you okay?”
“I guess you can leave,” I reply, my voice heavy with resignation, feeling a weight settle in my chest. Before he can respond, I settle into the armchair beside the crib, helping Julian position himself for the feed.
I don’t want Will to leave. But he doesn’t have a good reason to stay anymore. I don’t particularly feel hot and heavy after having served as a feeding station, and I’m pretty sure it’s ruined the magic for him, too. “I’ll be fine with him.”
“Sophie.” He kneels next to me and cups my cheek. “Let me stay.”
“Will …” I don’t want to have to tell him explicitly that nothing more is going to happen tonight. Why would he even want to?
“Please,” he murmurs, leaning closer while keeping a respectful distance between our lips.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to do anything. I just want to be with you. Is that okay?”
My face softens. “You really want to stay?”
The piercing look he gives me is powerful enough to eradicate all doubt left in my heart. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”