Chapter 25 – Skylar
SKYLAR
Iwake to a small knee digging into my side and the screeching excitement of a five-year-old right next to my ear. “Skylar! Wake up! It’s snowing!” Zoey climbs up to her feet and bounces on the bed beside me, her long, blonde hair all over the place, and her red heart pajamas a little too small.
I blink against the dull light of my room, my body heavy with the restless sleep that’s become my new normal.
“Zoey,” I mumble, pushing myself up to my elbows before I take a quick glance down.
I’m wearing a T-shirt and underwear and nothing else.
Luckily the blanket covers my lower half. “What time is it?”
“Snow time!” she declares, bouncing again, this time hard enough to rock me. “Come on! Get up. Daddy is already downstairs.”
I suppress a groan and reach for my phone. It’s seven, and I don’t have to work today, which means I could have slept for another couple of hours. Ugh.
“Can we build a snowman? And make snow angels? And have a snowball fight?” Her questions shoot at me in rapid-fire, her small hands waving above her head like she’s already practicing those angels.
“Hold on, tiny tornado.” I laugh, sitting up fully and pushing some of my hair out of my face before I attack the crust in my eyes.
“I need to get dressed and have something to eat first.” I’ve found that if I have something small in the morning, it helps with my morning sickness.
Even if it’s just giving me something to puke instead of stomach acid or dry heaving, which is the worst. “And coffee. I’ll need some of that too. ”
“Grown-ups always need coffee,” she bemoans.
“It’s our fuel.”
“But—”
“Zoey, you better not be where I think you are.” Aston’s voice carries from the hallway.
“I told you to get yourself dressed and not to wake up Skylar.” The door swings open, and he leans against the frame, his hair all sexy and sleep-mussed, and his white T-shirt clings a little too perfectly to his arms and chest. “Which I see you did,” he finishes. “Sorry.”
I hold up a hand. “It’s fine. She’s excited.”
He brings a cup of coffee up to his lips and takes a sip to hide his amusement even as his eyes drag across me, noting my face and braless chest down to my waist, where it meets the blanket.
“She’s not the only one who’s excited, I see.”
I follow his gaze to my chest and gasp at him. “Hey! No peeking there.”
He shrugs. “Is that for me or just the chill of the morning?”
“Definitely not for you.” I grab my pillow so I can chuck it at him, but I’m smiling.
It’s his stupid flirty way and the way my stomach flutters with it.
Aston’s been distant over the last few days.
I thought we had hit a bit of a truce after Monday in the hospital and telling everyone we were married, but that hasn’t been the case for the rest of the week.
I’ve barely seen him, and whenever I do, he doesn’t talk to me much.
He’s made dinner a few nights and left it for me on the stove, but we haven’t eaten together since Monday.
I’ve caught him watching me with a furrowed brow like I’m a problem he can’t quite solve.
There’s been a palpable shift between us, and it’s created a tension that hums beneath the surface of every interaction.
It’s likely for the best and will help maintain our boundaries, but still. It sits… wrongly on me. It doesn’t feel good. This unfortunately does, so yeah, all around it’s a mess.
The pillow lands with a thud on the floor, nowhere near my mark. “Don’t quit your day job there, ace.”
“We’ll see who’s the ace when I nail you with snowballs.”
“We’ll see who nails whom better.”
Now my face is a fireball. I point toward the hall. “Out, flirty McFlirtster. I have to get dressed. Zoey wants a snow day.” As if to prove this, she jumps up and down some more.
His smile slips. “Right. Sorry. No more flirty—whatever you called me.”
“McFlirtster,” I finish for him, smiling cheekily to compensate.
“It was a momentary lapse in judgment, and it won’t happen again. Come on, Zoey. Breakfast time.”
I try to hide my frown. I didn’t mean for him to stop flirting, just to leave so I could get dressed, but whatever. Again, this is how it should be. It’s me who has to remember that this isn’t real. That everything we’re doing is fake.
Zoey jumps off the bed and scrambles past Aston, who immediately turns and shuts the door behind him. Well then. I guess that’s that. Nothing like a full snow day at home with my grumpy fake husband, who can’t stand to be in the same room as me for longer than a minute.
I pull myself out of bed and head for the bathroom when my phone buzzes on my nightstand.
Michaela: Josh is in rare form today. Good thing you’re not here. He asked to see the nursing schedule and was pissed you’d changed yours around.
My skin grows tight, and the back of my neck prickles.
Me: He’ll get over it. And hopefully find someone new to bother.
Though as I say that, I pity any woman who dates him.
I asked my nurse manager if she could change my schedule to avoid him.
She said yes without question, and we sat down and worked on it.
It’s impossible to avoid him completely.
He’s a resident, and they spend a lot of hours in the hospital.
But we were able to swap some of my shifts to alternate with his.
He’s been everywhere I turn, watching me without bothering to hide it.
Yesterday I caught him smirking at me from across the nurses’ station as if he knew something.
He can’t. There’s no way he could know. Still, it made my skin crawl, and I had to take action.
I don’t think he’ll show up here now that he knows I’m married and living with Aston.
So, for now, it’s just working to keep my distance from him at the hospital.
I do my thing in the bathroom, get dressed in warm clothes, and head downstairs. Aston is picking at a piece of turkey bacon as he leans against the counter, reading something on his phone. Zoey is at the table, contentedly eating breakfast and focused on her iPad.
He peeks up, and he gives me a once-over, though this one is short and almost perfunctory. Like he’s making sure I’m wearing proper attire and my nipples are no longer showing. “Coffee?”
I nod, and he makes it for me even though I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.
I don’t argue, though. Instead, I fix myself a plate of food, but when he hands me the mug, our fingers brush, and it sends a jolt through me.
It must do the same for him because his breath hitches and his fingers jump.
But in doing so, the mug almost slips, and I have to make a last-second adjustment so it doesn’t crash to the floor.
As it is, the coffee is nearly sloshing over onto my hand.
“Sorry. Static electricity or something. You okay?”
“Yeah. That was weird.”
“I’m going to get dressed, and then I want to build a snowman. A huge one. The biggest ever. And I want it to have a carrot nose and sticks for arms, and he’ll need a scarf so he doesn’t get cold.”
“Okay, Anna,” he teases, using the name of the princess from Frozen.
“Go get dressed, and we’ll build a snowman.
” She flies out of her chair, runs her plate over to the counter by the sink, and zooms upstairs like her ass is on fire.
“And put on the thermal leggings!” he calls after her, chuckling when her door slams without a reply.
He gives me a shrug. “She’s been talking about this storm all week. ”
“She sounds very ambitious about this snowman. Micha doesn’t have a huge backyard.”
“She also gets bored quickly, so we’ll see how far we get. There are only like six inches on the ground so far.”
I fork a bite of pancake and pop it into my mouth. Aston is a killer at breakfast and seems to love making it. No complaints from me. “Maybe this afternoon, we’ll bake something. I wouldn’t mind some chocolate.”
He smirks. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll send me out in the middle of the night for once the cravings start.”
My heart hiccups in my chest, and he must realize how that sounded because he clears his throat and looks away.
Thankfully, Zoey comes back down, saving us both.
Ten minutes later, after we’re all bundled up, we step out onto the back deck into inches of crunchy, wet snow.
Ice crystals mixed with fat flakes fall steadily from the pearl-gray sky, and everything around us is covered in layers of white as the wind whips and howls past us
Zoey charges into it with a squeal of delight and immediately falls onto her back to make a snow angel. “Sky, make one with me.”
“She’s been wanting to do this with you all morning.”
“With me specifically?” I ask, surprised.
He brushes some of the snow sticking to my cheek and nods. “She adores you. She talks about you constantly with her friends at school and with her therapist. I know we’re in an odd arrangement but thank you. It’s all I wanted for her. To see her smiling and happy.”
Warmth runs through me that completely eclipses the frigid temperatures.
I swallow and nod, a little choked up. Stupid pregnancy hormones. “I’m glad she’s happy and okay with our… situation. I hope you know, my friendship with her won’t change even when this ends.”
He turns away from her to look at me, his expression unreadable. He opens his mouth to say something when Zoey nails my back with a snowball. My eyes pop open wide, and my jaw unhinges.
Aston’s lips bounce. “Nice shot, kiddo!”
I sputter, bend, and pile a wad of frozen snow into my gloved hands, ball it up, but instead of retaliating against Zoey, I nail Aston right in the face.
He chokes and laughs. “Did you really just do that?”
I take a step back, my hands stretched outward toward him. “You wouldn’t attack a pregnant woman.”
He wipes the melting snow and ice from his face, his expression dangerous.
“Wanna bet?” He charges for me, and I scream, turning to run when he swoops me up, swings me around, and takes us both down into the snow with me on his lap to shield the impact.
Zoey jumps on him, pulling him back and burying him in snow.
After that, it’s chaos. Snow flying and feet slipping and sliding.
We end up building a pathetic little snowman, whom I name Baby Yoda.
Zoey doesn’t get the reference, but that’s what he looks like to me.
After far too long in the cold, we come inside, and I end up baking cookies with Zoey’s help.
Aston turns on the fireplace and puts on a movie that quickly calls Zoey’s attention away.
“Sorry,” Aston says as he comes over and pops a chocolate chip in his mouth. “I stole your baking buddy.”
“It’s fine. She’s wiped out.”
She’s curled up on the sofa under the blanket, and I wouldn’t be shocked if she fell asleep.
“My mom called a little while ago. They want to know what colors we want for our wedding party.”
I snort out a laugh as I put dollops of dough onto the baking sheets and slide them into the oven. “Whatever will make them cringe the most.”
He smiles, his eyes glittering. “Neon yellow and taupe then?”
I laugh. “My mother would collapse with those.”
“You Fritz women are so difficult to please.”
I lean against the counter and set the timer on my phone. “Only sometimes.”
“True. I managed to please you just fine.”
I arch an eyebrow up at him. “I thought we weren’t doing that. Talking about it and flirting.”
“I wasn’t. I swear.”
“Uh-huh. And that shit-eating grin on your face?”
He pushes away from the counter and cages me in, his hands on either side of me, his face inches from mine as he dips down.
“I can’t help it. I try. I really do. But something about you is like being on the edge of temptation to me, and no matter how long I’m good for, you always manage to turn me bad again. ”
“You need to work on that,” I playfully reprimand, even though my heart is pounding.
“I know. And I will. I promise. I’ll go back to keeping my distance. But one more taste won’t kill me, right?” He murmurs that last part almost as if he’s talking to himself.
Without warning, he dips and kisses me. A groan sears past his lips, and he picks me up and puts me on the counter before his hands dive into my hair, and he consumes my mouth.
He tastes like chocolate and smells like snow, and I’m instantly lost in him. In this. My hands grip his arms, and I hold on, knowing I shouldn’t be doing this, but there’s no way I can stop. Forget the edge of temptation, his kisses throw me straight to the edge of chaos.
His tongue swirls with mine, and he angles my head so he can deepen the exchange.
I moan, and he bites my bottom lip, almost punishingly. His tongue licks away the sting, and he pulls back, his forehead pressing to mine, his breathing labored.
“If only I didn’t have such a smart, sexy wife, it might be easier to stay away.”
He winks and pushes away from me to join Zoey on the sofa. And I’m smiling. I just am. The man makes me smile like the teenage girl I never was. A girl with an unfortunate crush on her fake husband.
It’d be the perfect day. You know. If any of this were real.