Chapter 8 Eli
Eli
Ismell her the second she walks in.
Syrupy brown sugar and cinnamon, twinged with something that makes my chest ache. She’s standing near the shoe counter, her halo of blonde hair illuminated by the fluorescent lighting. Her arms are loosely folded across her middle, her gaze drifting like she’s waiting for something to go wrong.
Has something already gone wrong?
It’s been a few days since me and the guys dropped her off at her new place. I knew she wasn’t happy with it. We all did.
The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. She steps up to the counter to order herself some shoes. She’s got that same look on her face that she had in Dr. Quinn’s office. Quiet. Contained. Trying her best not to take up much space.
“Miss Lia!” my daughter exclaims.
Amber makes a beeline toward the woman. She takes off before I can say a word, her little ponytail swinging and her bowling shoes slipping all across the polished floor. Lia whips those magnificent green eyes in our direction, and then I see it.
Something has most definitely happened to upset her.
I make my way after Amber just as Lia crouches down to greet my daughter. She meets Amber at eye level, and my chest tightens at how natural it all looks.
“Keep it together,” I murmur to myself.
“Well, hello there, Miss Amber,” Lia says.
“We’re bowling!” my daughter announces as I walk up behind her. “Daddy said I can use the ramp again. The ball makes my arms hurt sometimes, and then I can’t get it to go straight.”
Lia raises her arm and flexes it playfully. “Gotta keep up that strength. These bowling balls are no joke.”
“You’re telling me,” my daughter says with a scoff. “So, are you gonna come bowl with us, Miss Lia? There’s lots of space where we are.”
“What size, miss?” the bowling attendant behind the counter asks.
“Uh…” Lia peers over her shoulder, “a size seven, please.”
“Hey! That’s close to what I wear! I’m a size six,” my daughter announces proudly.
Lia smiles, and I swear my heart stops thundering in my chest. For a moment, life is suspended in its radiance.
I’m suspended in its radiance.
“So, are you gonna bowl with us? Please?” Amber asks.
That’s when I place my hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart, if Miss Lia—”
Lia stands. “You can just call me ‘Lia.’ Doesn’t have to be all formal.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Amber says as she looks up at me.
I chuckle and smooth my hand over my daughter’s hair. “She’s right, though. You’re more than welcome to join us if you don’t want to bowl alone. We only just got here a few minutes ago ourselves.”
She nibbles on that lower lip of hers and I can’t help but to watch the movement. It’s so juicy and plump, and I find myself jealous of her teeth. I want to nibble on it. I want to know what it would taste like.
I can’t get that moment out of my head in the doctor’s office, when Walker admitted to giving her an orgasm and it not working. I want to give her all of the—
“Sure, I can join you guys. If it’s not too much,” Lia says, ripping me out of my trance.
Thank God.
“Yayyy!” Amber rejoices, and she grabs Lia’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where we are.”
Lia points to her shoes. “I just need to—”
“I’ll grab them,” I say as I reach out and swipe them from the countertop.
She smiles sweetly up at me. “Thanks, Eli.”
“Not a problem.”
Her scent is twinged with something I don’t like. Almost like burned sugar. I try to ignore it. I try to push it off to the side. But once we get her set up and entered onto our digital bowling card, I can’t help but ask as Amber insists on using the bowling ramp herself.
“You doing okay?” I ask as we sit there, watching my daughter put the ramp in place. “In your temporary place?”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she says a little too quickly.
Okay, that’s the issue. She hates her new place. “You able to get any baking done?”
“Some.”
I recognize these kinds of answers. Reflexive answers. I don’t push, though. If she isn’t ready to talk about it, then we can provide a distraction for her. I learned a long time ago that pressure makes Omegas retreat. Not open up.
Amber, on the other hand, has no such restraint. “You look sad, Lia.”
“Amber,” I attempt to say in a warning voice that I hope doesn’t sound chastising, “maybe Lia’s just tired. She’s a full-time baker, you know. That takes a lot out of someone.”
My daughter gasps as she rushes to sit down at Lia’s other side. “Really? What’s your favorite thing to bake?”
That makes Lia’s eyes come alive. “Cinnamon rolls, most definitely. There’s something comforting about working with dough, in general.”
“Mmm, I love cinnamon rolls. With extra icing, but not the clear-y kind. I like the thicker kind of icing.”
“Ah, the cream cheese icing. You have good taste,” Lia says with a smile.
A bright, genuine smile.
Good.
The game starts slowly. Amber insists on helping Lia to line up her ball, even going so far as to offer her the use of the ramp, should she need it.
I can already tell by the way Lia holds her ball with confidence that she’s been bowling for quite some time.
Still, she goes along with it for the sake of my daughter.
She’s a natural with her, and when it’s Amber’s turn, Lia talks her through with a steady patience on how to line up the bowling ramp just right.
Amber scores a strike, and a smile spreads across my face.
I’d like to think I have always done what’s best for my daughter. Losing her mother the way we did devastated my world in a way I thought I’d never recover from.
I swore off dating after we buried her. Told myself that I’d focus on raising my daughter into the best young woman I could manage. But watching her with Lia makes something tighten inside of my chest again.
I told myself I’d be enough for my daughter.
Maybe I was wrong, though.
“Your turn, Daddy!” Amber chirps.
I zone back in long enough to watch my daughter jump to give Lia a high-five. I look up and I see that not only did Amber score a strike, but Lia did as well.
“Welp,” I say with a grunt as I press my hands into my knees to stand, “time for me to make peace with the gutters.”
Amber giggles. “Use the ramp! Lia can show you how to use it really good.”
“She can, can she?”
Lia blushes a bit. “I’m sure you’re a fine bowler, Eli.”
“Ah, we’ll see about that.”
A strike isn’t what waits for me during that frame, but I manage a spare. Amber cheers like I’ve just won a championship, and Lia’s giggling filters through the noise of my daughter’s clapping hands.
Lia and I pass by one another, brushing shoulders as her scent wafts up my nose. That syrupy brown sugar smell has leveled out into something a bit softer. More relaxed. Comforting in a way that rouses my inner Alpha from its years-long slumber.
Lia smells safe.
We bowl. We talk. Amber chatters about school and her favorite snacks, and Lia asks the kinds of questions that show she’s actually listening to my daughter’s answers. Amber preens under her attention. I watch how my daughter leans closer, how easily she trusts Lia.
The two hours of bowling fly by in the blink of an eye, and my daughter is flushed and happy. Lia looks more at ease than she did when she first arrived, like the tension she once carried within her has finally loosened its grip.
Then my daughter gasps. “Miss Bea!”
“Who?” Lia asks, spinning around when my daughter takes off.
I chuckle as I sit and begin taking off my shoes. “Bea Langley. She owns the bowling alley.”
“Ah.”
“There’s my favorite sugarplum,” Bea says as she crouches down, her knees popping with the effort.
My daughter runs up and gives her a hug. “Hi, Miss Bea.”
“Hey there, honey,” she says, patting her back. “Ready for a Shirley Temple? I’ve got extra cherries for you.”
“Yeah! Daddy, can I?”
I slip into my regular shoes and stand. “Of course, sweetheart. Enjoy.” I lift my hand and wave. “Hey, Buster!”
Bea barely waves at me as she takes Amber’s hand and leads her toward the concession stand.
“Buster?” Lia asks.
I turn and look down at her, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “Bea used to professionally bowl. Her nickname was ‘Buster’ because she’d always bust out those strikes.”
Lia giggles a bit as she looks back toward the concession stand. “Nice.”
I nudge her softly with my shoulder. “This alley’s got a hobby league, if you’re interested.”
“They do?”
“Mmhmm. Everyone’s welcome. They meet twice a week, on Wednesday evenings and Saturday afternoons. Tournaments are Sundays. The town loves to turn out for them.”
“Huh.”
I stand there beside her and watch as Bea sits with my daughter, the both of them chugging down Shirley Temples with extra cherries. Feeling Lia’s warmth at my side settles an unease I’ve been walking around with for a long time.
I want to keep her close. I want to press my nose into her neck until my lungs have memorized her scent. I want to pull her into my lap, kiss her breathless, and pin her beneath my body so that I can show her—
I shake my head softly and clear my throat. “You play a good game. You should consider the league, if you have time.”
“I just might,” she says.
Then, as if her body is looking for a reason to stay in our orbit as well, I hear the most amazing sound.
Her stomach rumbles.
It gives me an opening. “Why don’t you come back to our place for some food?”
“What?”
I turn to face her. “Food. A late lunch. At my place. That’s usually what Amber and I do after bowling. I’ve got lasagna and garlic bread on the menu in the kitchen, if you’d like some.”
“Kitchen…” she whispers, her voice trailing off.
Her gaze trails off too, and I wait for her to elaborate. To add on. To do something, anything, to explain the sad look in her eyes that has appeared again.
“Lia,” I say, low enough so that it’s just between the two of us. “Something is wrong. Talk to me.”
She sighs heavily. “I can’t impose, Eli. Just got some stuff on my mind, is all.”
“You made us a promise, remember?”
Her eye twitches. “Yeah, I remember.”