Chapter 18 #2
“Trudy says I can take it home to show Chloe-mama!” Leo carefully rolled up the picture. “And she says I’m doing really, really good at talking about my feelings.”
“You are doing really good,” Trudy confirmed, walking us to the door. “Sam, can I have a quick word?”
Leo ran back to the butterfly bush while Trudy spoke quietly. “He’s progressing remarkably well. The work you’re doing in family therapy is clearly paying off. Whatever you’re doing at home, keep doing it.”
“We’re just… showing up,” I said. “Being consistent. Keeping our promises.”
“That’s exactly what he needs.” Trudy smiled. “I’ll see you all for your family session on Thursday?”
“We’ll be here.”
At the clinic, Leo burst through the door with his usual enthusiasm. “Chloe-mama! Can I see the puppies? Trudy said I’m doing great at feelings!”
Chloe emerged from an exam room, a smile already on her face. “That’s wonderful! Let me finish up with Mr. Reynolds’s cat, and then we’ll go see them, okay?”
“Okay!” Leo settled into the waiting room chair, swinging his legs and humming to himself.
Sarah appeared from the back office, grinning when she saw us. “Leo! Perfect timing. The brown puppy with the white paws has been looking at the door all morning like she’s waiting for someone special.”
“Really?” Leo’s eyes went wide.
“Really. Come on, I’ll show you.”
I watched Leo follow Sarah to the back, then turned to Chloe. “How’s your day been?”
“Good. Busy.” She glanced toward her exam room. “Give me five minutes to finish up here?”
“Take your time. I’ll supervise the puppy situation.”
In the recovery area, I found Leo kneeling beside the basket of boxer mix puppies, his touch so gentle it barely disturbed their sleep. Sarah had settled on the floor beside him, watching with the fond expression everyone in Willowbrook seemed to have developed for Leo.
“This one is Daisy,” Leo was explaining to Sarah, pointing to each puppy in turn. “And that’s Max, and Bella, and Charlie, and Luna, and this is my favorite – Rosie. She has the white paws, and she’s the bravest one.”
“How do you know she’s the bravest?” Sarah asked.
“Because she’s always the first one to open her eyes and look around.” Leo gently stroked Rosie’s head. “I’m trying to be brave like Rosie.”
My chest tightened.
Chloe appeared beside me, her hand finding mine. “He’s doing so well,” she said quietly.
“Because of you,” I said. “You’re the one who thought of the therapy, who makes him feel safe enough to be brave.”
“We’re doing it together,” Chloe corrected. “That’s the whole point, Sam. We’re a team.”
A team. That was what we were rebuilding – not just a relationship, but a partnership. Trust that had been broken and was slowly being repaired, one honest conversation at a time.
“Daddy! Chloe-mama! Come see! Rosie opened her eyes!” Leo’s excited voice pulled us over to the basket.
We spent another twenty minutes with the puppies before Leo, and I left Chloe to head home.
???
At five o’clock, Jack and Harper arrived to pick up Leo for his sleepover. Emma bounded in with them, already chattering about all the fun things they were going to do.
“We’re gonna watch movies and play with my dolls and Leo’s trucks!” Emma announced, bouncing on her toes.
“That sounds perfect,” Chloe said, handing Harper Leo’s overnight bag. “He’s in his pajamas. I’ve packed his toothbrush and his stuffed truck. He can’t sleep without his stuffed truck. He’ll probably ask for his usual bedtime routine – one story, then the nightlight on, then—”
“Chloe,” Harper interrupted gently, smiling. “We’ve got this. Go enjoy your date night.”
“Right. Date night.” Chloe glanced at Leo, who was already holding Emma’s hand and telling her about Rosie the brave puppy. “Are you sure he’ll be okay?”
“He’ll be great,” Jack assured us. “And if he’s not, we’ll call. But he’s going to have a blast with Emma.”
After they left, the house felt strangely quiet. Chloe and I stood in the living room, suddenly alone together for the first time in weeks.
“So,” I said.
“So,” Chloe echoed.
“We have three hours before our reservation.”
“We do.” A slow smile spread across her face. “Whatever shall we do with all this time?”
I pulled her close, and for the first time in a month, I kissed her without worrying about little eyes watching.
“I have a few ideas,” I said against her lips.
Three hours later, we were seated at a corner table at our favorite Italian restaurant, candlelight flickering between us, the noise and chaos of parenting temporarily left behind.
Chloe was wearing a deep green dress that made her eyes look impossibly bright, and she’d left her hair down – something she rarely did anymore. I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“You’re staring,” she said, her amusement obvious as she took a sip of her wine.
“Can you blame me?” I reached across the table, my fingers tracing lazy circles on the inside of her wrist. “I’d almost forgotten what you look like without peanut butter handprints on your clothes.”
She laughed, but didn’t pull her hand away. That was new – or rather, old. The ease with which she let me touch her, the way she leaned into it instead of holding herself slightly apart. “I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to have a conversation without spelling every other word.”
“Or debating why spaghetti isn’t called long-noodles.”
“Or explaining why ice cream is not, in fact, an acceptable breakfast food.” Her thumb brushed against my palm, deliberate and slow. “Though I have to say, I miss him already.”
“He’s been gone three hours.”
“I know.” Her smile was soft. “Is that pathetic?”
My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down to see a text from Harper – one of several she’d sent since picking Leo up.
This one was a photo of Leo and Emma sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by toys, both of them grinning at the camera.
Earlier photos had shown them eating, Leo carefully helping Emma arrange her dolls, and the two of them watching a movie on the couch.
I turned the phone so Chloe could see. “He’s having the time of his life.”
Her face lit up at the photo. “He looks so happy.”
“It’s perfect.” I turned her hand over, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You’re perfect.”
She watched me, her expression shifting into something warmer, more intent. “How are you really doing?” she asked. “With everything. The custody process, therapy sessions, instant fatherhood.”
“Honestly? Terrified half the time.” I kept my fingers laced with hers, grounding myself in the connection. “I don’t want to lose either of you.”
Chloe’s eyes softened. “You’re not going to lose us.”
“I know. Because you’re here.” I held her gaze. “You stayed, Chloe. Even after everything I put you through, you stayed. You chose us.”
“I choose you,” she corrected, her voice dropping lower. “Present tense. Every day.”
The certainty in her voice – that was what I’d been missing. Not just the words, but the way she said them. No hesitation, no guardedness, no shadow of doubt lurking behind her eyes. She trusted me again. Really trusted me.
“Come here,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
“We’re in a restaurant,” she pointed out, but her smile was pure mischief.
“I don’t care.”
She stood, and for a moment I thought she might actually walk around the table. Instead, she leaned forward, one hand braced on the table, bringing her face close to mine. “Is this close enough?”
The candlelight caught in her hair, and I could smell her perfume – something floral that she only wore on special occasions. “Not even remotely.”
“Then you’ll have to suffer.” But she kissed me anyway, soft and promising, before pulling back with a grin. “At least until we get home.”
The waiter appeared with our appetizers, and Chloe settled back into her seat, looking entirely too pleased with herself. I tried to focus on the food, but she kept catching my eye across the table, her foot sliding up the inside of my calf under the table.
“You’re playing dirty,” I said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She took a slow bite of bruschetta, looking completely innocent.
“Chloe.”
“Sam.” She mimicked my tone perfectly, then laughed at my expression. “Relax. I’m just enjoying having you all to myself. No interruptions, no four-year-old asking why people kiss.” Her foot slid higher. “Just us.”
I caught her ankle under the table, my thumb pressing against the delicate bone. “Just us.”
“Besides,” she continued, her voice taking on that teasing lilt I hadn’t heard in months, “I seem to remember you mentioning you had ‘a few ideas’ about how to spend our date night. I’m merely expressing my interest in hearing more about those ideas.”
“Here? Now?”
“Why not?” She leaned forward again, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. “Tell me what you were thinking when you kissed me earlier.”
This was the Chloe I’d fallen in love with – confident, playful, unafraid to push back or tease me.
She’d been cautious for so long after she came home, careful with her words, measured in her affection.
But now? Now she was looking at me like she had all the power and knew exactly what she was doing with it.
“I was thinking,” I said, keeping my voice low, “about how long it’s been since we had the house to ourselves.”
“Four weeks,” she supplied immediately. “Not that I’ve been counting.”
“Not that you’ve been counting,” I echoed, fighting a smile.
“And I was thinking about how patient you’ve been. The way we’ve been rebuilding everything slowly, carefully.” I paused, watching her pupils dilate. “But maybe tonight we don’t have to be quite so careful.”
Her breath caught, just slightly. “No?”
“No.” I raised her hand to my lips again, this time letting my teeth graze her knuckles. “Tonight I want to remind you exactly why you chose me.”
“Sam Mitchell.” Her voice was breathless, delighted. “Are you trying to seduce me in the middle of this restaurant?”
“Is it working?”
She pulled her hand back, but only so she could take a long sip of wine, her eyes never leaving mine. When she set the glass down, her smile was wicked. “Ask me again when we get home.”
The rest of dinner passed in a haze of loaded glances and deliberate touches. Chloe fed me a bite of her pasta, her fingers lingering at my lips. I let my hand rest on her thigh when I leaned over to tell her something, feeling her shiver under my touch.
When the waiter asked about dessert, we both said “no” at the same time, and Chloe laughed at how quickly I requested the check. “In a hurry?” she asked innocently.
“You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”
“I do.” She stood, smoothing her dress down, and I caught a glimpse of the confidence that had been missing – the certainty that she had me, that we had each other, that nothing was going to come between us this time. “And I plan to keep doing it. All night.”
I left cash on the table – more than enough to cover the bill and a generous tip – and followed her out of the restaurant, my hand on the small of her back.
In the parking lot, she turned to face me, walking backwards toward my truck. “You know what I realized tonight?”
“What?”
“I’m not scared anymore.” She stopped, letting me catch up to her. “When Jenna first showed up, I was terrified. Terrified of losing you, of not being enough. But now?” She reached up, her fingers tracing my jaw. “Now I’m not scared at all. I trust you. Completely.”
That’s what I’d been seeing all evening – not just desire, but trust. The kind of trust that lets her be playful and vulnerable at the same time. The kind that meant she believed I wouldn’t hurt her again.
“I love you,” I said, backing her gently against the truck. “And I’m never giving you a reason to doubt that again.”
“I know.” She pulled me down into a kiss that was definitely not appropriate for a restaurant parking lot. “Now take me home and show me these ideas of yours.”
“With pleasure.”