15. Ivy #2
"I know. I know all the reasons we shouldn't do this. Your father, my age, the past. But I can't pretend I don't feel it when you're near me. Can't pretend I don't want to know who you've become in these four years."
He lifted our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture was so gentle, so reverent, that my breath caught.
"I want to know too," I admitted. "But I'm scared."
"Of what?"
Of telling you about your children. Of watching you walk away when you realize how I've deceived you. Of letting myself hope for something I can't have.
"Of making another mistake."
He shifted closer, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Maybe some mistakes are worth making."
His thumb traced along my jawline, and I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch despite every rational thought screaming at me to stop. When I opened them again, he was studying my face as if memorizing it.
"Ivy." His voice was rough, uncertain. "Can I kiss you?"
The question was so gentle. He didn't have to ask, but he had. I thought of my children sleeping at home, of my father waiting for answers I couldn't give, of the life I'd built on secrets and lies.
I thought of the loneliness in Duncan's voice when he talked how miserable his life was. I thought of the way he'd held my hand as if it were something precious.
"Yes," I whispered.
He leaned in slowly, giving me time to change my mind. When his lips met mine, it was nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses we'd shared over the past several weeks. This was careful, questioning, a conversation without words.
I kissed him back, my free hand fisting in the soft wool of his sweater. He tasted of coffee and mint, and of chances I'd thought were lost forever.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine.
"We should probably talk about what this means," he said.
"Should we?" My heart thudded in my ears.
"Two adults, complicated history, working relationship…"
"Are you asking me to define this?" And how could I define it. This situationship was a torpedo aimed to sink my ship.
"I'm asking if you want there to be a 'this' to define."
I pulled back to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed where my fingers had tangled in it. His eyes held hope and uncertainty in equal measure.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I want to. But there are things you don't know about me, about my life in Maine."
"Then tell me."
The invitation was simple, but the truth was anything but. How could I explain that I'd spent three years raising his children? That every day I looked at faces that were mirrors of his own? That I'd built a life around a secret so big it had its own heartbeat?
"It's complicated," I said instead.
"Everything worth having is complicated."
He kissed me again, deeper this time, and I let myself get lost in it. Let myself pretend, for these stolen moments, that the truth didn't exist. That we were just two people finding each other again after too much time apart.
But eventually, reality intruded. My phone buzzed with a text from Lauren.
Lauren 9:27 PM: All three asleep. Elena asked for you twice but settled down. Take your time.
I pulled away from Duncan reluctantly. "I should go. It's getting late."
"Stay." The word was soft, hopeful. "We could talk more. Or not talk."
"I can't. My father expects me home."
"You're twenty-four, Ivy. You don't need his permission."
"It's not about permission. It's about…" I trailed off, unable to explain that it wasn't my father I was worried about disappointing tonight.
Duncan walked me to my car, his hand resting on the small of my back. The contact sent warmth spreading through my entire body.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked as I opened the driver's door.
"At work, yes."
"I meant like this. Away from the office."
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say yes, wanted to plan another evening stolen from real life. But the rational part, the part that had kept me and my children safe for three years, knew better.
"I need time to think."
He nodded, disappointment flickering across his features. "Of course. No pressure."
I started the engine, rolling down the window as he stepped back from the car.
"Duncan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For being patient."
"Thank you for coming."
I drove home through empty streets, my lips still tingling from his kisses. The house was dark when I arrived, everyone asleep. I parked down the street so the engine wouldn't wake anyone, then slipped inside through the front door.
My father had left the porch light on for me. A small kindness that made my chest tight with guilt.
I climbed the stairs quietly, checking on each of the triplets before going to my own room where
I thought about Duncan's hands on my face, about the way he'd asked permission before kissing me. About his admission that he'd been thinking of me for all this time.
What would he think when he learned about them? Would he be angry that I'd kept them from him? Would he try to take them away? Would he disappear entirely, unable to handle the responsibility he'd never asked for?
Or would he look at them the way he'd looked at me tonight—as if they were something precious, something worth fighting for?
I didn't know. That was the problem. I'd spent so long protecting them from uncertainty that I'd created a different kind of uncertainty instead.
I changed into pajamas and lay awake staring at the ceiling. My phone sat silent on the nightstand, but I kept glancing at it, wondering if Duncan was doing the same thing. Wondering if he was questioning tonight as much as I was.
The smart thing would be to end this before it went any further. To tell him tomorrow that we'd made a mistake, that we needed to keep things professional. To protect my children from the chaos that would inevitably follow if the truth came out.
But as I finally drifted off to sleep near dawn, it wasn't the smart choice I was thinking about.
It was the way Duncan had said my name. The way he'd held my hand as if it were something he'd been looking for his entire life.
The way he'd asked if I wanted there to be a "this" to define, and how desperately I wanted to say yes.