17. Blake
Chapter 17
Blake
T he hot water cascaded over my shoulders, washing away the day's exhaustion, but not the memory of what had almost happened.
I pressed my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting the steam envelope me. I needed this barrier between us. This moment to clear my head. To remind myself why complicated feelings had no place in our arrangement.
When Xander had caught my wrist, when his thumb had brushed over my pulse point and his eyes had darkened with something that made my stomach flip, it didn't feel like part of our agreement.
It felt like something we'd been dancing around since the moment he showed up at Delaney's door.
"This is complicated enough," he'd said, his voice rough with restraint. "My recovery... Amelia... I don't want to mess this up."
The words echoed in my head as I let the water run down my back. He was right. Of course he was right. There was too much at stake to complicate things with... whatever this was between us.
I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a towel, wiping condensation from the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, cheeks flushed from the heat, hair darkened to a deeper pink. I looked different somehow. Like something had shifted, even though nothing had actually happened.
Nothing except that moment on the couch, when his eyes had dropped to my lips and I'd leaned in without thinking, but then the baby monitor had crackled, and the moment had shattered.
I dressed quickly in clean pajama shorts and an old T-shirt, trying not to think about what might have happened if Amelia hadn't woken up. If Xander hadn't pulled back when he did. If I hadn't been so desperate for his touch that I'd nearly forgotten all the reasons why this was such a bad idea.
I towel-dried my hair, listening for Amelia. It was quiet now. Xander must have gotten her back to sleep. I pictured him standing over her crib, his steady hands adjusting her blanket, his low voice soothing her. He was good with her. Natural in a way I was still learning to be.
That thought sent a flutter through my chest that had nothing to do with our arrangement and everything to do with watching a man I was increasingly attracted to care for a baby I was determined to protect. It was a dangerous combination.
I stepped out of the bathroom, the cottage eerily quiet after the white noise of the shower. Steam followed me into the hallway as I padded toward the living room, wondering if Xander had gone to bed already.
He was still on the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed. For a second, I thought he might be asleep, but then his eyes opened, finding mine immediately like he'd sensed me standing there.
"Hey," he said, his voice rough around the edges. "Feel better?"
I nodded, suddenly awkward in a way I hadn't been before. "Thanks for checking on Amelia."
"She was just fussing. Didn't even need to pick her up."
I hovered there, unsure if I should join him or retreat to my room. The moment on the couch hung between us, unacknowledged but impossible to ignore.
"I saved you a cookie," he said, gesturing to the plate on the coffee table. The last chocolate chip cookie sat there, deliberately left for me.
Such a small thing, and yet it made my chest ache. When was the last time someone had saved me the last cookie? When was the last time anyone had thought about what I might want before I even knew I wanted it?
I crossed the room and sat beside him, careful to leave enough space between us. I broke the cookie in half, offering him a piece.
"I can't take your cookie," he protested.
"It's called sharing, Farrington. Besides, you've earned it."
He took the offered half, his fingers brushing mine in a way that sent a current through my entire body. This was ridiculous. We were two adults sharing a cookie, not teenagers fumbling in the backseat of a car. And yet my pulse raced like we were doing something far more intimate.
"So," I said, clearing my throat. "About before—"
The baby monitor crackled to life again, Amelia's distinct cry cutting through the static. I was on my feet before I'd even finished the sentence, relieved and disappointed in equal measure at the interruption.
"I've got her," Xander said, already standing. "You just got comfortable."
"No, it's fine. She might need to be fed."
Our eyes met, and I saw the same conflicted emotions I was feeling reflected back at me. He nodded, sinking back onto the couch as I headed down the hall.
In the nursery, Amelia was fully awake now, her cries turning indignant as I lifted her from the crib.
"Hey, sweetheart," I whispered, holding her close. "Bad dream?"
She nestled against my shoulder, her tiny body warm and trusting. This was what mattered. Not the way my skin still tingled from the shower heat—or from the memory of Xander's eyes on me. Not the ache in my chest when he'd pulled away before anything happened.
This little girl who needed me to be strong and steady. Who needed a home and a family that wouldn't abandon her like my sister had abandoned us both.
I changed her diaper and settled onto the edge of bed beside the window, looking out at the stars scattered across the clear spring sky. Amelia's weight was comforting against me, her breathing slowly evening out as I rocked back and forth, humming softly.
I couldn't afford to complicate things with Xander. Couldn't risk the stability we'd created for Amelia on whatever this tension was between us. We had a good thing going—a system that worked.
But as I sat there, Amelia's warm weight against my chest, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering to the what-ifs. What if Amelia hadn't cried just then? What if I'd closed that final distance between us? What if I'd been brave enough to tell him that this didn't feel like pretending?
Amelia's soft snores pulled me back from the edge of that particular cliff. I looked down at her peaceful face, struck again by how perfectly she fit in my arms. How natural it felt to be her mother, even though I'd never planned for any of this.
Maybe that was the hardest part of all this. Nothing in my life had gone according to plan lately, and somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, the one thing that made the most sense was the very thing I was most afraid to reach for.
I carefully placed Amelia back in her crib, tucking her blanket around her. My fingers lingered on the handmade fabric, tracing the pattern that had become so familiar. The blanket that had arrived with her that first night—the only thing Madison had left her daughter besides a hastily scrawled note and a lifetime of questions.
I wouldn't be like my sister. I wouldn't walk away when things got complicated or scary. I'd made a promise to this little girl, and I intended to keep it.
Even if that meant keeping Xander at arm's length.
Even if that meant ignoring the way my heart raced every time he smiled at me across the breakfast table. The way his laugh made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as broken as I thought I was.
I tiptoed out of the bedroom, expecting to find the living room empty. Instead, Xander was leaning against the wall in the hallway, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"Is she okay?" he asked softly.
I nodded, suddenly aware that I was standing too close to him in the narrow hallway. "Just needed a change and some cuddles."
"You're good with her."
"So are you."
We stood there, neither of us moving, the silence stretching between us like a living thing. I could feel his warmth, could smell the faint scent of his soap mixed with the chocolate from the cookie.
"I should let you get some sleep," he finally said, stepping back to give me space to pass.
But I didn't move. Couldn't move. Because if I took one step closer to him, I wasn't sure I could trust myself to walk away.
"Xander..." My voice was barely above a whisper.
His eyes met mine, and I saw everything I was feeling reflected back at me. The want. The hesitation. The fear.
"You were right before," I said. "This is complicated enough."
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I know."
"So we should probably..."
"Keep things simple. For now."
For now. Those two words hung in the air between us, filled with possibility and promise. A concession that neither of us had voiced before.
"For now," I echoed, and the tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction.
He reached out, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering just a heartbeat too long. "Goodnight, Blake."
"Goodnight, Xander."
I slipped past him, careful not to let our bodies touch, and retreated to my room. I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart hammering in my chest like I'd just run a marathon.
This was getting dangerous. The lines between real and pretend were blurring, and it was just the beginning of what we had to do.
I moved to the window, looking out at the moonlight painting silver shadows across the Farrington land. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called into the night.
Tomorrow I'd remember the rules. Remember our arrangement. Remember all the reasons why mixing feelings into this complicated situation was a terrible idea.
But tonight—just for tonight—I'd allow myself to wonder what might have happened if Amelia hadn't cried just then. If we'd both been brave enough to admit that this stopped being pretend before we’d even began.