41. Blake
Chapter 41
Blake
T he studio was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp I'd placed in the corner. Outside, the night had settled around the cottage like a comfortable blanket, stars pricking through the darkness. I stood in front of the canvas, brush in hand, feeling the excitement bubbling through me.
I'd been painting all day, and my back ached from standing so long, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. Not when the images were finally flowing again after so long. Not when every stroke felt like coming home.
"You've been in here for hours," Xander's voice came from the doorway, warm and amused.
I didn't turn, just smiled and added another dab of blue to the corner of the canvas. "I know. I can't help it."
"You need to eat something." He stepped into the room, and I heard the clink of a plate being set down on my work table. "And drink something that isn't coffee."
"You worry too much," I said, but finally set my brush down in the solvent jar and turned.
Xander stood there, barefoot in worn jeans and a soft henley, his hair slightly rumpled like he'd been running his fingers through it. He'd been working in his office most of the day, dealing with paperwork for the clinic while I painted and Amelia napped. Domestic bliss, and somehow it didn't feel stifling at all.
"I brought you a sandwich," he said, nodding toward the plate.
"My hero," I teased, but my voice came out softer than I'd intended.
His eyes moved past me to the canvas, widening slightly. "Blake, that's incredible."
I glanced back at my work—the painting of the three of us under the oak tree that I'd been working on since yesterday.
I'd expanded it, adding more depth, more color, turning that simple sketch into something that made my heart ache with hope.
"You think?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
Xander came to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as we looked at the canvas together. "I know."
The pride in his voice made something warm bloom in my chest. He always did that—made me believe in myself when the doubt crept in.
"I was thinking," I started, then paused, nervousness flickering through me. "Remember when I asked you to pose for me?"
Xander let out a surprised laugh. "How could I forget? You propositioned me in front of half the town."
I grinned, bumping his shoulder with mine. "I wasn't joking. I still want to sketch you."
"Is this where I'm supposed to say 'draw me like one of your French girls'?" he teased, but there was something in his eyes, a heat that hadn't been there a moment ago.
"If you want," I said lightly, winking at him.
Xander's eyebrow quirked up, interest plain on his face. "I think I do."
I set my palette down and wiped my hands on a rag. "Come on," I said, taking his hand and leading him back to the cottage.
We'd been so busy all week that we’d barely spent any time together, even if we did fall into bed exhausted at the end of each day and fall asleep in each other’s arms. Between getting Amelia on a more regular sleep schedule, Xander working at the clinic, and me prepping for the upcoming show, we'd barely had any time alone together. But the stolen moments—a kiss in the hallway, his hand on the small of my back while I made coffee, my head on his shoulder as we watched TV after Amelia went to sleep—had been building a tension that hummed just beneath my skin.
In our bedroom, I let go of his hand and went to my nightstand, pulling out my sketchbook. "Sit," I said, gesturing to the edge of the bed.
He did, watching me with curious eyes as I flipped to a clean page and perched on the chair in the corner.
"Take off your shirt," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
Xander's lips curved into a slow smile.
"Yes, ma'am." He reached behind his neck and tugged his henley off in one smooth motion, dropping it beside him on the bed.
My breath caught. God, he was beautiful. The lean muscles of his shoulders, the planes of his chest, the trail of dark hair disappearing into his jeans. I'd seen him shirtless before, of course, but something about this—about him baring himself for my art, for me—made the moment feel sacred.
"Like this?" he asked, leaning back on the bed, stretching his body out in front of me.
I nodded, picking up my pencil. "Just like that."
I began to sketch, quick, rough lines capturing the breadth of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw. It was strangely intimate, this quiet communion between us. I watched as the tension gradually left his body, his posture softening as he relaxed into being observed.
"Tell me something I don't know about you," I said softly, my pencil moving across the paper.
Xander was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. "I used to play piano."
That surprised me. "Really?"
He nodded. "My mother insisted. She said a gentleman should be accomplished in the arts." His lips quirked in a wry smile. "Of course, she also criticized every note I played."
"Were you good?" I asked, capturing the slope of his neck, the hollow of his throat.
"I think so. I loved it, at least." His expression turned thoughtful. "It was the one place where I felt like I could express myself. Where no one was watching or judging."
I paused my sketching. "Like how I feel when I paint."
"Exactly like that."
I smiled, returning to my drawing. "You should play for me sometime."
"I haven't touched a piano in years," he admitted. "I'm not sure I remember how."
"I bet it would come back to you. The things that are a part of us don't really leave." I glanced up at him. "Even when we think they're gone."
Something shifted in his expression, a vulnerability I wasn't used to seeing. "Is that how it was with your art? When you couldn't paint?"
I nodded slowly. "It was always there. I just couldn't access it. Like it was behind a wall that I couldn't break through." I set my pencil down, meeting his gaze. "Until Amelia. Until you."
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. "What made the difference?"
I considered the question, trying to put into words what I'd felt. "I think I was afraid of looking at who I really was. Afraid that if I really put myself into my art, if I was truly vulnerable there, I might not be good enough. That I'd prove my parents right."
"Blake," he said softly, and just the way he said my name made my chest ache.
"I know it's stupid—"
"It's not stupid," he interrupted, leaning forward. "Fear never is. It's just... misdirected sometimes."
I set my sketchbook aside and moved to sit beside him on the bed. "What are you afraid of?"
His eyes met mine, golden brown and serious. "Honestly? That I'll mess this up. That the pressure will get to be too much, and I'll fall back into old patterns."
"You mean drinking," I said quietly.
He nodded, looking down at his hands. "It wasn't just the stress of the job, you know. It was the emptiness. Coming home to an empty apartment, no one to share the good days with, no one to help shoulder the bad ones." His voice dropped lower. "I was so lonely, Blake. And booze filled that void, for a while."
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. "And now?"
"Now I have you. And Amelia." He squeezed my hand. "And it's terrifying because it matters so much more. Losing you would hurt so much worse than anything I've ever felt."
My throat tightened. "You're not going to lose me."
"No?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"No," I said firmly. I shifted closer until our thighs were touching. "I love you, Xander. I'm in this. All the way."
A slow, beautiful smile spread across his face. "I’ll never get tired of hearing that. I love you too, Blake. So damn much."
And then he was kissing me, his hand coming up to cup my face. I leaned into him, my fingers sliding into his hair as our lips moved together, slow and deep and perfect. He tasted like coffee and the mint gum he always chewed when he was working, and something uniquely Xander that I'd come to crave.
His hand slid down to my waist, fingers slipping under the hem of my paint-splattered t-shirt to find bare skin. I shivered at his touch, goosebumps rising wherever his fingers trailed.
"Can I see?" he murmured against my lips.
I pulled back slightly, confused. "See what?"
"The drawing."
I laughed softly, charmed by his interest in my art even now, when we were clearly heading in another direction. I reached for the sketchbook and handed it to him.
He studied the rough drawing, his expression serious. "You see me better than anyone ever has," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion.
"I pay attention," I said simply.
He set the sketchbook aside carefully, then turned back to me. His hands found the hem of my shirt again. "May I?"
I nodded, lifting my arms as he pulled the shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor. His eyes darkened as they roamed over me.
"Now who's seeing who?" I teased, but my voice came out breathier than I'd intended.
"You're incredible," he murmured, his hand coming up to trace the curve of my shoulder, the line of my collarbone. "Every inch of you."
I leaned into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed as his fingers trailed down to the swell of my breast. "You're not so bad yourself, Doctor."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, but then his lips were on my neck, and I wasn't thinking about anything except the feel of him against me.
We fell back onto the bed together, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the most delicious way. His mouth moved down my neck to my breast, teeth grazing my nipple through the thin lace of my bra. I arched into the touch, a soft moan escaping me.
"I've been thinking about this all week," he admitted, reaching beneath me to unhook my bra. "About having you all to myself."
"Me too," I gasped as his mouth closed around my bare nipple, his tongue swirling in a way that sent heat straight to my core. "God, Xander."
His hand slid down my stomach to the waistband of my leggings, fingers dipping just beneath the elastic. "Tell me what you want, Blake."
"You," I said simply, "Just you."
His eyes met mine, dark with desire but so full of love it made my heart stutter. "You have me. Always."
And then his mouth was on mine again, kissing me like I was essential, like he needed me to breathe. I lost myself in the sensation, in the taste of him, the feel of his skin against mine as we moved together in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
His skin felt like fire beneath my fingertips as the desire took us over. Every touch, every caress in the darkness was like we were discovering each other for the first time, even though we'd been together for months. The world outside ceased to exist—there was only us, only this moment where everything else fell away.
"I love you," he whispered against my lips, his voice rough with emotion and want.
"I love you too," I breathed back, pulling him closer as the lamplight cast golden shadows across our intertwined bodies.
And then there were no more words, only the soft sounds of our breathing, and the gentle rustle of sheets as we lost ourselves completely in each other. The rest of the night dissolving into tender touches and whispered promises that would carry us into dawn.
#
I woke to the sound of Amelia's babbling through the baby monitor. The bedroom was filled with early morning light, soft and golden. Xander's arm was draped over my waist, his breathing still deep and even against my neck.
For a moment, I just lay there, savoring the warmth of him against me, the rightness of this moment. Then Amelia's babbling turned to more insistent sounds, and I carefully extracted myself from Xander's embrace.
"Where you going?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as he reached for me.
"Amelia's awake," I whispered, dropping a kiss on his forehead. "Go back to sleep."
He made a noncommittal sound, burying his face in the pillow as I slipped from the bed. I pulled on his discarded henley and a pair of shorts before padding down the hall to the nursery.
Amelia was standing in her crib, holding onto the rails, her face lighting up when she saw me. She was babbling her usual sounds, but then—
"Ma-ma... ma-ma!"
I froze in the doorway, my heart stopping. "Oh my God," I whispered, rushing to the crib. "Did you just—? Say it again, baby girl!"
"Mama!" she said more clearly this time, reaching her little arms up to me.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I scooped her up, my hands shaking with excitement. "You said mama! Your first word!" I kissed her chubby cheeks over and over. "I can't believe it!"
The sound of running footsteps echoed down the hall, and suddenly Xander burst through the nursery door, his hair sticking up at odd angles, still in just his boxers.
"Did she—? I heard over the monitor—did she really say—?"
"Mama!" Amelia announced proudly, as if she knew exactly what all the fuss was about.
Xander's face broke into the biggest grin I'd ever seen. "Holy shit, Blake! Her first word! Oh shit, don’t say shit!" He crossed the room to us in two strides, wrapping both of us in his arms, a deliriously happy smile on his face. "I can't believe I almost missed it."
"Say it again, sweet girl," I encouraged, bouncing her gently. "Say mama."
"Mama! Mama!" she repeated, clapping her hands together like she knew she'd done something wonderful.
I was full-on crying now, happy tears streaming down my face. "I can't believe her first word was mama," I said, looking at Xander through my tears.
"Are you kidding?" he said, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Of course it was. You're her whole world." He pressed a kiss to my temple, then to Amelia's head. "We need to call everyone. Get the camera. This is huge!"
"Da-da-da!" Amelia suddenly babbled, reaching for Xander.
"Oh, now you're just showing off," he laughed, taking her from my arms and spinning her around gently. "My brilliant girl."
I watched them together, my heart so full it felt like it might burst. This moment—Xander in his boxers with his hair a mess, me in his old shirt with tears on my cheeks, and our daughter chattering away in his arms—this was everything I never knew I wanted.
"What?" Xander asked, catching me watching them with what must have been a ridiculous expression on my face.
"Nothing," I said, smiling through my tears. "Just thinking how lucky we are."
His expression softened, and he crossed back to me with Amelia still in his arms, pulling me into a gentle kiss. "Luckiest man alive," he murmured against my lips.
"Mama!" Amelia announced again, patting my face with her tiny hands.
We broke apart, laughing, both of us crying happy tears now.
Our perfectly imperfect family was just getting started, and I couldn't wait to see what came next.