Chapter thirty-four
Emma's Cottage, Aviemore
Emma
A few days after my date with Arlo, I’m sitting in my living room sipping a steaming hot chocolate watching terrible daytime TV.
The woman on the screen is talking about the importance of open communication in a relationship.
Various ladies are calling into the “Agony Aunt Helpline” asking her advice on how to save their failing relationships.
Her advice varies from “cut him loose” to apologizing for your poor behavior, but the overall vibe is “only continue with a relationship which makes you happy.”
That’s a sentiment I have to agree with.
After Damon left the bar, Arlo and I enjoyed a few drinks and lighthearted chatter before going our separate ways.
It had been fun and enjoyable, and I found myself smiling as he spoke.
But there’s no doubt my heart still lies with the brooding, grumpy asshole who appeared unannounced and asked for an overdue conversation.
My mind flits between regret for sending him away and pride that I was strong enough to do so.
Each time I allow my thoughts to wander, I tell myself, that if he wants to make amends, he’ll continue to try.
This isn’t a simple “apologize and move on” situation.
Though, I’m only assuming him coming here is to discuss our relationship; perhaps it was for something else, and I didn’t give him a chance to speak.
As I glance at my phone sitting silently on the coffee table, the sound of a vehicle entering the driveway surprises me. A shadow slides across the room, then recedes as it reverses. It must be something large—maybe a delivery van, though I don’t remember ordering anything.
I stand then walk across to the window. When I look out, I’m shocked to see a large RV parked in the corner of my garden.
At the wheel is Damon, and next to him is a little girl I’ve been desperate to see for weeks.
He leans across and unclips her from her car seat, then gathers her little body into his arms before climbing out of the vehicle.
I watch on, stunned, as he closes the door and carries her across the garden to my front step. He doesn’t notice me watching, completely lost in his own thoughts. His lips move as he speaks to his daughter; then they disappear out of sight and my doorbell rings.
Frozen to the spot, I don’t move. The bell sounds again.
My uncertainty keeps me where I am, and after a few minutes I see him walking back to the RV.
He opens the side door then glances back to the house.
Our eyes meet—he pauses before stepping inside the vehicle holding Annie.
Immediately, my phone beeps with a message.
I’m here to talk when you’re ready.
But Annie would love to see you, today.
The sheer joy that consumes my body from head to toe is breathtaking. I walk back to the window, looking out at the RV plonked in the small space in front of the cottage. Inside, I can see Damon moving around from the chest down; in his hand is his phone poised ready to answer.
My heart tightens; they’re here, outside my home, to see me.
But my head warns me to be cautious, if I consider a relationship of any sort with Damon and Annie again, I need to be sure it’s a permanent arrangement.
I’m not willing to allow the rug to be pulled from beneath my feet again—it hurts too fucking much.
***
Three days later, Damon and I still haven’t spoken verbally.
He stays in the RV, emerging with Annie to go out for a walk or play for a while in the garden.
When I come out of the house, he doesn’t approach, but I can feel him watching.
We agreed via message that I could spend a little time with Annie the day they arrived.
He brought her to my door, simply handing her over.
“Ma-ma,” she cooed, holding out mucky little fingers and wobbling in my direction.
I’d dropped to my knees, held out my arms, and she ran into them willingly.
The tears fell fast as I held her. When I looked up, Damon was watching our interaction, his jaw slack and a look of guilt clearly etched on his features.
He smiled softly then turned and walked back to the RV.
Every day since they arrived, she’s come to visit.
Our agreement is unspoken—he brings her to the front door then leaves us.
Annie wanders around the house like my little shadow as I go about small tasks.
We cuddle on the sofa to watch terrible children’s TV filled with singing cats and tone-deaf presenters.
I tickle her tummy, and she giggles, with rosy-red cheeks and perfect dimples.
Having time with her has made me feel so much more whole, like the balance of work and family is slowly being restored.
Our current setup won’t be able to continue forever.
I have to return to London in a few months, and no doubt Damon will be working in some capacity.
I know he left the police force and his employment is now a mystery.
My gut tells me he’ll be moving to darker work which makes me nervous, but I’ve been aware since early on there is a lot more to Damon McKinney than first appears.
The potential father, diligent police officer, and husband I met at the illicit fertility clinic has so many more layers to unveil.
In my heart, I know I haven’t found them all yet, and I doubt I ever will, but I hope to.
This morning, just after I had switched on the living room light, a message sounded once again on my mobile.
Check the doorstep.
When I went to my front door, there was a mug of hot chocolate sitting on the mat in my favorite mug from Damon’s house in London.
It was made perfectly, the way I love it, with the ideal milk-to-chocolate ratio.
Next to it was a picture, obviously drawn by Annie.
The white sheet was filled with lines and scribbles in various colors.
Smiling to myself, I picked the two items up and went back inside. After drinking the delicious hot chocolate, I attached the drawing to the front of my fridge with a magnet, then went about my day as if nothing had happened but with a smile permanently on my face.
***
Each day since he has left a mug of hot chocolate on the doorstep, and I’ve seen Annie in the afternoon.
One week ago, this all began. Their presence has been felt, not overpoweringly, but I can sense my need to speak to him increasing day by day.
He’s here, in my space, but not demanding anything of me.
Our conversation is kept to messaging, merely arranging my time with his daughter.
Small changes have been happening around the house and garden.
The hedge has been mysteriously trimmed, and a lawnmower was sitting ready to use when I returned home from the store.
I had been cooking my dinner when I heard the drone of the machine attempting to cut the wild grass surrounding the cottage.
As I looked out of the window, Damon was pushing the wailing machine up and down.
Annie was nestled in the carrier on his back, ear protection firmly in place.
His strong forearms flexed as he moved, and my body hummed softly as I watched them.
It was as if I was in the center of a Hallmark movie—the romantic normality of life is all I’ve ever wanted. Love and family. In that moment, I could have convinced myself I had it.
Tonight, he brings Annie across as he has every other night before. He stands on my doorstep as I wrap my arms around her. Pushing myself to stand, I look him straight in the eye as the little girl clings to my leg. “Thank you for cutting the grass,” I tell him honestly. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem. I’ll sort that gutter tonight,” he replies, signaling to the roof of the house. “Don’t want to risk a leak in the property while you’re here.”
“How long do you plan to stay?” I ask, my nosiness getting the better of me, and those eyes that melt my resolve take hold. My mouth dries, and I have to stop myself taking a step toward him.
“As long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?”
“To have a conversation with you about us. I won’t push you, but I’ll be here until we do.”
He cocks his head to one side and smiles genuinely.
“Whether we happen, Emma, is still unknown, but I know I need you in my life for her.”
He crouches and tickles under Annie’s chin.
“But I do want to apologize properly for what I did on New Year’s Eve, and perhaps we could discuss the possibility of trying again.”
“I don’t know,” I reply, spooked by his honesty. “What you said, it broke me. I’m not sure there’s a prospect of us after that.”
“It’s up to me to prove there could be. As I said, when you feel ready to talk, I’ll be right here. Until then, I’ll keep myself busy, and you can spend time with Annie.”
He takes a deep breath, biting his bottom lip, clearly nervous.
“I won’t take her from you again. What I did was unforgivable. The past three months, I’ve had a lot of time to think. There is no excuse for how I treated you, and all I can do is apologize and hope perhaps you may be willing to give me another chance.”
“I’m glad you’re here, but at this point I don’t think I can promise you any more than friendship,” I say softly as my eyes drop away from his. My body tenses, yearning to touch his. My fingertips tingle with frustration at my stance.
“We were friends first.” I look up at him and watch his large frame expanding and contracting as he speaks.
His breath catches slightly, and he clears his throat.
“You were there for me at one of the worst times of my life. You were an incredible friend, and I’ve abandoned you, twice. If you can offer me friendship, I would be a very lucky man.”
He rolls his lips, screwing his face up a little.
When his expression softens, he says, “And I know I have no right to ask, but I would love a second chance of creating a family with you as my partner.”
“You’re right, you’ve no right to ask that of me.” My tone is harsh, and I narrow my eyes, annoyed with him being so blunt. Annie continues to cling to my leg. “You shattered my heart three months ago, Damon. Do you think cutting my grass and fixing a gutter is going to erase the pain?”
“Of course not,” he says meekly. His shoulders sag, and he breathes out heavily. “I know I have a lot to prove to you, but I’m being clear about what my intentions are. I want you back, Spitfire, with me and Annie in our home, under our roof. And eventually in my bed.”
“I told you not to call me that,” I mutter petulantly. He cocks his head to the side, then raises an eyebrow.
“But you love it when I do.”
***
Damon
For the past week, I have skirted around the topic I want to discuss.
We’ve barely spoken. It’s infuriating knowing she’s a matter of meters from me, and I can’t walk over to speak to her.
All I want to do is drop to my knees and ask her how I can fix this, but I doubt that will work.
She’s independent and headstrong; for me to bring her around won’t happen purely with pretty words.
Actions speak louder than words, and deciding to rent the RV and park outside her house had been extreme, but it was the only way I could think of to be near her, ready to talk when she was.
Harrison suggested perhaps that parking outside her house was a bit full-on.
He sent me the booking information for a few local hotels.
I disregarded the idea because I wanted to know where she was, and I wanted to be there as soon as she felt able to approach me.
When I discovered she was dating, it was the ass kick I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and go for what I wanted—and that is Emma.
All of her. I want to have a family with her; the three of us, a perfect unit.
My mother had given me some hard truths in recent weeks regarding my situation. When I told her I felt my moving on was detrimental to Connie’s memory and her position as Annie’s mother, she had shot me down in flames. “What was Connie’s dream?” she snapped, completely fed up with my self-pity.
“To have a child.”
“And why would she want a child? What did she want to provide for them?” I stared at her, confused by the question. The answer so obvious it felt stupid to say it. “Damon,” she prompted.
“A family. Love. The normal things people want to have in their life.”
“And can Connie provide that now?” she asked bluntly.
Silence sucked all air from the room as her question made a succinct point.
I swallowed, and she smiled sadly. “She’s gone, son. Connie was a wonderful woman and a beautiful wife. She would have been an amazing mother, but that chance isn’t hers to have. You, however, have the opportunity to create what she dreamed of, and as Annie’s father,
give the little girl she so wanted everything she can’t. Do you think she would want you to be alone?”
“It feels wrong.”
“Your relationship with Emma?”
“No, that felt completely right,” I answered on impulse before realizing what question she had asked.
My mother hadn’t mentioned Emma in the weeks she stayed with me.
Her focus had been on me as a single father with childcare, but now I realized she had been waiting for the right moment to bring Emma, my missing piece, into the light.
“Then why did you let her go?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Yes, you are.”
So now, Emma stands in her doorway with my daughter attached to her leg and glares at me. I knew calling her Spitfire would ruffle feathers, but after a week of being present but not in her face, I am keen to move closer to an actual conversation about our future. If there is the possibility of one.
“I used to love it when you called me that,” she shoots back, and I roll my eyes at her. “Now, it isn’t so endearing.” She straightens her shoulders, then flicks a strand of blonde hair out of her face. I take a step forward, coming closer but still keeping a distance between us.
“What would you prefer to be called?” Her breathing is audible, her breasts rising and falling enticingly under the simple pink sweater she wears with jeans and bare feet.
“Because I don’t mind. I’ll call you anything you like if you agree to try again with me. Ma’am, Queen, Boss, Your Honor. Take your pick.”
“It’s not that simple,” she whispers, emotion cracking her voice.
Deciding that the conversation has progressed further than I expected it to, I do the only thing I can think of.
The thing I said I wouldn’t. I drop to my knees on her doorstep.
She gasps, and Annie waddles over to me, wrapping her arms around my neck.
We both look up at the woman we so desperately want to come home to us.
“Please,” I say, struggling to push the words past my lips. “Please give us a chance to be us. The three of us. Together.”