CHAPTER 15
Jason
L ong after everyone’s left and gone to sleep, Liam’s question about whether Valentina’s proximity makes me anxious haunts me. In the dark room, I toss and turn. Besides my mom and then Phil, no outsider has ever stayed in my house. With Valentina here, I sense another presence—like sensing a shadow through a closed door.
Liam’s casual inquiry now has me imagining a series of potentially awkward encounters. We could bump into each other in the kitchen or cross paths in the hallway. But it’s just a few weeks, right? She’s staying each night temporarily, and given how our interactions have gone, she isn’t my biggest fan. Maybe she’ll be the one steering clear of me.
That’s right. We don’t get along. Or so I keep telling myself. She still calls me Grumps now and then. It’s easier to maintain this grumpy facade and appear disinterested. But then a reluctant smile tugs at my mouth thinking about the funny shirt she gave me with its smiley tacos and peppers. She has a sense of humor. That much is clear.
And then the granola bar at Eden’s dance studio. Despite my less-than-welcoming demeanor, she heard my stomach’s betraying growls and offered sustenance. And that fire in her eyes during our unintentional staring contest hasn’t faded from my memory. It was considerate of her to watch Eden dance. My daughter appreciated it.
Evenings at my mom’s have taken on a new dimension. Mom was serious when she declared she was stepping down from nannying. She insisted Valentina stay until I returned from work. Now, the kids want Valentina to eat with us every day. I’ve ended up seeing a lot more of her than I anticipated, and it’s altering my comfortably single lifestyle.
I find myself stealing glances, awkwardly maneuvering around her in the kitchen. Our recent run-in sends tingles down my spine—the heat that flared between us in the kitchen when she came too close and her water spilled on me, a spill I needed to help cool off the intense warmth. Instead of handling it smoothly, I barked at her, calling her clumsy.
Not that she didn’t hold her own right back. I smirk.
My annoyance and admiration conflict. Yes, I fear Valentina. With the prod of good intentions, she could chip away at the walls I’ve built around myself and my family. My defensiveness is about my fears of letting someone new into our lives, isn’t it?
I shift to my side, my thoughts drifting to Daisy. My insistence on having more kids drove us apart. She was content with Eden, but I wanted more. Then she left not long after the twins were born. Now, she’s toying with Eden’s emotions. I have to assume she loves her children, but doesn’t she feel anything with regards to the promises she fails to keep?
Thankfully, the boys don’t ask about her as much as Eden does.
Although I manage to drift off for a bit, sleep then escapes me again. Now, it’s after four-thirty. My day usually starts an hour from now with a morning workout.
I stretch out from under the covers, resigned to my wakefulness—not the best way to start a Monday.
Doesn’t help that Daisy is supposed to visit today—a promise so frequently broken that each missed visit erodes more of Eden’s hope. I’ll stay home today to console my daughter if or when disappointment strikes. But will that be enough? If only there were words to assure her that, even if I’m not the perfect parent, I’m here for her and always striving to be the best dad I can be for her.
To burn off restless energy, I rise at five. I swing my legs out of bed and trade my gray pajamas for workout shorts and a muscle shirt. As I open my bedroom door, I pause, my gaze falling on Valentina’s closed door across the hall.
There’s an undeniable undercurrent I’m determined to ignore. After the way things ended with Daisy, falling in love again is a door I can’t afford to open—not with my children’s hearts and my own fragile balance on the line.
Drawing out a breath, I push tempting thoughts aside and head downstairs to the weight room, the familiar clank of weights and strain of muscle beckoning like a refuge. As I pass the basement living space, a sliver of light ahead catches my eye. Did I forget to turn off the gym light yesterday?
I continue toward the weight room. The adjacent laundry room comes into view on the right. Then I step inside the gym and jolt to an abrupt halt. Valentina, her back to me, decked out in black leggings and a neon green top that clings to her lithe form, is in the middle of a barbell squat. Her long hair hangs from a high wavy ponytail. The attraction resurfaces, stronger this time and more unwelcome.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. If she sees me leave without acknowledging her, it’ll seem like I’ve been gawking.
You are gawking, idiot.
Being rooted to the spot dumbstruck isn’t helping. She pauses as if sensing someone. Her gaze slips to the mirror, and our eyes lock. She gasps and loses her balance. The barbell clatters onto the thin mat and then rolls to the tile floor. She scrambles to regain her footing but teeters close to the surrounding equipment.
“Snap!” Without thinking, I rush to her side to prevent a tumble into the squat rack.
But I’m no knight in shining armor. I leap forward in two long strides and trip over some dumbbells. I catch her and pull her toward me, but without any balance, we tumble to the floor. My head thuds against the tile. The coolness at my back seeps through my T-shirt, and Valentina’s warm weight presses against my chest. Then my heart thunders as shocked big brown eyes peer into mine, our hearts beating in sync.
“Are you... okay?” I manage to say. My hand cradles her back in a death grip, and the electric tension sparks more heat than any morning workout could produce.
Snap . I yank my hand away as if I’d touched fire.
“I’m sorry,” we both blurt.
Then she stands. 'I—I didn’t expect anyone else to be up this early,' she stammers, touching her cheeks, which makes me suddenly aware of the heat in my own face.
“I usually have the place to myself.” I pull up to stand, feeling a tug of something lighter, almost like amusement, amidst my frustration. “Looks like we need a schedule.”
Her laughter rings out, clear and comforting. “Or a bigger gym—if Grumps doesn’t mind sharing.”
I find myself grinning. I shift my foot like a dumbstruck schoolboy with a crush. Already forgetting my surroundings, I stumble over the stupid dumbbells again. My arms flail in a bid for balance.
Valentina reaches out. Her tentative but steady touch stabilizes me with an ease that contradicts our earlier tumble.
My gaze glides to hers, and I forget what I was going to say. The gold specks in her brown eyes dance in the light as heat radiates between us.
A wry smile tips her delicate looking bowed lips. “Guess we’re both a bit clumsy today.”
I open my mouth to respond with something witty. But the words—whatever they would have been—dry up, and I find myself rubbing my neck instead. I should grab some water from the dispenser since I’m suddenly parched.
“I’ll leave.” My voice is hoarse. Yep, I definitely need water.
“Stay. I’ll leave. I’ve had enough exercise for the day.” She turns and glides out the door, leaving me alone with the dumbbells she didn’t put away—likely due to our chaotic moment. I rush to fill a glass of water, my throat dry and my mind racing. Only when she’s gone, can I breathe again.
To regain my routine, I start with crunches, curl-ups, and jumping jacks, but my workout has no rhyme or rhythm today. Panting and breaking a sweat, I’m lost, unsure how many reps I’ve done or what exercises I’ve completed, and frustrated for not having contained my emotions.
By the end, I’ve overdone it with the leg workouts, feeling the strain as I hobble up the stairs. The shirt clings to my damp skin. Normally, I’d strip it off and toss it in the laundry, but I’m not thinking straight. I don’t feel like trekking downstairs again.
I emerge into the kitchen.
My boys chatter away, still in their pajamas but buzzed with Valentina around. She smiles, engaging with whatever story they’re spinning. Perched at the island, they hunch over a painting project while Valentina leans against the counter, holding an egg—probably for their craft project. Beside her, a steaming cup of coffee by the running coffeepot adds to the rich aroma scenting the kitchen.
As I observe this domesticity, my stomach churns against a curdling mixture of contentment and disquiet. And the morning’s events linger, dissipating but still hovering like the steam rising from the coffee.
“Daddy.” Atticus’s voice jolts me. “Val is going to make the hard eggs like you do.”
Now in a yellow T-shirt and jeans, her hair wet and clinging to her face, she must’ve been rushed out of the shower by my boys’ eager knocking. She’s so effortlessly beautiful and fits so naturally into our kitchen.
Her gaze seeks mine, and concern scrunches her features. “Did you pull a muscle? Need some ice?”
Is she hinting at my age? I laugh it off. “Ha ha. I can handle a workout.”
She chuckles, then holds up an egg. “Does he mean hard-boiled eggs?”
“Fried, but hard.” I move behind the boys, ruffling Atticus’s, then Felix’s sleep-rumpled hair.
“We’re decorating our chore charts today.”
“Chore charts, huh?”
Blue stock paper shaped like an airplane has Atticus’s name on it and wooden clips with specific chores written on them. The green card stock shaped like a video game controller must be Felix’s. She’s tuned into the kids’ likes and activities with impressive ease.
“When we finish our chores, Val is going to reward us.” Felix grips a red marker and colors one of the circles.
Valentina sips her coffee.
Catching her eye over the rim, I mouth, “Good luck with the chores.”
She mouths back a thank you, then salutes with her cup. Hmm. She’s using my favorite mug. Interesting choice.
“I’ll fix the eggs, if you want to get ready,” I offer.
She fills another mug with coffee. “Cream or black?”
“Black is fine.” I pull out a package of sausage links. Hmm, that bottle of cream wasn’t in the fridge before. She came prepared for the week. I like that.
As I move to the stove, she hands me my coffee. “I’ll cook. Enjoy your coffee. Gotta do my job so I don’t get fired.”
Memories of our meeting in the elevator surface. Coffee was involved then too.
As if reading my mind, she quips, “I’m not going to spill coffee on you.”
Her fingers brush mine as I take the steaming mug. The brief touch sends a ripple through me. “I’ve almost forgotten that incident,” I lie.
“What incident, Daddy?” Felix pipes up.
“How’s that chart coming?” I take a careful sip of the coffee.
Valentina smiles, asking how I like my eggs.
“No need to make mine.” I’m still reeling from how natural this is, her making coffee, fitting into our home. “I’m used to taking care of myself, and I need to hit the shower.”
I lift my cup. I’ll take it with me. I need to collect myself. I’d planned to take the day off to ensure Eden is okay, almost certain her mother will let her down again. But Valentina can handle it, and it’s best we give each other some space.