CHAPTER TEN
EMMA
I wake up before the alarm
Dan’s arm is still around me.
For a second, I just lie there, feeling it. The weight. The warmth. The familiarity of his hand resting low on my stomach like it belongs there.
It used to.
He shifts slightly in his sleep and his fingers flex, almost unconsciously tightening against me.
My stomach flips as I imagine him sliding his hand lower.
There it is.
That spark.
I don’t think. I just move.
I turn slowly in his arms, sliding my leg over his, fitting myself into him the way we used to without even trying. His eyes blink open, confused at first.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I swallow.
He looks good like this. Hair messy. Stubble shadowing his jaw. The softness in his face before the day hardens it.
I brush my fingers lightly over his chest.
“Morning,” I say.
There’s a pause.
Not uncomfortable. Just… loaded.
Dan’s eyes flick down to my mouth.
And I feel brave. Reckless, almost.
Before I can overthink it, I lean in and kiss him.
Not a peck. A proper kiss. Our tongues sliding against one another. For a second, it’s clumsy. We bump noses. Our teeth knock slightly. We both let out a tiny, surprised laugh against each other’s mouths.
And then it settles.
His hand slides up my back. Mine grips his shoulder. The kiss deepens. It’s not wild or urgent. But it’s real. It’s us.
Heat flickers low in my stomach. My body responds faster than my brain.
Dan pulls back just enough to look at me.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
The question throws me.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I just… wanted to.”
Something shifts in his expression. Relief? Hope? He kisses me again, slower this time. His hand drifts down my side, fingers grazing the curve of my hip.
And then…
The baby monitor crackles.
We both freeze.
Silence.
Then Ruby’s unmistakable cough. Dan groans softly, dropping his forehead to mine.
“Of course,” he mutters. I almost laugh.
“It’s fine,” I whisper, even though my heart is racing and my body is half-awake in a way it hasn’t been for months.
Ruby coughs again. Dan pulls back first this time.
“I’ll get her,” he says.
It surprises me.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He presses a quick kiss to my lips and swings his legs out of bed. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, pulse still thudding. That was something. Not productive. Not obligatory. Something.
I hear him in Ruby’s room, his voice low and soothing. She cries harder at first. Then quieter.
My chest tightens. Part pride. Part guilt. Part something else.
He comes back ten minutes later, Ruby on his hip. She’s reaching for me immediately.
“Mummy,” she whimpers. Dan hesitates just a fraction before passing her over. The moment breaks. Completely. I shift to sit up, pulling Ruby into my chest. She burrows into me, satisfied. Dan watches us for a second.
“I thought we might…” he trails off.
“Yeah,” I say. Neither of us finishes the sentence.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe tonight?” Maybe tonight. The most overused promise in marriage. I nod anyway.
“Maybe.”
That evening, I try again. Not dramatically. Just… intentionally.
The kids are finally down. The dishwasher is humming. Dan’s on the sofa, scrolling through something on his phone. I sit beside him. Close enough that our thighs touch. He glances at me.
“Alright?”
I nod. I place my hand on his leg. Deliberate.
His eyes flick down. Then back up. The air shifts slightly.
I lean in and kiss him again. Softer this time.
Testing. He responds immediately, phone abandoned on the sofa.
His hand cups my waist, warm and sure. For a moment, it feels like it used to.
I feel wanted. And I want him. His hand slides under my jumper, fingers warm against skin that feels foreign to me.
My stomach tightens, not in pleasure, not yet, but in awareness.
I’m suddenly hyper-conscious of my body. The softness. The stretch. The fact I haven’t shaved my legs in… I don’t know how long.
Dan’s hand stills slightly.
“You okay?” he murmurs again.
Why does he keep asking that?
“Yes,” I insist, maybe too quickly. I try to sink into it. To switch off the mental tabs. The laundry. The dentist. The milk. But they’re still there.
Ruby coughed twice at bedtime.
Did I sign that form?
Did we run the dishwasher?
Dan kisses my neck. I should feel it. I want to feel it. Instead, there’s a split second where I feel… nothing. Not rejection. Not disgust. Just a kind of static. He pulls back, searching my face.
“You’re miles away,” he says gently.
I shake my head. “I’m not.” But I am. And he knows it. He doesn’t get defensive. He doesn’t get angry. He just sighs softly and presses his forehead to mine.
“I don’t want this to feel like pressure,” he says.
Guilt floods me. “I know.”
His thumb strokes my hip. “I still fancy you,” he says quietly.
The words land deep. “I know,” I whisper. Because I do. I see it in his eyes sometimes. That look. It’s just quieter now.
“I still fancy you too,” I add. And that part is true.
He smiles faintly. “We’ll figure it out,” he says.
We.
I nod. But as we sit there, bodies close but not quite connecting, I realise something uncomfortable.
Trying is good. Trying is necessary. But wanting to want each other isn’t the same as knowing how to get back there.
We don’t pull away in anger. We don’t argue.
We just sit side by side until the moment passes.
Later, in bed, he reaches for my hand. I let him take it. It’s small. But it’s something. And for now, that has to be enough.