Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Lila
The first couple of weeks back home passed in a rhythm I hadn’t expected. It was slow, comfortable, and almost intimate in its routine.
Or maybe that was because I was seeing Marcus in a totally different light than I should have?
Since I wasn’t starting at the firm for a while yet, that left my days wide open, and most of them ended up revolving around the house.
Around Marcus.
He’d already started the renovations before I arrived, and so I kept myself busy by going room to room and packing everything up.
But I’d find myself watching him make the place sell-ready. Fresh paint in neutral tones, new hardware on the cabinets, sanding down the scuffed hardwood in the living room and hallway, and replacing a few warped baseboards that had been bugging him for years.
“Gives me something to focus on besides the empty rooms,” he’d said once when he saw me watching him.
I threw myself into packing up a lifetime of memories. I hated how my mother had left so much stuff, but it wasn’t a topic I was going to ask her about, wasn’t something I even cared to know.
My mind was awash with so many questions on how things were permanently changed now that I was just going through the motions. I’d rather help Marcus pack it all up than leave him to deal with the frustration of doing it alone.
Mornings were gentle. I’d wake to the sound of him moving downstairs, smell the coffee brewing, and then hear tools clinking as he prepared for the day.
I’d come down in leggings and an old T-shirt, hair in a messy bun and find him already deep in whatever project he’d picked for the day.
And when I needed a break from packing, he’d stay silent as he handed me a brush or a putty knife like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The first real afternoon we spent working together, we tackled the kitchen cabinets. He’d pulled the doors off, and now we were sanding the frames, dust hanging thick in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
I was on my knees, working a sanding block along the lower cabinets, when he stepped over me to reach the upper ones. His thigh brushed my shoulder. I felt how firm and warm it was through his jeans.
He steadied himself with a hand on the counter right above me. For a second, his leg pressed against my back, solid and unyielding.
“Sorry,” he muttered, but he didn’t move right away.
I glanced up and saw he was looking down at me, his gray eyes shadowed under the brim of his ball cap. Dust clung to the sweat on his forearms, darkening the hair there. My mouth went dry.
“No problem,” I said, voice quieter than I meant it to be.
He held my gaze a beat longer then stepped back. Warmth spread through my blood and settled deep in my core, disconcerting but oh so right.
Evenings stretched long. We’d work until the light failed, then clean up, crack open beers or pour wine, order pizza, and sit on the back deck while the cicadas screamed in the trees.
One night after we’d finished priming the hallway walls, we collapsed onto the old porch swing with a bottle of red between us. My legs were stretched out, bare feet propped on the railing. His were planted wide, one arm slung along the back of the swing. Our shoulders almost touched.
I took a sip. The wine was tart on my tongue. “Do you ever think about what you’ll do after you sell this place?” He’d said he wanted something more manageable, something with a little land around it, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to hear all of it.
He shrugged. “Buy something smaller. Maybe a cabin out by the lake. Somewhere quiet. Room for a workshop.”
“Sounds nice.” I tilted my head toward him. “No plans to… I don’t know, date again? Start over?”
He let out a short, dry laugh. “Haven’t thought that far. Been a while since anyone caught my eye.”
I studied the wine in my glass. “Did you ever feel like… something was missing?”
He went still. For a long moment, the only sound was the creak of the swing chains and the distant drone of traffic. He exhaled slowly.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Felt it for years before it ended. We stopped talking about anything real. We stopped connecting. Little things first, like schedules, who forgot to buy milk, who was too tired to talk after dinner. Then it was bigger. She needed more than routine. Needed more than I could give her, apparently.” His voice was rough and unguarded.
I felt the weight of it settle in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“I’m glad you didn’t know. That’s not shit you should ever have to worry about.”
I met his eyes. “What about you? Did you ever feel like something was missing even before it ended?”
Another long pause. He took a swallow of wine straight from the bottle.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Felt it creeping in for a couple years. Thought if I just kept things steady, it’d pass. It didn’t.” A heavy moment of silence passed.
“And now?”
He exhaled and ran a palm over his mouth, his scruff scraping along his palm. “Now, I’m done pretending steady is enough.” His gaze held mine. “What about you? College boys treat you right?”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Not really. I’ve been so busy with finals and working that they are the furthest thing from my mind.”
He listened without interrupting, eyes on the dark yard. Marcus turned his head slowly, studying me. “Smart.”
“Maybe.” I met his gaze. “Or maybe I was just scared.”
He didn’t look away. “Scared of what?”
The admission hung there, heavy and dangerous. I felt my cheeks heat, the wine loosening my tongue more than I wanted.
“Of wanting something I wasn’t supposed to have,” I whispered. “Of crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.” I wasn’t talking about college boys anymore.
Something shifted across his face … maybe the same pull I felt tightening in my chest?
The swing creaked as he shifted closer, barely an inch, but enough. His arm along the backrest brushed my shoulder now, warm and solid.
“Some things are worth the risk,” he finally said, voice rough around the edges.
My pulse kicked up. The air between us turned hot and tight with everything we’d been circling for days. Every accidental brush of skin, every lingering look, every careful word that said more than it should.
I swallowed. “Like what?”
He studied me for a long beat then let out a slow breath.
“I noticed you, Lila. Not when you were eighteen… fuck, never like that. You were a kid then, and I was married to your mother. But since you came back…” His jaw flexed.
“I see you now. The woman you grew into. Bright, strong, and so damn smart. You’re alive in a way that makes this house feel less empty. ”
Heat flooded my face, my chest, and a hell of a lot lower. The taboo of it… the fact that he was once my stepfather, even briefly, pressed against my ribs like a weight. But it didn’t push me away. It pulled me in closer.
“You see me as more than… family?” I whispered.
He didn’t flinch. “More than I should. More than I have any right to.”
The admission hung there, raw and heated. My knee brushed his thigh as I shifted, and neither of us moved away.
“I buried it,” I admitted, voice barely audible. “When I left for college. Thought distance would kill whatever I felt back then.”
He exhaled slowly, controlled, as if he were holding himself in check. His hand, the one along the back of the swing, shifted until his fingers grazed my bare shoulder. It was the lightest touch, but it seared bone deep.
“We’re on dangerous ground,” he murmured.
“I know.”
His thumb traced one slow, deliberate circle on my skin. It was barely there but enough to make my breath hitch.
“Then why aren’t we stopping?” he asked, voice low enough that I felt it vibrate through me.
I looked up at him, heart hammering. “Because I don’t want to.”
For one suspended second, I thought he might close the distance. Thought I might rise to meet him. The air crackled as if years of careful boundaries, unspoken tension, and the weight of what we once were to each other threatened to snap in half.
Then he pulled his hand back, slow and reluctant. He set the wine bottle on the rail with a soft clink.
“Get some sleep,” he said, rougher now. “We’ve got floors to sand tomorrow.”
He stood, and the swing swayed in his absence. I watched him disappear inside, the screen door creaking shut behind him.
I stayed outside for a long time, wine forgotten in my hand and skin still burning where he’d touched me. Sleep wasn’t going to happen after that.