Chapter 11 #4
The rest of the table continued around us, loud enough that no one nearby would hear unless they deliberately tried. Judging by the way Bishop stared into his coffee without drinking, at least one person was making a tremendous effort not to listen.
Sunshine looked at me.
“We don’t have to talk about it here,” I added.
Relief flickered across her face, followed by something that looked almost like disappointment. “I don’t regret it.”
The simple admission stole every prepared response from my mind.
“I don’t either.”
She held my gaze. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Why?”
“You left before sunrise.”
“I had work.”
“I know.”
“But you thought I was avoiding you.”
She looked toward Charlie, buying herself a moment before answering. “Maybe a little.”
Guilt tightened my chest. I had told myself leaving early was responsible, that the clinic needed attention and Charlie was safe with Daisy.
The truth was less flattering. I had been trying to put distance between myself and the confusion the kiss had created, and in doing so, I had left Sunshine wondering whether she had made a mistake.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I said quietly. “I was trying to figure out how to be around you without thinking about doing it again.”
Her eyes widened.
Apparently honesty could be every bit as dangerous as avoidance.
A faint blush spread across her cheeks, but she did not look away. “Did you figure it out?”
“No.”
The answer slipped free before caution could stop it.
Sunshine’s lips curved into the smallest smile. “Neither did I.”
For several seconds, the noise of the clubhouse seemed to recede around us.
I remained aware of Charlie laughing near the fireplace, Steel arguing with Daisy about dessert, and Mace telling a story nobody should have believed, yet all of it blurred beneath the quiet understanding in Sunshine’s eyes.
She had wanted the kiss too.
More importantly, she wanted another.
I should have felt relieved. Instead, the knowledge deepened every concern I had carried throughout the day because this was no longer a moment we could pretend had simply happened. It was a choice waiting to be made again, and choices carried consequences neither of us could ignore.
My gaze moved toward Charlie.
Sunshine followed it.
“I know,” she whispered.
The warmth in the moment changed, softened by the same awareness pressing against both of us.
“She’s already attached,” I said.
“I am too.”
My eyes returned to hers.
Sunshine swallowed, but she did not take the words back. “To Charlie,” she clarified, though the hesitation in her voice suggested the truth had grown more complicated than that. “I would never hurt her.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t know what happens if this doesn’t work.”
“No.”
“And neither do I.”
I rested my forearms against the table, keeping my voice low. “That doesn’t mean we pretend nothing’s happening.”
“No.”
“It means we move carefully.”
Sunshine glanced toward the children again. Charlie had climbed onto Nathan’s chair to reach a blue crayon, and Nathan accepted the intrusion with the weary patience of someone who had already learned resistance was useless.
“I don’t know what carefully looks like,” she admitted.
“Neither do I.”
That earned a quiet laugh.
“We’re very prepared.”
“I’m excellent in emergencies.”
“This isn’t one.”
“It feels like one.”
Her smile widened before fading into something more vulnerable. “I’m afraid.”
The confession carried no shame, only honesty.
“So am I.”
She studied my face as if searching for signs I was saying what she needed to hear instead of what I meant. “You don’t look afraid.”
“I’ve had practice hiding it.”
“From Charlie?”
“From everyone.”
Understanding softened her expression. “You don’t have to hide it from me.”
The words reached somewhere inside me I usually kept protected behind work, responsibility, and the endless demands of being the person everyone called when something broke.
Sunshine was asking me to offer the same honesty she had begun giving me, and the vulnerability of that request felt more intimate than the kiss.
“I’m afraid of wanting this,” I said. “Because it isn’t only me anymore. Every decision I make touches her.”
Sunshine nodded slowly. “I understand.”
“I know you do.”
That was part of what made this possible.
Sunshine never treated Charlie as an obstacle standing between us.
She understood that loving me, in whatever form that eventually took, meant loving the little girl who occupied the center of my life.
More than that, she already cared for Charlie without asking what she might receive in return.
“I don’t want to rush you,” I continued. “I don’t want to make promises before we know what we’re building. But I also don’t want to lie to you and pretend I haven’t spent all day thinking about last night.”
Her cheeks warmed again. “I thought about it too.”
“How much?”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Enough that Daisy noticed.”
“Bishop noticed.”
“Everyone notices everything here.”
“It’s becoming a problem.”
Sunshine looked around the crowded table, where nearly every adult had suddenly become deeply invested in conversations that did not require their attention.
“I think they already know,” she whispered.
“They don’t know anything.”
Steel chose that moment to lean across the table. “We know enough.”
Daisy struck his arm with her napkin.
“Ow.”
“You were listening.”
“You were too.”
“I was not.”
“You stopped chewing.”
Toxic closed his eyes. “Can we please make it through one dinner without the entire club discussing somebody’s relationship?”
“No,” Mace answered.
Lilith nodded. “Absolutely not.”
Laughter rolled through the room, and Sunshine covered her face with one hand while I considered whether abandoning the clubhouse and moving to another state remained a realistic option.
Charlie looked up from the floor. “What relationship?”
Every adult at the table became silent.
Steel studied his plate.
Mace reached for another roll.
Bishop finally took a drink of coffee.
I gave them all a look that promised consequences before turning toward my daughter.
“They’re talking about Toxic and Lark.”
Toxic choked.
Lark smiled sweetly. “Are they?”
“They are now.”
Charlie accepted the explanation without suspicion and returned to her drawing.
Sunshine lowered her hand, laughter still shining in her eyes. “That was terrible.”
“It worked.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.”
The conversation shifted with merciful speed when Daisy announced dessert.
Apple pie appeared from the kitchen, followed by vanilla ice cream and enough excitement from the children to erase any lingering interest in adult relationships.
Charlie returned to the table long enough to claim the largest scoop, then immediately offered Sunshine half her pie because, according to her, “sharing dessert means you’re extra family. ”
Sunshine’s hand paused around her fork.
Charlie did not notice the effect of the words. She had already begun explaining to Nathan why ice cream counted as dairy and therefore made pie healthy.
Sunshine looked at me.
I could not promise her the future or tell her exactly where this would lead. I could only offer the truth I had finally stopped resisting.
“You already are,” I said quietly.
Her eyes glistened, though she blinked before tears could gather.