Chapter 11 #5
The noise continued around us, protecting the moment from becoming too large. No one raised a glass or offered a knowing smile. Even Bishop looked away, granting us a small measure of privacy in a room where privacy rarely survived more than thirty seconds.
Sunshine picked up her fork and took a bite of the pie Charlie had shared with her.
“Extra family?” she asked.
I smiled. “Apparently.”
“I think I can live with that.”
By the time dinner ended, Charlie had begun losing her battle with sleep.
She insisted on helping clear plates until I found her standing beside the kitchen counter with a spoon in one hand and her eyes closed.
Sunshine gently took the spoon before it hit the floor while I lifted Charlie into my arms.
“I’m not tired,” she mumbled against my shoulder.
“Of course not.”
“I’m helping.”
“You helped enough.”
Mr. Pickles had disappeared beneath the table at some point, and Sunshine retrieved him before joining us near the side door. She tucked the bear beneath Charlie’s arm with the same practiced care she used whenever my daughter drifted to sleep against her.
Charlie’s eyes opened long enough to focus on Sunshine.
“You coming home?”
The question settled over the three of us.
Sunshine glanced at me, uncertainty flickering across her face. She had stayed at the clubhouse the previous night because the storm had made the roads unsafe, but the weather was clear now and her room waited at Harbor House.
“Not tonight, sweetheart,” she said gently.
Charlie frowned. “Why?”
“Because I have work early tomorrow.”
“You can work from our kitchen.”
Sunshine smiled, though sadness touched the expression. “Not all my work.”
Charlie considered arguing before exhaustion stole the effort. She tightened her arms around Mr. Pickles instead.
“Okay.”
The quiet disappointment in her voice struck harder than a tantrum would have.
Sunshine brushed a curl from Charlie’s cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Charlie relaxed against me again.
I carried her toward the truck while Sunshine walked beside us, holding the door open as I carefully settled Charlie into her car seat. She barely stirred while I fastened the straps, and within seconds her breathing returned to the steady rhythm of sleep.
When I straightened, Sunshine stood beside the open truck door with her arms folded against the cool evening air. The clubhouse lights spilled across the gravel behind her, turning the loose strands of her hair gold at the edges.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I wanted to.”
I smiled faintly. “There you go again.”
“I learned from you.”
The silence that followed felt different from the ones we had shared before. It carried everything we had finally admitted at the table and the kiss neither of us had stopped thinking about.
I stepped closer, though I left enough distance for her to decide what happened next.
“Carefully,” I said.
Sunshine looked up at me. “Carefully.”
“Does that mean I can kiss you again?”
Her breath caught, but the smile that followed held no fear.
“It means you can ask.”
“May I?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
This kiss was not an accident born from exhaustion and emotion outside Charlie’s bedroom. It was a choice, made slowly enough that either of us could have changed our minds. I lifted one hand to her cheek, giving her every opportunity to step away before lowering my mouth to hers.
She remained.
The first touch was gentle, almost cautious, but the moment her fingers curled into the front of my shirt, restraint became something I had to remember rather than something that came naturally.
Sunshine leaned closer, and I deepened the kiss just enough to feel the soft sound she made against my mouth.
Every thought that had followed me throughout the day disappeared beneath the warmth of her body and the quiet certainty that this was exactly where I wanted to be.
I ended the kiss before wanting more became a promise neither of us was ready to make.
Sunshine kept her eyes closed for a heartbeat after we separated, her fingers still resting against my chest.
“That didn’t feel very careful,” she whispered.
“It was extremely careful.”
Her eyes opened. “Was it?”
“You should see reckless.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. “I don’t think I’m ready for reckless.”
“Neither am I.”
That answer seemed to matter more than the teasing. Her hand relaxed against my shirt, but she did not step away.
“Breakfast tomorrow?” I asked.
“I promised Charlie.”
“I was hoping you might come for me too.”
Her expression softened. “I will.”
The answer settled deeper than it should have.
I brushed my thumb lightly across her cheek before lowering my hand.
“Goodnight, Sunshine.”
“Goodnight, Remedy.”
She stepped back and closed the truck door carefully before walking toward Daisy’s SUV. I waited until she climbed inside, then stood beside my truck while the taillights disappeared down the gravel drive.
For the first time in three years, watching someone leave did not feel like the beginning of loss.
Sunshine had promised she would return in the morning.
And slowly, carefully, I was beginning to believe her.