Chapter 7 - Alice #2
"I think..." I take a breath, force myself to be brave.
"I think I haven't smiled this much in months.
I think breakfast with you and Maya has been the best morning I've had in a long time.
I think I'm terrified because you're everything I should probably run away from, dangerous and complicated and probably leaving town in a few days, but I can't make myself want to run. "
The words are too honest, too raw. I should take them back, laugh it off, make a joke about Claire's meddling.
But I don't.
Carter is quiet for a long moment. Then: "I'm not leaving."
"What?"
"In a few days. I'm not leaving." He sets down his coffee mug, and his hands, those scarred, dangerous hands, are completely steady. "I called my brother this morning. Told him I think I found a place to stay. He asked if it was because of a woman."
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"I told him maybe," Carter continues. "But mostly it's for Maya. She needs this. Needs school and friends and a place to call home." He pauses. "But yeah, it's partly because of you, too."
I can't breathe. Can't think. This man who I met two days ago is telling me he's staying. Partly because of me.
"I don't do this," he says, and there's something almost vulnerable in his voice.
"Don't trust easy. Don't let people in. Spent the last six months keeping Maya and me separate from everyone because it felt safer that way.
" He looks toward the park, where Maya is on the swings and Claire is pushing her, Biscuit sitting nearby watching.
"But you make me want to try. Want to believe that maybe not everyone is full of shit.
That maybe some people actually are who they seem to be. "
"I am," I tell him, my voice shaking slightly. "Who I seem to be, I mean. A teacher with a dog and a house full of memories and approximately zero interesting qualities beyond that."
"You're wrong about that last part," Carter says quietly. "But we can argue about it later."
Later. Like there's going to be a later. Like this isn't just one breakfast and then goodbye.
"Okay," I manage. "Later."
"I'd love to see your house," Carter says, his voice low. "The one full of memories. Must be something special."
The words are innocent enough. Casual. Just a normal response to what I told him about my parents' house. But the way he's looking at me, dark eyes intent, focused entirely on my face like he's trying to read every thought I'm having, makes them feel like anything but innocent.
Is he just being polite? Actually interested in seeing my childhood home?
Or is he saying something else entirely? Something about wanting to be alone with me, away from public spaces and watchful eyes? Something about wanting to kiss me, touch me, take this tension that's been building between us since yesterday and finally do something about it?
The thought of it… His hands on my body, those scarred knuckles tracing my curves, his lips on my neck makes heat flood through me. Makes me clench my thighs together under the table as my panties get embarrassingly wet.
"I'd love that too," I hear myself say, and my voice sounds breathless even to my own ears. "You can come by whenever you want."
"When?"
The question is direct, no pretense. He's watching me, waiting for my answer, and I know what I should say. Should say *later*. Should give myself time to go home first, change into the pretty lingerie that's been sitting in my drawer unworn since before my ex, make sure everything is perfect.
Should be smart about this.
But I don't want to be smart. Don't want to overthink or second-guess or talk myself out of what I want.
And what I want is him. Now.
"Now," I say, the word coming out faster than I intended. "We could go now. While Claire has Maya and Biscuit."
Carter's eyes darken. "Now."
"Yes." I swallow hard, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Unless you don't want to, or—"
"I want to." His voice is rough, certain. "But are you sure? About leaving Maya with your friend?"
"I trust Claire with my life," I tell him, and it's the absolute truth. "She's the most responsible person I know. She'll take amazing care of Maya, I promise."
Carter glances toward the park again. Maya is laughing, going higher on the swings, Claire spotting her while Biscuit wags his tail.
He watches for a long moment, and I can see him weighing it: the trust required to leave his daughter with someone he just met, the risk of letting his guard down even for an hour.
"I should give her my number," he says. "In case anything happens."
"That's smart."
He stands up, pulls out his wallet and leaves enough cash on the table to cover breakfast and a generous tip. "Let's go tell them."
Just like that. No hesitation, no overthinking. He's decided, and now we're moving. I stand on shaky legs, grabbing my purse. My heart is pounding so hard I'm surprised he can't hear it.
We walk toward the park. Carter's stride is purposeful, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He keeps a short distance between us as we walk. Not touching, not even close to touching, like he's maintaining some kind of boundary until we're actually alone.
It makes the anticipation worse. Makes me aware of the space between us, the air that separates his body from mine.
"Maya," he calls out as we approach the swings.
She jumps off mid-swing. Claire catching her with a slightly panicked expression and runs over. "Daddy! Did you see how high I was going?"
"I saw. You were amazing." He crouches down to her level. "Listen, Ms. Porter is going to show me her house for a little bit. You okay staying here with Ms. Claire and Biscuit?"
Maya looks at Claire, then at Biscuit, then back at her father. "Can we get ice cream after?"
"If Ms. Claire says it's okay."
"Ice cream is definitely okay," Claire confirms. Then she looks at Carter. "What's your number? In case Maya needs anything?"
He rattles it off, and Claire programs it into her phone immediately. "Got it. We'll be fine, I promise. Take your time."
The emphasis on "take your time" is pointed, and I see Claire give me a look that says *you're welcome*.
"Be good," Carter tells Maya, kissing her forehead. "Listen to Ms. Claire. I'll come back for you soon."
"Okay, Daddy!" She's already running back to the swings, completely unconcerned about her father leaving.
Carter stands, looks at Claire seriously. "Anything happens—"
"I'll call immediately," Claire promises. "We're going to have a great time. Don't worry."
We leave them there. Maya already back on the swings, Biscuit watching her with devoted attention, Claire pushing her with the ease of someone who works with kids for a living.
The walk to my house feels endless and too short all at once.
We don't talk. Don't touch. Just walk side by side down Main Street, then turn onto Maple, a quiet residential area with old trees and houses that have been there for generations.
The morning is still cool, but I feel hot all over with Carter walking beside me.
"This is it," I say as we reach the front walkway, my voice coming out shakier than I intended. "It's not much, but—"
"It's perfect," Carter interrupts, looking up at the house. A two-story Victorian painted light blue, with a wraparound porch and flower beds that I've been trying to maintain the way my mom used to. "Looks like a home. Like a place where people were happy."
"They were." I fumble with my keys, my hands shaking so badly it takes three tries to get the key in the lock. "My whole childhood was happy. Right up until they died."
I finally get the door open, stepping inside. The house smells like home, like the vanilla candles I buy, like Biscuit's dog bed, like the coffee I made this morning. Everything is exactly as I left it, neat and comfortable and safe.
Carter follows me in, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that seems to echo in the sudden silence. We're alone. Completely alone. No four-year-old, no dog, no best friend watching. Just us.
And suddenly I have no idea what to do with myself.
"So, um." I gesture vaguely around the living room. "This is the living room. That's my mom's bookshelf I told you about. She collected first editions when she could afford them, mostly old mysteries and romance novels."
Carter moves to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines. "She had good taste."
"She did." I'm standing in the middle of my own living room like a guest, unsure where to put my hands, where to look. "The kitchen is through there, and upstairs is—"
I stop. Because Carter has turned away from the bookshelf and is looking at me now. Really looking at me. And the intensity in his eyes makes me overthink every single thought.
"Alice." Just my name. Nothing else.
"Yeah?"
He takes a step toward me. Then another. "I need you to tell me what this is. What we're doing here."
"I don't—" I swallow hard. "What do you want it to be?"
"I want—" He stops a few feet away from me, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. "I want to know if I'm reading this wrong. If you brought me here just to show me your house. Because if that's all this is, I need to know now."
My heart is hammering against my ribs. "That's not all this is."
"Then what is it?"
Be brave, Alice. For once in your life, be brave.
"I brought you here because I wanted to be alone with you," I say, forcing myself to maintain eye contact even though every instinct is screaming at me to look away.
"Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since yesterday.
Because when you look at me like you're looking at me right now, I feel like maybe I'm not too much after all. Like maybe I'm exactly enough."
Carter closes the remaining distance between us in one stride. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"You are," he says quietly. "Exactly enough. More than enough."
"Carter—"
"I haven't done this in a long time," he continues, his voice low and rough. "Haven't let myself want someone like this. Haven't trusted anyone enough to even try. But you... fuck, Alice. You make me want to try."
"Then try," I whisper. "Please."