12. Duncan
12
DUNCAN
The chessboard sits between us on the coffee table, and I’m down to three pieces. She has four. It’s a precarious balance, and I can feel her watching me as I hover over my rook, deciding my next move.
“You’re stalling,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. She’s sitting cross-legged, leaning slightly forward. Her auburn hair catches the firelight, a rich cascade of waves that spills over her shoulder.
“I’m strategizing,” I counter, moving my rook forward with deliberate precision.
She moves her bishop, capturing my pawn without hesitation. “Strategize all you want. It’s not going to save you.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re ruthless.”
“I’m effective,” she corrects, settling back on her heels, her green eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You should try it sometime.”
It’s been like this for hours — easy conversation, light teasing, her competitive streak in full force. We played three rounds of Scrabble, all of which she won, and now we’re tied in chess. I haven’t felt this relaxed in years. The snow continues to fall outside, trapping us in our own little bubble. In this moment, it’s just her, the warmth of the fire, and the faint hum of contentment I didn’t think I’d feel again.
But there’s an undercurrent between us too, something neither of us is addressing. It’s in the way her gaze lingers a second too long when she studies the board, in the way my hand brushes hers when I reach for my next move. The sexual tension between us is subtle but unmistakable, and so too is the elephant in the room.
“Your move,” she says, breaking the silence.
I nod, studying the board. I’m about to make my move when she suddenly exhales, setting her hands in her lap. “Alright, if you’re not going to address it, I will.”
I pause, looking up. Her expression has shifted, the playfulness gone.
“What are we addressing? Just so we’re on the same page.”
“This,” she gestures vaguely between us. “Us.”
My stomach tightens as I lean back and rest both hands on my knees. “I’m listening.”
She looks out the window, at the snow falling in spades, and sighs. “For starters, we should forget my brief moment of insanity.”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”
Those mesmerizing eyes of hers return to mine. “Let’s forget I kissed you first, okay?”
The final word leaves her lips on an exhale, and it resembles a pant. It’s similar to the breathy sound she made last night when she kissed me.
“Which time?” It occurs to me to specify, if she means last night or that night ten years ago, but from her body language I can tell that she means both. Which, if I’m being honest, doesn’t work for me.
She gives me a look of exasperation. “Both.”
To be clear, it wasn’t a surprise. We were standing under mistletoe. Same thing happened ten years ago too. What are the odds of that?
“No can do,” I tell her.
Her lips press into a thin line. “While we are at it, we should just forget Aspen happened.”
“No, no. Absolutely not. Blame it on the mistletoe if you must, but I will not forget the best night of my life ever happened.”
That exhale comes again. “Duncan.”
“Odette.”
There’s a pause, as she visibly wrestles with herself. “Why are you being difficult?”
I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips. “Not difficult. Honest. I want you. I will always want you. I did then, and I do now. That will never change.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, she looks at me like I’ve just upended her carefully laid plans. She crosses her arms, leaning back. “How’s this for honest? Family is important to me.”
“You won’t get any arguments from me on that point.”
She rolls her eyes. “Which is why I can’t do this.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.”
“Hmm… let’s see.” I make a show of scratching my day-old beard. “Last I checked, we’re both consenting adults. Same as last time. What’s the harm?”
“Harm?” she asks, again on an exhale. “Chloe and Caleb are my best friends.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Her expression goes hard. “They’re more than that to me. They’re family. I won’t jeopardize my relationship with them over a meaningless dalliance with their father.”
Meaningless?
With one foot, I push the coffee table to the side, so there’s nothing between us. The fire crackles softly, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room.
“You sure about that? About this , being meaningless?”
Her throat shifts. “Yes, I’m sure.” There’s a slight flush creeping up her neck.
I find it interesting, that her lips say one thing, but her body and eyes say something else. Against my better judgment, I move to sit next to her. She visibly steels herself, like she’s bracing her body against a strong wind. As she should, because that’s what we are when we come together.
“You don’t have to pretend,” I continue, keeping my voice calm, even as her words sting. “But forgetting it? That’s not an option. Not for me.” My gaze drops to her mouth. “Nothing about that night was meaningless. Not then, and not now.”
She looks away and her throat shifts again, her jaw tightening. But then she reaches out and places her hand over mine. I don’t pull my hand out from underneath hers, so she stares at me for several seconds, like she’s trying to figure out what to do or say. Or what I’m going to do next.
As for me? I’m following her lead. It’s one thing to get caught up in the magic of mistletoe, but I know that’s not what’s happening here. I know what I want. I think she knows what she wants, but she needs to make peace with herself on that first.
When she stays motionless for what feels like an eternity, I assume she’s made her decision. Any moment now, she’ll sever the contact, disappear upstairs, and I won’t see her again until tomorrow morning when I lure her downstairs with coffee. By then, the walls around her will be impenetrable, and it’ll be my fault. After all, I’m the one who started it after all.
But instead, she shocks both of us when she cups the side of my face and her lips descend on mine. Her lips move lightly against mine, in a kiss that is surprisingly is soft and sensual. She nibbles my top lip for a few seconds, then moves to my lower lip, sucking it into her mouth before she deepens the kiss. Suddenly I can’t get enough. My hands are in her hair and her hands move from my face to my shoulders, and then she not-so-gently shoves me onto my back and plants her legs on either side of me, so she’s hovering above me, her arms caging me in like a protective cocoon. We kiss like we’re starving and the only sustenance left is each other. It would be so easy to stay here forever. Our bodies fit together perfectly, like we were made for each other. As much as I want to stay like this forever, we have to come up for air eventually.
“Duncan,” she whispers, her warm breath fans my face.
Her lips are swollen and her pupils are dilated and she’s looking at me like she’s nowhere near finished sampling my lips. Neither am I. Yet, as I reach for her, she stops me by bracing a palm against my chest.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmurs, her voice pained.
Her defeated tone has me closing my eyes, wondering if I should be the reasonable one and put a stop to this. But I’m not. The warmth of her body leaves me, and I lie there for a second, take a few deep, calming breaths, before pushing myself into an upright position. I turn towards her, only to see that her gaze is fixated on my crotch.
“That can’t happen again.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and I don’t bother hiding the hurt that flashes across my face.
“You kissed me,” I point out, my voice low.
“And you kissed back.”
From the way she says it, the hitch in her voice, I can’t tell if that was a question or a statement. Still, I say, “I already told you that I want you. Clearly, the feeling is mutual.”
She meets my gaze, her green eyes flashing with heady mix of lust, anger, pain, and frustration. “It doesn’t matter how we feel about it. If the twins found out about us, they’d view this as a betrayal.”
“Chloe and Caleb are adults, not kids. So are we. Contenting adults. This—” I gesture between us, echoing her earlier motion, “isn’t something we can ignore. We’re not good at keeping our hands to ourselves. At least, I’m not. I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises, and neither can you.”
She scoffs. “I can, and I will. Watch me.”
Again, her lips say one thing, but her body and eyes say something else.
“Look,” I say softly, leaning forward. “I know this isn’t simple. The twins are your best friends, and I respect that. But pretending we didn’t happen is not the answer.”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” She shakes her head and stands. She adjusts her sweater, runs both hands through her hair, and sighs. “Chloe and Caleb aren’t my blood, but they are my family and I intend to keep it that way. You’re just a guy I hooked up with once in college, and after I leave here, things will go back to how they were. We’ll just be two strangers who live on opposite ends of the country. Nothing more.”
We stare at each other for a moment, the weight of her words and the tension between us settling like stone. Her words do sting, but there is truth to them. That doesn’t mean that’s all we could ever be. The thought of us going back to being strangers in a few days makes my chest tighten, so there’s that.
But then I think back to what little she’s shared with me in the last twenty-four hours, and her reasons for wanting to keep the family she currently has make sense.
She said the late June Ehrenberg was her mother, and I believe her. But according to June’s obituary, she had no children. I found an article about a rumored love child named Celeste from twenty years ago, who turned out to be an orphaned child of one of the servants that the Ehrenbergs took in, according to a retraction article. A family like that probably had a revolving door of servants, yet she was the only orphan they ever took in. There was no mention of who her supposed parents were in the retraction article, which wasn’t unusual, but for there to be no mention of Celeste and her ties to the family after that was even more suspicious. Everyone has some sort of digital presence, so the absence of one means someone had her information scrubbed.
I don’t know what it’s like to be raised in an environment like that, but I understand where she’s coming from. So what does one say in this situation? Besides…
“Okay,” I eventually say, giving her a small smile.
Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she presses them together, her expression tight, conflicted. The silence stretches, and I can see that she’s still struggling with this, torn between logic, and whatever it is she’s feeling.
For me, it’s easy. I want her. Now that I’ve found her, I’m not letting her go. Not without a fight. And if that means butting into my children’s lives, then so be it.
I angle my chin in the direction of the coffee table. “Shall we finish our game?”
She shakes her head. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”
I stay seated, watching her as she walks away. First to the kitchen for a glass of water, before she disappears up the stairs. She got the last word today, but this isn’t the end of the conversation.
Not by a long shot.