Chapter 13 Lila
LILA
By the time we got the girls settled, it was nearly eleven.
Mia had crashed almost immediately, exhausted from the bonfire and s’mores.
Margot took longer — she needed water, then one more bathroom break, then reassurance that Vance would be there in the morning.
He’d sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, murmuring something in French that made her eyelids finally flutter closed.
I watched from the doorway, witnessing this small act of parenthood — one most of us took for granted but had been stolen from Vance for six years. Yet he fell right back into the rhythm with Margot. He was her Papa. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anything more poignant or beautiful in my life.
When he joined me in the hallway, he pulled the girls’ door almost closed, leaving it open just a crack — the way parents do.
“She okay?” I whispered.
“Out cold.” He looked at me, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. “Finally.”
“It’s our time now.” I took his hand and led him to my bedroom at the far end of the hall, closing the door with a soft click.
The lamp on my nightstand cast everything in warm shadow.
I turned to face him, suddenly nervous. It had been so long.
What if I’d forgotten how to do this? What if he saw the stretch marks on my stomach, those souvenirs of motherhood, or noticed the way my breasts had headed somewhat south since breastfeeding?
Maybe the dimples on my backside would be more evident in certain light.
I’d keep the lamps turned low. That was the only way forward.
He stepped closer, cutting off the spiral of worry. His hands found my waist, thumbs brushing the fabric of my dress.
“What are you thinking about?” Vance asked. “Because I can see I’ve lost you.”
“My stretch marks. And my boobs going south. Dimples on my butt.”
“Well, now you’re officially killing the mood.” He chuckled, then nuzzled my neck. “I can promise you that none of those things could or would keep me away from you. I want to kiss every stretch mark. Caress every dimple. Send things north.”
I trembled with wanting, pressing against him.
“Yes, all right, I’m convinced.” I kissed him, rising on my toes, my hands sliding up his chest. He tasted like the wine we’d shared at dinner — warm and slightly sweet.
His grip on my waist tightened, pulling me closer, and I felt him smile against my mouth.
“Okay, that’s better,” he murmured.
I laughed softly, muffling the sound against his shoulder. “Shh. The girls.”
“Right. Quiet.” But his hands were already moving, fingers trailing up my spine, finding the zipper at the back of my dress. “I can be quiet.”
“Can you?” I pulled back just enough to look at him, catching the gleam of mischief in his eyes.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
The dress slipped from my shoulders and pooled at my feet. His breath caught, and for a moment he just looked at me — not with judgment or comparison but pure appreciation, like nothing had ever pleased him more.
“God, Lila,” he whispered, and then his mouth was on mine again, deeper this time, more urgent.
We moved toward the bed in fits and starts, stopping to kiss, to touch, to learn the shape of each other. His shirt came off. Then his belt. My hands shook as I worked the buttons, and he covered them with his own, steadying me.
“No rush,” he said against my temple.
But it felt that way. Years of loneliness, longing, and the desperate need to be close to someone who actually saw me and chose me — someone who wouldn’t leave me for someone else — made me dizzy with wanting.
When we finally tumbled onto the bed, sheets cool against overheated skin, I had to bite down on my lip to keep from making noise. He noticed and kissed me harder, swallowing the sounds I couldn’t quite hold back.
“Quiet,” he reminded me, his voice rough with amusement and need.
“You’re not helping,” I managed, breathless.
His laugh was low and wicked. “Good.”
Later, we lay tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy, absent patterns on my shoulder. The cottage had gone completely still. Even the ocean seemed to have quieted.
“You okay?” he whispered.
I nodded against his chest. “Yeah. You?”
“Better than okay.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“Thanks for not minding my stretch marks.”
He shifted, bending his arm, resting his chin in his hand as he looked down at me. “Your stretch marks came from bringing a beautiful soul into this world. They brought Mia. How could I ever see them as anything but jewels?”
“Oh, Vance.” Tears pricked my eyes. “How do you know just what to say?”
“You bring out the best in me. Truly.” He kissed me. “Thank you for sharing yourself with me tonight. For letting me love you the way you should be loved.”
“You did that, Vance Prescott. Without a doubt.”
I turned on my side, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close until our breathing fell into sync. We fell asleep, spent and content.
And to think—tomorrow was another day. Another day with Vance in my life. No matter what happened at work, I would come home to him and the girls. That thought felt like grace. More than enough.
The next morning, the house was quiet except for the cry of gulls outside and the faint hum of the coffee maker. Sunlight spilled through the curtains, striping the counters in gold. I found Vance in my kitchen, barefoot, hair tousled, cooking breakfast.
It was still hard to believe that, only a few weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined any of this.
Not the bedroom antics or the morning after.
Or that it would feel so natural. Last night had been perfect.
Peaceful, tender, grounding. Vance was a dream.
Part of me still waited for the other shoe to drop, like it had so many times before, yet I’d decided to risk it all.
I’d decided to trust him. And this morning, watching him quietly preparing eggs while Margot and Mia slept upstairs, I felt something dangerously close to joy.
Apparently, he also knew how to make the perfect soft-boiled egg. He set it before me, all creamy deliciousness, with a side of fresh strawberries and a crisp English muffin dripping with butter. “You put just the right amount of butter on it,” I said, before taking a bite.
We sat together at the island, our thighs touching as we ate and sipped dark roast coffee. Even coffee tasted better with him in my kitchen.
Resting my chin in my hand and shifting slightly so I could see him better, I smiled, overcome by how right it felt to have him here.
He smiled back and reached over to smooth a bit of hair off my cheek.
I felt relaxed and happy, the contented kind of tired that follows a night you don’t ever want to end.
He brushed his thumb along my jaw. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That we could stay like this all day?”
“No, that’s not exactly what I was thinking.” He grinned. “But I think someone’s awake.”
Footsteps creaked on the stairs, followed by a familiar voice.
“Morning, you two,” Mia said, padding into the kitchen in her pajamas. Her hair was a sleepy halo around her head. “Something smells amazing.”
“Hey, sweetheart.” I smiled, a little flustered. “We didn’t wake you, did we?”
“Nah. I slept great.” She yawned, sitting on the other side of me.
“How do you like your eggs?” Vance asked Mia.
“How you did Mom’s looks perfect. Thank you.”
“Margot’s still asleep,” Mia said. “She looked like an angel.”
“She was wiped out after last night,” Vance said. “Too much fun at the bonfire.”
“She’s fitting right in,” Mia said, smiling. “She told me yesterday that she thinks I’m the best big sister ever. No pressure or anything.”
Vance chuckled. “I think she’s right.”
Heat crept up my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop smiling. Watching them talk so easily, so naturally, made my heart ache in the best possible way.
After breakfast, Mia carried her plate to the sink. “I’ll do the dishes before Margot gets up. You guys should go sit on the porch or something. It’s perfect out.”
“You’re the best,” I said, kissing the top of her head.
“She gets that from you,” Vance said, his eyes soft.
As Mia started humming to herself at the sink.
Vance took my hand and led me out to the terrace where my roses were blooming and the air smelled of late summer grasses.
We settled on one of the lounge chairs, legs intertwined.
I leaned against his shoulder, his arm snug around me.
Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. This was the moment I’d been waiting for all my life.