25. Foster
TWENTY-FIVE
FOSTER
“I’m really glad you came,” Sophie says. “Sorry about the sleeping arrangements.”
She’s on her side, head sinking into a downy pillow and apologizing to me for the thirteenth time since we found out about the bed situation. I’d told her I was fine sleeping on the couch but she wouldn’t hear it.
“It’s okay, Soph, really,” I assure her, rolling onto my side so we’re facing one another.
It’s dark, but I can still make out her features. Not that I need the power of sight to actually see them. Her face has been seared into my memory.
“I can’t believe my mom’s sauce is going to be out there like… Prego,” she whispers in wonderment.
“I don’t think you should say that brand and your mom in one breath.” I chuckle.
“You’re right, that was insulting. Please don’t ever tell her.”
I slide my hand toward her with my pinky raised. “Pinky promise.” She rolls her eyes, but she reaches out and wraps her pinky around mine.
My body reacts like she’s straddled me. Every ounce of blood rushes south, and I pull my hand back quickly. It would be so easy to reach for her and pull her to me. So easy to guide her lips to mine and sink into her. So darn easy to give in to this gnawing need I’ve had for weeks now.
“Night, sunshine,” I whisper before rolling over.
“Goodnight, Foster,” she hums, and if I allow myself to get sucked into the delusion, I’d tell you she sounded disappointed by that sendoff.
I wake to the smell of something baking and coffee. A guy could get used to waking up to someone else creating the delicious smells in a house.
A guy could also get used to waking up with Sophie Hore’s hand on his chest. She’s still on her side of the bed, but her arm is stretched across the gulf between us, like she had reached for me in the night. The thought of Sophie reaching for me at any time, let alone in a bed has me standing at attention just in time for her eyes to open.
“Good morning.” She yawns, and my god it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Morning, sunshine,” I murmur, rotating my hips, trying to hide myself from her.
She stretches, and the noise she releases makes everything worse. “Something smells amazing.” She rolls over and slips her legs off the bed, sitting with her back to me, and I take a minute to study her from behind.
Her hair is mostly in a bun, but strands have escaped the elastic. She’s all long lines and lean muscle, same as she has always been. As beautiful as she has always been. I watch, captivated as she pulls her hair out of the band and gathers the blonde locks back up to redo it. I don’t know what it is about watching a beautiful woman do her hair, but I can’t seem to move. I should get up, at least get my legs over and hope the change of position hides the morning wood I’m sporting. But instead I remain motionless running over the fact that I got to share a bed with the woman I’ve loved most of my life without fully realizing it.
“I’ll see you down there, okay?” she says without even looking over at me.
Wicked, I’ve made her uncomfortable. Chased her from her own bedroom.
I sit up and take in the room in the daylight. She hasn’t lived here full time in years, and yet she’s everywhere. My parents put away all our stuff the second we moved out. Not Nancy and Karl, though. This space is a time capsule of their daughter.
Along the wall across from the bed is a string of horse show ribbons, more red than any other color. Below the ribbons are pictures taped to the wall. Lots of her and Cass smiling. Cass’s hair is a little different in each one while Sophie’s remains the same—long, straight, golden. My eyes snag on one at the bottom right of the collage.
Getting up slowly, I walk to the wall. I see caramel eyes and the hint of a smile on the face of a younger me. I hated my picture being taken back then—I don’t know why, too cool for it maybe, or at least I thought I was. But I can see it there, the joy I got from Sophie being beside me. The hint of a smile was all because of her, and how I managed to contain it at all was a testament to my teenage stubbornness and nothing else.
I pull it from the wall. It’s us, sitting on the couch at my parents’ house, game controllers in hand, Sophie radiant as always.
“If memory serves me right, that was taken during a Mario Kart marathon,” Sophie’s silky voice flows from the doorway. “And I do believe you were losing.” She snatches the image out of my grasp and studies it. “It’s a lifetime ago.”
“You haven’t changed much,” I say.
“You haven’t either,” She reaches up and threads her hand through my bedhead. “Your hair is even the same.” We freeze when her fingertips make contact with my scalp.
Tension seeps out of every crevice in the room, and its tendrils wrap around us. Easing it could be so sweet. I could just slip my arm around her waist and pull her into me. Lean into her touch and silently beg for more. Drag it out as I tip my head and run my nose along hers. Breathe her in and breathe out all the things I wish we could do.
It takes a Herculean amount of effort to take a small step back, moving toward where my phone sits on the bedside table on my side of the bed. No, not my side—it’s not our space, it’s hers.
“What smells so good?” I ask, slipping my phone into the pocket of the sweats I’d opted to sleep in. Sophie’s eyes follow my movement, stopping on my legs before they meet mine again.
“Maple scones.”
“I love scones,” I exclaim with more enthusiasm than I mean to, and she laughs, the tension immediately dissipating, much to my relief.
“Yo!” My sister’s voice comes from somewhere downstairs. “Can you two stop being cute and come down here, please?”
“Cute?” I ask, one eyebrow raised as I catch myself in the mirror above the dresser.
Sophie steps closer, tilting her head as she studies our reflections. “Yeah, it works. Only because of the morning hair, though. Otherwise ‘hot mess’ is how I’d describe this”—she gestures between us—“situation.”
“Hot.” I let the word linger and take a small amount of pleasure in the way her eyes widen. “Mess,” I finish, grinning over at her. “Let’s go be hot messes with scones.”
“We‘ve got the space, so we figured why not. Bennett and Marley didn’t even hesitate.”
“What are you talking about?” Sophie asks, sitting next to her father, her plate piled high with breakfast.
“Bennett’s rescue. Expanding operations, again.” Nancy says, setting down another basket of towel wrapped scones, fresh from the oven. “We don’t usually have this much food. I’m testing out some variations in my original recipe and then different ways to serve them to see which way is best for a crowd,” she explains when she sees my expression.
I nod. “That makes sense. So you’ll include tips beyond the recipe itself?”
“I want to make sure that after the recipe is completed, the end result is as good as it is coming from my own kitchen.”
“Nothing will ever be as good as it is coming out of your kitchen, dearest,” Karl says confidently, pulling Nancy onto his lap. “Unless you’re cooking in someone else’s kitchen. Then I suppose it would be.” Sophie watches her parents over her coffee and rolls her eyes.
“I swear he’s still trying to win her over with flattery,” she says.
“Lifelong goal, kid,” Karl murmurs without taking his eyes off his wife, her own expression calm as she looks back. That . That right there is what I want.
“Feel free to come to my kitchen and bake anytime,” I say before popping a piece of scone into my mouth.
“You don’t need any help in the kitchen,” Sophie scoffs.
“Oh?” Cass looks up from her plate, “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Sophie’s eye roll is directed at me this time. “He’s very good in the kitchen,” she says, leveling me with a look that dares me to contradict her.
“I’m fine in the kitchen.”
“He’s being humble. I’m going to make him go to the farmers’ market with me soon to buy ingredients, then beg him to teach me how to use them.”
What she said was innocent, but she may as well have admitted that she wants me to drag her to bed and do unspeakable things to her all night long. Beg me to.
“I don’t understand how you grew up here and still can barely fry an egg without messing it up,” Cass teases.
Sophie looks over at her mother. “Listen, someone has lightened up considerably when it comes to sharing the kitchen.”
Nancy smiles sweetly at her daughter and slips off Karl’s lap to sit in her own chair. “The kitchen was a bit of a retreat for me, and not having to worry about busy little hands around burners and knives was always nice.”
“Hey, I couldn’t help it,” Sophie huffs.
“Well, we know that now,” Karl insists. “But at the time we were worried about your safety. And your mother’s sanity.” He grins at Nancy.
“Pfff,” Cass scoffs. “No one is sane here. It’s why I fit in so well.” We all laugh.
“So, Bennett’s expansion?” Sophie asks, circling back to the conversation we entered during.
“Oh, it’s so good,” Cass exclaims, and I see Sophie flinch before a tight smile appears.
Nancy doesn’t miss the expression. “We didn’t want to bother you while you were getting situated in a new job. We knew you’d worry and focus on us rather than yourself.”
“I’m not worried,” Sophie says. “I know you two aren’t impulsive… anymore.”
“Be impulsive one time, and it sticks with you forever.” Karl throws his hands up dramatically.
“I mean, it was kind of a big thing to be impulsive about, Dad.”
“Marrying your mother wasn’t impulsive, it was unavoidable. Kismet. Fate. Everything. Besides,” he says indignantly, “why waste time calling her my girlfriend when I could call her my wife?”
I have no idea what is happening. I want to ask for some kind of backstory, but I’m enjoying the banter too much to interrupt.
“It’s not for everyone, kid. We got lucky. That being said, when you do it you expect everyone to. I kept expecting you to walk in with a ring on your finger with an announcement with Gregory.” Karl chuckles.
Sophie stiffens, and before I can even think my hand is on her knee, squeezing. Her hand slides across my fingers, and I flip mine palm up and thread our fingers together. I brace for the zing of touching her, but nothing comes. I’m too focused on keeping her grounded. Desperate to keep her light from dimming. This isn’t a romantic gesture, it’s a caring one.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we never took that step,” Sophie says coldly, and I squeeze her hand tighter. Stay with me , I think.
Karl stares at her for a beat, concern etched on his weathered face. “Indeed.” His eyes slide to mine, and I see a question there. A reminder that she hasn’t shared everything with anyone, not even the ones she’s closest to.
I desperately want to know. I want her to tell me everything so I can hold all the hurt Gregory caused for her. I’d start a riot for Sophie. Burn the world to the ground and put her heart back together with the ashes.