Chapter 14 #2
Cal walked Gabrielle around the apartment while I finished wiping down the counters, both of us moving carefully around each other.
He didn’t touch me again, nor did he look at me directly.
He simply paced the small living room with the baby against his shoulder, his hand rubbing slow, rhythmic circles on her back.
I watched him from the corner of my eye. The gentle way he held her. The soft words he murmured when she fussed. He was so good with her. Had been from the very first night, when he'd walked into the café cradling her like she was already his.
What would have happened if she hadn't cried?
The question made my chest burn, because I knew the answer. We both did.
Gabrielle's eyes started to droop. Cal caught my gaze, tilted his head toward the bedroom. I nodded.
We put her to bed together. I smoothed the sheets while he laid her down, his movements careful and precise. She stirred once, made a small sound, then settled into sleep.
We stood there for a moment, side by side, watching her breathe.
"She's getting bigger," Cal whispered to not wake her up.
"Every day."
"She'll be crawling before we know it. Getting into everything."
"I know." I smiled despite myself. "I'm not ready."
"You'll be great."
The words were simple, but something in his voice made my chest ache.
We left the room, pulling the door mostly closed behind us. And then we were in the living room, and there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do.
Cal sat on the couch. So did I, leaving a careful distance between us.
The space hummed with everything we weren't saying. I was aware of every inch that separated us, the deliberate gap we were both maintaining. The ghost of his touch still lingered on my jaw, my waist and I could still feel where his lips had brushed mine.
Cal stared straight ahead at the dark TV while I stared at my hands
The silence stretched, becoming stiflingly uncomfortable, heavy with too many things.
"Lucy—"
"It's fine," I answered quickly. "We don't have to talk about it."
"It wasn't nothing."
I looked at him. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped between his knees.
"It wasn't nothing," he repeated, quieter. "And we both know it."
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
"I know," I whispered.
He turned to look at me. There was something tortured in his expression, something I didn't understand.
"There are things I should tell you," he admitted. "Things you don't know."
"What things?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head.
"Not tonight. I can't—" He stood abruptly, ran a hand through his hair. "I should go. I need to think."
"Cal—"
"I'm sorry." He was already moving toward the door. "I'm sorry, I just—I need to go."
I followed him, not knowing what else to do. My mind was racing, trying to understand what had just happened, what had changed.
He paused with his hand on the knob. Turned to look at me.
The air between us crackled. I could see it in his eyes, everything he wasn’t saying: the way his want and desire were wrestling with fear and guilt. I could feel the sheer weight of whatever was holding him back.
"There's nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel." The words came out before I could stop them.
Something flickered across his face. I couldn't tell if it was pain or hope. My mind had stopped working properly.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
He stayed silent, his eyes memorizing mine before he finally moved.
When his hand cupped my face, I felt the slight tremor in his fingers again, the same one that had betrayed him before.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, a gesture so reverent it made my throat ache.
It was tender, careful, and heavy with everything we couldn't say.
It wasn't a surrender; it was a promise to hold on, even if the timing was all wrong.
"Goodnight, Lucy."
"Goodnight."
He left. The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the wood.
My forehead still burned where his lips had touched. My jaw still tingled where his fingers had traced. My whole body felt like a live wire, sparking with energy that had nowhere to go.
I pressed my forehead against the door and let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for hours.
What had he meant by those things he’d said: things he never told me, things I didn’t know?"
I thought about all the time we'd spent together over the past weeks. All the conversations, the quiet moments, the way he'd woven himself into every part of my life. I thought I knew him until that moment. Thought I understood who he was, why he was here.
But there was something else. Something he was carrying that I couldn't see.
I pushed off from the door and walked to Gabrielle's room. Stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. I observed every single detail of her, the way her tiny chest rose and fell, peaceful and oblivious to the complicated adult drama unfolding around her.
"What am I doing, little one?" I whispered.
She didn't answer. Just slept on, dreaming whatever babies dream about.
I went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. I just lay there in the dark, replaying every moment: the way it felt to have his hand on my face, the rough, wanting sound of his voice, and the brush of his lips against mine, so brief I might have imagined it.
We hadn’t really kissed, and we hadn’t said anything that mattered.
But my whole body was humming at a frequency only he could hear. And I knew, with a certainty that terrified me, that the next time he looked at me like that, I wouldn't step back.
I'd step forward.
And everything would change.