Chapter 34
thirty-four
LUCY
Ilove my flat, but it just doesn’t feel like home anymore. Home is starting to feel like the little house at the end of the lane, where Isla’s laughter echoes in the evenings and Aidan’s presence fills the rooms with a kind of warmth I’d been missing terribly.
I haven’t moved in, but my toothbrush has taken up permanent residence in the bathroom, and my favorite mug sits on the shelf next to Aidan’s.
He’s only a few weeks into the new job with a local construction crew, but I can already see the change in him.
He comes home with sawdust on his jeans and sun on his skin, that worn-out look in his eyes framed with peace.
He jokes more, teasing me about the way I load the dishwasher or how I hum off-key when I think no one’s listening.
He’s happy.
I’m happy.
Every afternoon after closing the café, I take over for Aidan’s mum, spending time with Isla until Aidan gets home. Dinner, a little playtime, then bedtime—it’s second nature.
I’m at his place now, wiping down the kitchen counter, when a sharp knock on the front door pierces through the house.
I pause, frowning slightly. Aidan never knocks. His heavy boots usually announce his arrival long before I see him.
Another knock—louder this time, more insistent.
My stomach tightens as I dry my hands on a dish towel and head for the door. My fingers hesitate on the handle for just a second before I pull it open.
The woman on the doorstep is breathtaking. Tall and willowy, with golden curls that catch the evening light like spun silk. Her striking green eyes widen slightly as they meet mine.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought—” She trails off, glancing at the number on the door, her brows knitting together. Then her gaze returns to mine. “Is Aidan here?”
My heart pounds as I grasp for words. “He’s… He’s not home yet,” I manage, my voice thinner than I’d like. She lifts her chin, and I can practically feel myself shrinking an inch.
She nods slowly. Her shoulders stiffen, and she presses her lips together. Her gaze shifts past me, sweeping over the house. “And Isla?” she asks, her voice tight, carefully measured, but I don’t miss the way her fingers clench slightly at her sides.
I step into the doorway, blocking her view of the house. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I force my voice to stay even. “I’m sorry, but I can’t share anything about Isla with someone I personally don’t know. I don’t think I caught your name?”
Her gaze snaps back to mine. If she’s looking for weaknesses, she’s probably already found a dozen.
“Emily. Isla’s my daughter.”
My stomach clenches. No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening.
“I see,” I reply as gently as I possibly can. “I think you’ll need to talk to Aidan about it. He’s not home right now, and it’s not my place to speak for him. I’m sure you understand.”
The tension coils tightly between us. My fingers curl around the doorframe, gripping it like an anchor, refusing to be the first to look away.
Finally, she exhales, the fight seeming to drain from her shoulders. “Fine,” she mutters, stepping back. She rummages through her bag, pulling out a crumpled scrap of paper and a pen. With quick strokes, she scrawls a phone number and presses it into my hand. “I’ll wait to speak to Aidan.”
I nod. “That’s the best thing to do.” A beat of silence stretches between us before I add, “Have a good evening.”
She doesn’t respond. Just turns and walks away, her silhouette long and graceful against the fading light. I stand there feeling small in a way I haven’t in a long time.
I close the door softly, locking it with trembling hands.
Leaning against the cool wood, I shove the scrap of paper into my pocket and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
Isla’s laughter spills from the living room as she watches whatever cartoon that has her attention, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just outside.
I don’t know what reason Isla’s mother has for returning, but it really isn’t my place to insert myself into that. I know one thing, though—I’ll do everything in my power to protect that little girl.
Taking another deep breath, I shake off the unease and head back to the kitchen. My mind races, but I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the here and now. Isla needs her dinner, and I’m determined to keep things as normal as possible until Aidan gets home.
I keep my hands busy in the kitchen, but no amount of bustling can soothe my nerves. I can’t help but wonder what this means for all of us.
Would Aidan want her back? The thought twists in my stomach like a knife, even though I know better. I’ve seen the steel in his eyes when he’s mentioned her abandonment, heard the protective edge in his voice when he talks about keeping Isla safe. No, he wouldn’t just welcome her with open arms.
But what if she’s here to stay? What if she wants to be part of Isla’s life again?
I have no claim here. I’m not Isla’s mother. I’m just…Lucy. The woman who makes swirly butter toast and stays over sometimes. The woman who’s fallen in love with a man and his daughter, building something that suddenly feels terribly fragile.
Life doesn’t pause for doubts. Responsibilities and routines pull me forward, reminding me there’s still a little girl depending on me right now.
“Isla, sweetheart,” I call out, my voice only slightly shaky. “Dinner’s almost ready. Can you come set the table?”
I hear the patter of her feet as she rushes into the kitchen. “Can I use the special plates?” she asks, her eyes wide and hopeful, filled with that innocent joy that always manages to melt my heart.
I nod, managing to return her enthusiasm with a smile of my own. “Of course. Just be careful with them.”
As she cautiously carries the delicate dishes to the table, I take a moment to glance at the clock. Aidan really should be home any minute now, and the thought of how to bring up the unexpected visitor weighs heavily on my mind.
Just as I’m pulling the casserole dish from the oven, the familiar rumble of Aidan’s truck fills the air, followed by gravel crunching under his tires as he pulls into the driveway. My heart quickens at the sound, a mix of relief and anxiety flooding through me.
“Daddy’s home!” Isla announces, bouncing on her toes.
I swallow hard, determined not to let my nerves show. “He sure is. Why don’t you finish setting the table and wash your hands while I go say hello?”
As Isla skips away, I step out onto the porch just as Aidan climbs out of his truck. He looks up and smiles when he sees me, but his expression quickly shifts as he approaches.
His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”
I take a steady breath, trying to find the right words, glancing back at the house to ensure Isla is out of earshot. “Someone came by the house just a little while ago, looking for you.”
His brows knit closer together, confusion and concern etched into his handsome features. “Who was it?”
I hesitate for a moment. “It was Isla’s mother.”
The shock that registers on his face is immediate, quickly followed by a flash of anger. He runs a hand over his cheek, his jaw clenching.
“What did she want?” he asks, his voice tense.
“She was looking for you and Isla,” I reply gently, trying to keep my tone calm despite the tension radiating off him. “I didn’t let her in or tell her anything,” I add quickly, sensing the need to reassure him. “I just said you weren’t home and that she’d need to talk to you, not me.”
His head tips back slightly as he exhales through his nose, and then he erupts. “Fuck!” The word tears out of him, loud and raw, and I flinch at the suddenness of it.
I’ve never seen him so visibly furious before. One hand rakes through his hair while the other flexes and clenches at his side. His movements are almost frantic, as though he doesn’t know where to direct the anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“Aidan…” I begin, my voice soft, but he cuts me off.
“She doesn’t get to do this.” His voice is low, but no less furious. “She doesn’t get to show up out of nowhere and—” He breaks off, swiping a hand over his face again.
I take a cautious step closer, my heart aching at the sight of him so upset. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make it worse, so I just…handled it the best I could.”
He shakes his head, and the emotion in his eyes tugs at my heart. “You did the right thing,” he says. “I just… I wasn’t ready for this. I was never going to be ready for this.”
I reach out, gently taking his hand in mine. His fingers reluctantly unclench, and I give them a reassuring squeeze. “I know. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”
He nods, taking a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. “Isla,” he says suddenly, his voice tinged with worry. “She didn’t see Emily, did she?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, she was playing in the living room the whole time. She has no idea.”
Relief washes over his face, but it’s short-lived. Tension creeps back into his shoulders. “Did she say if she’d be back?”
“She just said she’d wait to speak to you,” I reply, watching his reaction carefully. “She gave me her number.” I pull the paper from my pocket and offer it to him.
He stares at it as if it might explode at any moment. The muscle in his jaw ticks, and for a fleeting second, I think he’s going to crumple it up and throw it aside. Then he exhales a deep, weary sigh and tucks it into his pocket instead.
“I’ll deal with that later,” he grumbles, his voice strained. “Right now, I just want to see Isla.”
I nod, reaching out to squeeze his hand one more time before we head inside. As we step through the door, Isla comes barreling toward us, launching herself into his arms.
He catches Isla effortlessly, lifting her high and pulling her close. “Hey, princess.”
My heart twists as I watch him hold her.
Aidan clutches Isla like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
His large hands tremble slightly against her small back, and his eyes squeeze shut for just a moment too long.
It’s more than the usual welcome home hug.
It’s desperate, protective, as if he’s afraid she might vanish if he loosens his grip even the littlest bit.
“Daddy, you’re squishing me!” Isla giggles.
“Sorry, wee lass,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t immediately let go. Instead, he presses his face into her wild curls, breathing her in. When he finally sets her down, I catch the slight sheen in his eyes before he blinks it away.
Even though the circumstances aren’t great, the sweetness of it squeezes something in my chest. Then, just as quickly, my stomach lurches.
The smell of roasted chicken, warm and heavy in the air, turns sharp in my nose.
What had made my mouth water minutes ago now ties my insides in knots.
I draw in a deep breath, but it only makes it worse.
I grip the edge of the counter tightly, my knuckles turning white. My mind races, trying to process everything that’s unfolded in the past hour, from the unexpected visit from the woman at the door, Aidan’s visceral reaction, and now this sudden wave of nausea. It’s too much.
Isla’s laughter drifts in from the living room, where Aidan is undoubtedly putting on a brave face for her sake. I know I should be in there with them, helping to maintain this facade of normalcy. But at the moment, I can barely keep myself upright.
I close my eyes, willing the queasiness to subside, but it only grows stronger. It has to be the stress of everything happening all at once.
“Hey, are you okay?” Aidan’s voice calls from behind me, breaking through my thoughts.
I turn to face him, forcing a weak smile. “I’m…” I begin, but the words catch in my throat as another wave of nausea washes over me. The kitchen suddenly feels too hot, too small.
I stumble slightly, and Aidan’s strong arms are there in an instant, bracing me. His touch, usually so comforting, now feels like an unwelcome fire against my skin. The concern in his eyes is unmistakable, a deep furrow forming between his brows as he studies my face.
His fingers gently brush my cheek. “You’re pale as a ghost.”
“I think I’m going to lie down,” I whisper. Dizziness clings to me, warping my surroundings.
He guides me up the stairs, his arm fixed around my waist. As we reach the bedroom, he gently eases me onto the bed. The cool sheets beneath me offer some relief.
I sink into the pillow, closing my eyes against the spinning room. Aidan’s weight settles on the edge of the bed as he brushes a strand of hair from my forehead. “Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. The nausea churns in my stomach, threatening to rise. I take another slow, measured breath, willing it away.
He hesitates, his gaze lingering on me for a long moment, before he nods. “All right.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek one last time before standing. “If you need anything, I’m right here.”
I hear his footsteps recede down the hall, followed by the muffled sound of his voice as he talks to Isla. I can’t make out the words, but I imagine he’s reassuring her, telling her I’m just not feeling well and need to rest.
It doesn’t take long before I drift off.