Page 107 of Connectio

Chapter Seventeen

Carly and Derek sorted their shit out in the weeks that followed, thank God, and it was now time for Will and me to do the same.

He sent me numerous texts, telling me he thought about what I said and that his mind remained unchanged. It was what I wanted to hear, of course, but as painful as it was, I deliberately kept him at bay, forcing distance between us in the hope it would give him time to factor in every aspect that needed factoring, continuously replying with Take more time. I didn’t want him pursuing a future with me if he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure I was worth the sacrifice, because that’s exactly what being with me is—a sacrifice, a severing of ties to parenthood. And a decision like that deserves more than a sweeping thought.

Yawning, I stretch as I shuffle into the kitchen and switch on the kettle, phone in hand, Will’s latest messages on the screen.

Will: Elizabeth, stop avoiding me.

Will: I don’t need more time

A flicker of pain tickles my chest, and I rest my palm over my heart, unsure whether or not he really has thought about what being with me means. I know I can’t avoid him any longer, and I don’t want to. Every moment spent with him sparks new hope in ways I didn’t know existed.

In a perfect world, I’d be enough for him and he’d be enough for me. We’d fill each other’s voids and soothe the constant white noise. We’d smile for the other, bleed for the other, breathe for the other. We’d love enough. We’d be enough.

But the world isn’t perfect. It’s the water’s edge, enticing but rippled, murky and unclear, and the only way to find out what’s underneath is to dip in your toe and hope for the best.

I’m ready to dip now; I just hope he is too, like he says he is, but for the right reasons.

Leaning against the kitchen cupboards, I draw in a deep breath, about to reply, when another text comes through.

Will: Knock knock.

I giggle.

Me: Who’s there?

Will: Open your front door and see

My head springs up, and I shuffle in my slippers along the hallway, my skin prickling with excitement when a towering shadow swims across the frosted glass panel beside the front door.

This is it, make or break.

Puffing out a breath, I shake my hands, shedding the tension from my body, and unlatch the lock, swinging open the door to find him standing on the doorstep wearing a white polo shirt, collar—as always—up. His sunglasses are perched on his head, and one hand is in the back pocket of his jeans, the other braced on the doorframe, his inked bicep taut and deliciously obtrusive.

“Hi,” I say, exhaling with a whoosh.

He looks me up and down, a lazy grin forming on his face. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” His eyes flicker with excitement and desire.

I glance down, unsure what he’s stirred about, only to find that my sleep shirt is stained.

Scrunching up the spot, my laugh is a little foolish. “I… er… I spilled my Milo last night.”

He steps closer. “Cute.”

I step back. “It’s not cute. It’s piggy.”

He steps closer again, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Cute piggy.”

“Wait!” I hold up my hand. “We need to talk first.”

Will wraps his fingers around mine and brings my wrist to his lips, his eyes still alight with mischief and lust as he presses a kiss to my skin.

My knees wobble.

My eyelids close.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he whispers.