Page 17

My little wolf.

Levi had given Julien the usual chompy greeting he adopted a couple of months ago. Most people expect a little “Hi” from him and laugh uncomfortably or smile politely when they get the chompy teeth instead. Julien laughed, sincerely, and rolled with it.

My little wolf.

And Levi responded. It may be a French word, but it’s still a word. Julien hasn’t interacted much with Levi on our runs, not that it’s possible with Levi either napping, eating, or not paying any attention to us, always distracted by the birds or attempting to escape his restraints.

Julien speaking to him for the first time made my heart do a weird flippy thing. Am I having a heart attack? Is there a blood clot working its way up from my calf? Because there’s no way I’m actually starting to like this man.

Except he spoke to Levi, and Levi spoke back. He has three words now. It’s still not enough for his age, but I’ll take what I can get .

“Woo,” Levi says to me, his smile as big and bright as usual, and my heart explodes.

“Yeah, baby, mon petit loup ,” I respond, trying to impersonate Julien’s accent.

I cannot even think about him speaking French, the way he practically caressed the words with his tongue.

Shivers.

At my approximation of French, Julien stiffens in his seat. Oh shit, did I offend him? I thought it sounded exactly like him, but maybe I got a word wrong. I inwardly cringe as he swallows, his jaw clenched and staring at Levi.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he says immediately, barely letting me finish the question. He blows out a big breath and turns to meet my gaze. Damn, his dark eyes are intense. Because we run side by side, I can typically avoid direct eye contact. And now we’re in this tense staring contest.

There goes the blood clot making my heart flip again. Maybe I should go to the hospital.

“I like it when you speak French, ma têtue .”

Did I die? Did the clot take me out?

“What—” I clear my throat. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead turning his attention back to Levi. Looks like I’m not going to get an answer. Not to worry. I have Google Translate—I’ll look it up later.

“How are your legs?” he asks, bringing my attention back to his enormous hands still gripping my calves. As if I could have forgotten .

This is what convinced me I have a blood clot. As soon as he put his hands on me, it was my first thought. Well, frankly my first thought was, “Oh shit, when was the last time I shaved?”

But my second thought was he must have dislodged a clot, because there is no way his hands on me could elicit such a visceral reaction from my body. I’ve never responded to a man this way before.

There has to be a medical reason why I felt a charge from the spot he touched all the way to my brain. Maybe I’m having a stroke? I can still feel the left side of my face, so I don’t think it’s that.

His long-sleeved shirt, the one he always runs in no matter the temperature, one he must have multiples of, pulls taut as I watch his hands move over my skin. I catch a glimpse of ink, just above his wrist. Intriguing.

“Leah?” Julien jolts me from my thoughts of medical disasters where I die from his hands.

“Hm? Oh, right. Um, yeah, my legs are feeling better. Thank you,” I stammer out.

He lingers a beat longer, and yet, not long enough, before lifting my legs from his lap and removing his hands. I feel cold now, even though my heart races like I’m still running. He was so warm.

When he stands, he begins inspecting the stroller.

“What are you doing?”

“How do you unlock this?”

I press my foot on the pedal right beside the wheel and the lock clicks off. Julien takes the stroller and pushes it towards the path. I jar out of my stupor before I end up pregnant again simply from seeing those big hands expertly grip the handle of Levi’s stroller.

Hands that were just on me.

Fuck me.

My ovaries cannot handle this. I try to take the stroller back, but he blocks me, his elbow softly pushing me aside.

“I got him,” he says, checking to see if it’s safe on the path before pushing it to the middle.

“What? Julien, I can—”

“Your legs are hurting because you’re overdoing it without proper training,” he interrupts. “So from now on, I’m running with mon petit loup, and you’ll run beside us and work on your form.”

I blink away the onslaught of dirty thoughts, unsure if I heard him right. All I saw was his mouth moving, and then there’s the French again.

I can only nod and take my place beside him, following his lead on pace. It’s so slow.

“Tell me if your legs hurt again,” he commands.

His tone would usually cause me to bristle, but somehow, I know it’s because he’s trying to take care of me. It’s been a long time since someone besides Paige or Maggie has made an effort for me.

We run in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the crisp air. It’s chilly out this morning, the colder weather finally coming in. I still put on shorts in defiance, a decision I regretted instantly when I stepped outside.

But I can’t quite regret it now that I’ve had Julien’s hands on my bare skin. Especially since he said he doesn’t mind a bit of hair .

I pull my attention away from Julien and focus on running. It feels weird without the stroller. Why is it easier and harder at the same time? I can use my arms for momentum. The few videos I watched on technique gave me some pointers, and I try not to swing my arms across my body.

I hold my hands up, elbows bent like chicken wings, and gently touch my fingers with my thumb instead of gripping them into a fist. The video said to pretend I’m holding a potato chip between my fingers without crushing it. I feel ridiculous.

And now I want potato chips.

But not having the stroller means I’m standing more upright. And when I’m tired, there’s no handle to lean some of my weight on. My hands feel empty. Of both stroller and chips.

“C-Can I ask you something?” Julien asks quietly.

“Sure,” I say, wondering what he could possibly ask me.

“Why did you react that way when Levi said loup ?”

Oh shit, I wasn’t expecting that . My hackles rise, though there’s no judgement or malice in his tone. I’m coming to realize this about Julien—the inflection in his low voice is slight, which is why I thought he was an asshole for so long.

“He doesn’t talk much.” It’s the simplest answer I can give without going into it.

But apparently Julien isn’t satisfied. “Is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“You almost cried. Kind of seems like there’s more to it.”

I hesitate to share. Will he judge? Will he even know enough about child development to judge? I had to stop going to the mommy and me groups because of the looks. Both sympathy and judgement.

The constant bragging from some parents who claimed their two-year-olds were speaking in full sentences. Bullshit.

“He’s only said two words, now three. He’s behind.”

I see Julien nod from the corner of my eye. What’s he thinking? The silence stretches between us until it’s no longer uncomfortable. I sneak glances at Julien, which I absolutely do not do often because the sight of this man pushing my stroller is making my ovaries and uterus conspire to jump his bones.

Vagina is on board as well. I have to keep my brain from joining forces. But when I can’t help it anymore and peek, his brows are furrowed, seemingly lost in thought. What is he thinking?

“When I was a kid, I didn’t talk much either,” he says suddenly, catching me staring. He looks away quickly.

“Oh?” What else can I say to that? It doesn’t surprise me since his preferred method of communication is one-syllable words.

He nods. “My dad was worried. He took me to the doctor, had me tested.”

I brace myself. It’s too early for Levi to be examined, but it’s occurred to me an autism diagnosis could be in his future. His slower than average development and the different way he interacts—or doesn’t interact—with other people is always at the back of my mind, but I’m trying not to stress about it. I could be overreacting. All I want is to know so I can get him into the programs he needs. I need to know how to help my son. I’m jumping the gun, but I’m not okay with being unprepared .

I don’t want to pry. Well, that’s a lie—I very much do want to pry. Julien has barely talked about himself, whereas I’ve rambled on and on about my life. About Paige, Utah, work. Anything except my parents and Levi. But for once, he doesn’t make me pry.

“I wasn’t diagnosed with anything. I didn’t have the other signs. I was just a quiet kid.”

This causes my blood clot to flip my heart again. I will love my son through every part of his life, no matter what struggles he faces. As his mom, I want to protect him from everything, make his life as easy as possible.

“When did you start talking?”

“I could always talk,” he says, the words low and a bit unsure. “I would practise when I was by myself, even at a young age. I simply didn’t like talking around people.”

“Including your dad?”

“Yes.”

That answer is so loaded, but I don’t dig into it. If there’s one thing I know about Julien, it’s that he closes off at the snap of a finger. He’s sharing, and I want him to keep sharing.

“So you think Levi can say more than three words?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “He’s an observant kid—he takes things in.” I hadn’t realized Julien had been paying much attention to Levi.

“Is that what you were like?”

“Were?”

I smile when he looks at me, obvious humour etched into his handsome features. I think that’s the first time he admitted to making a joke. His attention falls to my mouth. Hello, blood clot .

“Leah?” a voice calls from behind me.

My stomach instantly sinks, my heart leaping into my throat, and my footsteps falter. Our run, which was barely even a run at this point, comes to a halt. Brisk walk is more like it. I inhale, taking a deep breath to prepare myself as I turn around.

“Hey, Paige.”