Page 8

Eight

Belle

I snag the bag of groceries from the trunk of my car and freeze.

Because a male arm is reaching by me, brushing my hand away, grabbing all the handles of the bags at once, and hauling them out of the trunk.

My body is tense…but not from surprise.

Every time I’ve shown up with something to carry in from my car over the last month, West has been there…or well, here .

Popping up behind me, snagging whatever I need to bring inside, not taking no for an answer.

“I’ll grab that one,” Quinn says, having unbuckled and rounded the back of the car.

And my son doesn’t take no for an answer either with the tasks that West has inserted himself in—those being carrying things inside for me, taking the trash out, and…turning the channels on the remote at warp speed.

Okay, that’s not fair.

Or not entirely, anyway.

West is also big on dishes, and cooking dinner, and moving my laundry around when I forget it in the washer, and helping Quinn with his homework, and…

He’s a good roommate.

He’s a good man.

And…I still can’t believe the nerve of him, going around me, getting Quinn on his side in a way that meant I couldn’t pack us up and go.

Not that I could have done that anyway.

We didn’t have anywhere to go, and he gave me an out, and we weren’t even late for school.

Because I couldn’t say no.

And Quinn didn’t want me to.

Neither did West.

And, frankly, he also wasn’t wrong about being out of town a lot.

I swear that Quinn and I have spent more time in his house than he has over the last few weeks.

So much time I’m worried that Quinn is getting too used to the space, to the luxury, to something I won’t ever be able to provide him.

Hell, I’m worried I’m getting too attached to it.

The consistently hot water, the space, the quiet. No people pounding around overhead. No neighbors screaming through the walls—or worse. The back yard where Quinn and I can kick a soccer ball around, the driveway with a basketball hoop he can utilize any time and I don’t have to worry about him being safe.

West gave us— me —that.

And now he’s also bringing in my groceries.

Groceries I can afford because he refuses to accept money for rent, money for utilities, money for anything.

Because…we’re watching his house.

Yeah, I’m thinking that with air quotes.

Because he has a cleaner who comes in weekly, a gardener who does the same, a chef who stocks the fridge for his meal plan meals twice a month.

“I told you,” West says quietly as Quinn carries the bag into the house, “that I would go to the store tomorrow.”

“You got home at four in the morning,” I say, slamming the trunk and hitching my purse higher on my shoulder. “You need food and rest. Plus,” I add quietly, “it’s the least I can do.”

He stops beside me, eyes coming to mine. “Belle,” he murmurs.

I shake my head, start walking up the drive. “It’s nothing,” I begin.

“You’re supposed to be getting ahead,” he grumbles. “Not feeding me.”

I touch his arm. “I’m fine.”

“Belle—”

“I’m— we’re —fine,” I snap.

One second, I’m walking through the garage.

The next, the bags of groceries are on the floor and my back is against the wall.

“I—”

His head drops, bringing our mouths so close I can feel his words on my lips. “You don’t need to pay me back, baby.” His eyes flare with frustration. His body is mere inches away.

And that feels so good that I forget to guard myself.

And the words…they slip free. “You don’t understand.”

He doesn’t move, but his voice is gentle. “What don’t I understand?”

“That I have to do anything I can to pay you back?—”

Another flash of frustration through his eyes. “Belle?—”

I press a finger to his lips. “You saved us, saved me. You didn’t have to, and you haven’t asked anything of me and?—”

“You’re taking care of my?—”

“No, honey,” I whisper over the slightly muffled statement. “Don’t even try it. I appreciate that you gave me an excuse, saved face with my kid, but let’s not look at this as anything else aside from what it is—charity.”

He inhales sharply.

“Charity you were not obligated to give me, considering how I came back into your life and how I left it?—”

Now it’s his turn to press a finger to my lips.

“Bella bee,” he murmurs and my heart pulses at the nickname. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it. “You think for a moment I got a second chance at getting to know you, got a glimpse of the woman you are today, the goodness that’s the kid you made in there”—he jerks his head to the house—“and think it’s charity? ” A sharp shake of his head. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

I exhale and it’s shaky.

“I’ve been in awe of you from the moment I first saw you killing it in dodgeball on the playground in third grade.” His lips twitch. “And I fell for you when you punched Billy Conners in the nose for stealing Davie’s lunch in fifth.”

Surprised laughter slides out of me, and his face goes so soft that my heart squeezes.

Because his words settle deep inside me.

“And the first time I heard you laugh, I knew you’d be in my heart forever.” He bends a little, eyes holding mine with piercing intent. “You’ve always been the woman who haunted my dreams…and now you’re here .”

My pulse is pounding through my veins, stealing my breath, making my head spin.

“So, baby,” he murmurs, stroking a hand lightly up and down my side. “Just…settle. Stay here in my house, gain a little breathing room, give us time to learn each other again and see what comes of that. Let me get to know that awesome kid you have some more, and just…give us a chance, a real chance.”

“To see what comes of learning each other again?” I ask, heart in my throat, my voice raspy. “To have a second chance w-with me? ”

His eyes dance, and he cups my cheek. “I said all of that and you don’t think I want another chance with you, Bella bee?”

I don’t have any idea how to reply to that.

How to put into words what that gentle, teasing question does to me.

Because I want that so badly—to stay here, to learn him again, to keep him forever.

Because I’ve wanted it from the moment I broke us to give West a chance at his future.

But I don’t have a chance to ponder my reply, to speak it out loud.

Because Quinn’s voice echoes from inside the house.

“Mom! West! You coming?”