Page 8 of Make You Mine

He hardly spares me a look on his way out the door.

I’m in such shock at the abrupt and cold treatment that I don’t even register Willow and Chelsea have come up behind me.

Willow’s finished her cereal and Chelsea has been thoughtful enough to grab Emmett’s stroller from the cupboard under the stairs.

“I’m sure he’s just stressed. Long commute, now he’s running late.

Men can be a bit blinkered when they’ve got extra weight on their shoulders.

” She eases Emmett out of my arms and lays him down in the stroller, fastening him into place.

“Still, I wonder if he’s forgotten how much you’re juggling.

Two little ones. The household. Relaunching your writing career. Your health. It’s a lot.”

“We manage just fine,” I say almost defensively, cheeks warming.

“Oh… of course you do. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.

I’m sure by this evening it’ll all be water under the bridge.

Once we’ve dropped Willow at school, I’ll see to the house and you’ll have the afternoon to yourself.

Get a bit of writing done, clear your head,” she says.

“Declan will sort whatever’s going on at work, and it’ll all be smoothed over before you know it. ”

I nod as we head out to take Willow to school, hoping that she’s right.

The second afternoon I’m left to get some writing done isn’t as successful as the first, but I still count it as a victory when I manage to finish another chapter. My gaze travels to the time at the upper righthand corner of my laptop screen and I decide to end a few minutes early.

I’ve been locked away in the office since noon.

Chelsea meant it when she said she had everything under control. We had lunch in the kitchen, then I fed Emmett, and she spent the rest of the afternoon taking care of things around the house.

When I emerge from my office, I find Chelsea and Emmett downstairs in the living room. Emmett is in the playpen, fussing with his stackable rings, while Chelsea is curled up in the armchair by the fireplace, reading a book.

“Get a good bit of writing done?” she asks, glancing up with a small smile.

I smirk in return. “I did, actually. Thanks. How’s he been?”

“Are you kidding? He’s been a perfect angel. Haven’t you, Emmie?”

Emmett shows off a gummy smile, then starts gnawing on one of the rings.

“Shall we head out to fetch Willow, then?” she asks.

“I can do it alone,” I say with a shrug. “You can duck out early if you’ve got things to do. I feel like I’ve already leaned on you enough today.”

“My schedule’s embarrassingly clear, I’m afraid,” she says, setting her book down on the armrest. “Though I’ll need to stop by Tesco. Pick up a ready meal or something like that.”

I hoist Emmett into my arms, the blue ring he’s been clutching falling to the floor. “Why don’t you have dinner with us? You heard Declan earlier. He probably won’t make it home on time. We’ve got plenty of room… and food.”

An uncertain smile flickers across her face. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s not a bother. Consider it a thank you for all your help the past couple of days. I’m sure Willow would love it, too.”

Fast forward a couple hours, that’s exactly what we do.

We wind up ordering delivery from a local Indian restaurant and enjoy a casual dinner getting to know each other on a more personal level. I tell Chelsea the story of how I got my first book deal while she explains how she got into nannying.

“My sister Claire was older than me, and when she married off, she had the most adorable little boy. I loved him to bits. I volunteered to babysit any chance I got. But then her husband landed a new job and they moved away,” she explains.

“Oh, really? Where to?”

“Erm, Cardiff. I missed looking after littlies so much, I got into nannying properly. I hope to have my own someday.”

“I’m sure you will.”

I open a bottle of wine for us while allowing Willow to sip fruit punch from a stemless glass. She boasts about how it makes her feel like a big girl as she sips on her berry-hued liquid just like us.

A glass in, Emmett falls asleep in his play swing and Willow turns her attention to her favorite cartoon on TV. The topic of discussion between me and Chelsea changes to men and relationships.

“So how did you two meet then?” she asks, flashing a small smile. “Dashing Irishman and gorgeous American like yourself? I’m a sucker for hearing how couples find each other.”

“It was at a beachside bar,” I answer with a laugh. “He saw me drinking with a friend and decided to approach. I’m normally not the type to give out my number—or accept dinner invites from random Irishmen—but I got good vibes from him. We went on a few dinner dates, and what can I say? We clicked.”

My stomach ripples with butterflies as I think back to that time.

It seems like so long ago, but it’s only been seven years. Things between us felt so fresh and explosive; we were still so young and open to the future. We had no clue that our future would even include each other, much less marriage and two kids…

Chelsea sighs dreamily. “Sounds romantic.”

“It really wasn’t,” I laugh. “He bought me a pina colada.”

“Sunburns and coconuts—what more can you want?” She laughs with me, downing the last of her second glass.

I grab the bottle of merlot and top off her glass, emptying the rest into my own. “The chemistry between us was insane. But I made him wait for it. Two whole months. It was torture, but when we finally slept together?” I let out a breathy noise of satisfaction. “There are no words.”

Her eyes widen. “That good, was it?”

“You know how it is when there’s all that pent-up tension with someone,” I giggle, the wine making me looser and tipsier than I probably should be. “What about you? Anyone special right now?”

Chelsea’s cheeks tint a rosy pink. She blinks, looking away bashfully. “I’ve got a bit of a crush, but it’s more wishful thinking than anything else.”

“You never know. Stranger things have happened. He might feel the same.”

“You could be right,” she says, a hint of hope in her voice. “He might just need a little convincing…”