Page 14

A fter we made a lot of progress on her science fair project, Violet helped me cook dinner.

I opened all the windows to let in the cool autumn air.

That night, we sat together to eat the gluten free spaghetti we'd made, as well as some delicious homemade garlic bread Sloane had baked earlier in the week. Violet kept the conversation going and Liam even cracked a small smile at one of her jokes. I didn’t try to force anything. I listened and took it all in.

The kids were already fast asleep by the time Sloane came home.

I didn’t need to hear more than the way the door clicked shut behind her to know she’d had a brutal shift.

I heard it in the way she trudged into the living room, her movements slow and defeated.

She rubbed at the back of her neck like the weight of the whole damn world had settled there.

She didn’t say much; a low “Hey” before heading straight to the shower.

While she was gone, I ensured the kitchen was spotless from mine and Violet's earlier cooking.

I threw together a small charcuterie board and poured Sloane a glass of red wine, a vintage I remembered she used to love before life got too loud and bitter.

I didn't do this out of romance, but genuine care; something to take the edge off if she wanted it.

When she came out, her hair damp and skin pink from the scalding hot shower, she paused in the hallway.

The shirt and jeans she wore clung to her in all the right ways as her eyes flicked from the glass to me.

Her gold flecked hazel eyes nearly distracted me from the fact she was still not comfortable enough to be in her night clothes around me.

Not that I could blame her. It stung, but it was fair.

As I stared at her, I knew this wasn’t her trying to punish me. It was her protecting herself. She was drawing a line in the sand that said we're not there yet. Maybe we never would be again?

Fuck me, I missed that version of her. The way she’d shuffle out of the bathroom in soft cotton shorts and one of my old T-shirts, hair tangled from the shower, eyes heavy with sleep. That was when she was most beautiful, unguarded, effortless, and mine.

Now, she wore her clothes like armor and I was the reason for it.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft, almost uncertain. “Did you have a good night with the kids?”

I nodded. “Yeah. They were really great.” My voice cracked slightly at the end, and I hoped she didn’t notice.

She smiled. “Yeah. They are.”

I gestured to Violet’s backpack on the bench.

“I signed her field trip form. Slipped some cash in for lunch. I hope that’s okay.

There’s pasta in the fridge and I made sure to grab the brand you recommended.

Honestly, it wasn’t too bad though I think we had better luck with lentil pasta than the chickpea. ”

I was rambling about other items, about mundane things that didn’t matter; bills or groceries or the chance of rain tomorrow.

When I turned to look at her, I found her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at me with something unreadable on her face.

I replayed everything I had said in my head, worried I'd blurted out something stupid. "Um… Sloane?"

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice filled with playful accusation.

“What?” I asked, taken aback by her mischievous tone after weeks of stoicism.

She shook her head and let out a short laugh.

“You’re… different.” She sounded out the word deliberately, as if she knew it wasn't the most accurate word but couldn't think of a better one. “I don’t know if this is all a facade or an act, or if you’ve hit some kind of wall, or, fuck, Levi… it’s like someone swapped you out for a better version of yourself. ”

I took a deep breath as my heart thundered.

She'd practically hit the nail on the head and I was thinking of how best to reply.

“I’m not faking it. I know that I've made mistakes.

Huge mistakes. And if I lose you all ag-" I stopped myself from saying again .

My voice shook as I said, “I think I would die if I lost you all. "

There was the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth despite the fact I'd laid bare my heart before her. “You dying would save me the trouble of killing you," she said, lifting a brow ever so slightly.

I laughed and looked down at my hands, stared at the worn indent on my ring finger that hadn’t yet faded.

My ring was in my wallet, tucked into the smallest pocket like a secret I didn't deserve to bear. I hadn’t worn it since the affair and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever earn the right to put it back on.

Not until Sloane told me to. Not until she looked me in the eye and said I could.

I smirked in spite of myself. “Yeah. I suppose that's true.”

She stretched then, her arms lifting above her head, fingertips brushing the side of the doorframe.

The movement was unthinking and natural but it undid me.

Her shirt lifted ever so slightly to reveal a sliver of her taut stomach, one of my favorite places to kiss her.

Her body curved effortlessly into the stretch, and heat rose in me. Sharp and immediate.

I had the violent intention, the reckless, hungry urge, to close the space between us.

To press her back against the doorframe, pin her there with my hands at her waist, and kiss her until the past fell away.

I could see it. Feel it. Taste it in the space between us…

but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Not when everything between us was still raw and fragile.

Not when one rash movement could snap the delicate threads I was weaving.

Instead, to focus my attention elsewhere, I said, "I would do anything for you and the kids."

"Oh, Levi… I've heard that song before."

"What?"

Then she let out a small sound; a half sigh, half laugh that drove me wild. “Well,” she said, her voice laced with irony, but softer than before, “You have some common songs you sing. That one is practically a greatest hit by now.”

I swallowed hard, grounding myself to the floor beneath me. Her tone was playful with an edge to it; a glint of memory and of hurt dressed up as humor. She was teasing me, yes, but also reminding me: she’d heard it all before. The compliments. The apologies. The promises that had turned into dust.

I asked, “Are you compiling them into an album?”

“Oh, no. I stopped keeping track somewhere between ' I’ll Do Better Next Time' and 'You’re the Only One I Want.'” Her voice was light, taunting .

That made me laugh. Fuck, this woman would be the death of me.

It was the same magnetic current I remembered from all those years ago, before kids, exhaustion and silence started crowding the space between us.

I had forgotten, somewhere in the haze of growing up, of losing ourselves in the routines and responsibilities, how much I enjoyed bantering with her.

How her sarcasm had always been flirtation in disguise, how she wielded wit like a blade and laughed while she cut me barely enough to keep me craving more.

Right now she wasn’t twisting the knife of everything I had done.

It was a quiet reminder that what fragility lay between us was still there, and my sinister little wife relished watching me squirm.

I was the one stumbling through the minefield while she got to stand steady, clearly amused at the wreckage I made trying to put everything back together.

There was a malicious beauty in it. How calm she was in that moment.

How much power she had in her silence, in the small curve of her lips that told me she knew.

She knew what she was doing. She knew exactly how much I still burned for her.

Control.

Balance.

She knew I loved the chase. The way she’d narrow her eyes as if she could see right through me, daring me to pursue.

I used to live for that look, the fiery heat of challenge in her eyes, before we'd melt into one another once I closed the distance.

Not just claiming her but earning her. Her fire, her body, her trust.

I smiled and took her invitation. “Then maybe it’s time for a new track.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, gaze meeting mine across the space like a dare. “Hmm… we’ll see if it charts.”

I grinned. “Good to know we’re both still pretty lame. ”

Her laughter, unexpected and unguarded, spilled into the kitchen, and my breath caught.

I’d forgotten how much I missed that sound.

Not just the laugh, but the ease behind it.

The glimpse of the woman I used to fall asleep beside, the one who could meet my sarcasm beat for beat, roll her eyes, and still somehow soften the air in a room simply by being in it.

Then she stepped into the kitchen and brushed past me so close that I felt the heat of her skin right before being hammered with her unmistakable scent: lavender, warm honey, and sharp citrus.

Her scent was one I had known for nearly my entire life; I was convinced I could sniff her out like a bloodhound.

Yet, somehow, this time it caught me off guard.

My body responded before my brain could catch up.

Every nerve sparked to life. I watched her move, watched her hips sway in that familiar rhythm, and I felt the pleasurable ache of my cock hardening.

I cleared my throat and said, "I really didn’t understand you back then.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, amused, disappointed. “No. You really didn’t.”

She paused near the counter and placed her hands against it as if she needed it to anchor her. The air between us grew taught and electric with the unspoken. With desire. With need.

She looked back at me over her shoulder and said, “The kids are lucky to have you." Casually, almost like an afterthought. It wasn’t sarcastic… only her quiet truth and maybe even reluctant admiration.