I knew first-hand it was possible to do both, to successfully juggle raising a family and a career, I’d done it. Being born at the very end of the sixties and leaving school and college in the eighties, my generation was probably one of the first where it was considered normal to return to work after having a baby. But, despite my career as an interior designer being successful, I still considered my kids my greatest achievement, and as grown up and independent as they now are, I really hope the breakdown of my marriage, and whatever it is I’ve started here with Gabe, doesn’t impact them too greatly.

  On a tangent, I then wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I’m waking up after a night of the most mind-blowing sex of my life. I should be happy, ecstatic even. Instead, I’m feeling scared and a little sad.

  Scared of what the future holds, sad for what I’ve left behind.

  I need to find a job; I need an income. I genuinely believe Gabe when he says he’s happy to support me until I get my shit sorted, but I need to get that shit sorted sooner, not later. I can’t keep living on somebody else’s handouts, especially a man I’ve just met.

  The fact that I’ve only just met him raises all sorts of other questions, the first being, what the fuck am I doing? Right now, I don’t have a definitive answer. We’ve been landed with a situation that we’re both trying to figure out and make the most of. The thing for me is, despite everything, Jason, my kids, my financial situation, my issues, despite all of that, I like him. I like him a lot, and as sure as I know to never eat yellow snow, I already know Gabriel Wild has the ability to break my bruised, battered, and very fragile heart into a million tiny pieces, and it terrifies me.

  Then there’s the end of my marriage to deal with. There’s no going back for me. I know that with absolute certainty, but still, the thought of what I once had, what Jay and I built together and worked so hard for, is over, done, and a divorce looming still makes me sad.

  I don’t want him back. There will never be any kind of reconciliation. Right now, I’m happy never to see or speak to him again, and that in itself is sad. After almost twenty-seven years together, twenty-four of them married, just like that, it’s over, and I’m waking up in bed with another man after a night of wild sex. Wild sex, despite my sadness, I manage a little chuckle, which leads to a snort at my own joke.

  Gabriel shifts. I’m lying in the recovery position, and he’s pressed in tight behind me—one of his legs over and between mine, his arm over me, his palm cupping my boob.

  He’d fucked me into oblivion last night. After spa, shower, and bed sex I’d slept soundly the entire night. No dreams, good or bad, and despite the constant whir of emotions churning inside me, I actually feel rested.

  I’m desperately in need of the bathroom but unsure if I’m yet ready to leave the warmth of the bed and the sensation of Gabe’s naked body pressed against mine.

  Right on cue, his thumb brushes across my nipple before his hand moves slowly down my body. As he reaches my belly, I instinctively breathe in, hoping to make it flatter. Screwing my face up and squeezing my eyes tightly together, I cringe and hope that he didn’t notice, while feeling grateful that I’m lying mostly on my front, not my side.

  His hand stills just below my belly button, his palm settling there as he takes in a deep breath while rubbing his nose into my hair.

  I shift slightly, my eyes meeting his over my shoulder, and damn, he is so fucking pretty. Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I allow the swoon I’m hit with to wash over me and just enjoy the dizziness it causes. I blink a couple of times before focusing on the blue eyes focused on mine, and smile.

  “Good morning.” His scratchy morning voice hits me right in the chest. A warmth moves through me. An appreciation of how lucky I am to be here, experiencing this. That after everything, I have this, I have him.

  “You smell delicious,” he adds, his nose again brushing against my hair, his breath on my ear and neck. That sends warmth to other parts of me, and I smile through the urge to close my legs and squeeze everything between them tight.

  “Good morning,” I respond. “I smell of you.”

  The arm that’s not over me slides under me. He pulls my back into his front, and buries his face in the side of my neck.

  “Yeah? Well, I like the smell of you smelling of me.” He gives me a squeeze as he talks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  I get a rush of something inside me. It leaves me with that Christmas morning feeling. The one you only get for a few years, in those years when you truly believe. My parents always told us if we didn’t go to sleep, we might see Father Christmas, and he’d know and wouldn’t leave us any presents. I used to squeeze my eyes so tightly shut Christmas Eve night that I’d end up with a headache. I’m one of four kids, and we’d all come down the stairs and approach the closed living room door nudging each other and whisper asking, ‘did you look?’ ‘Did you go to sleep in time?’ ‘Did you see him?’

  Just to add to the tension, my dad would always pause at the door, turn and look at each of us and say, ‘Hmm, not sure if he’s been. Are you sure you’ve all been good?’

  Of course, there were always presents when we walked into the front room, way too many usually.

  I’ve spent almost a year living every day feeling like I did before my dad opened that door. Sick with nerves, wondering if I’d been good enough for Jay to come home and not want to grab hold of me or hurl insults.

  But that feeling, the way I would vibrate with excitement and anticipation when I saw all of the presents. My head feeling dizzy as I wondered what was inside them and which one I should open first. That’s what I’ve been experiencing since Gabe showed up at Jo’s, then brought me home with him.

  “Ren?”

  I’m so lost in my thoughts, despite being hyper-aware of his presence, I jump at the sound of Gabe’s voice.

  “What?”

  “Give it up.”

  “What?” I turn my head fully towards him and ask in confusion. Moving me to my back, he rolls on top of me. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he uses his thumbs to brush my hair from my face, making me aware of what a mess it must be after spa, shower, bed sex, and finally sleep, all with wet hair.

  “The overthinking; give it up. We did what we did, there’s no going back now.”

  Not being able to resist the dark stubble covering his jaw, I raise my hand and scrape my fingernails over it.

  “I don’t want to go back. My brain’s just trying to process and catch up.”

  His eyes dart over my entire face as he studies me, probably searching for the truth in my words.

  “I’m doing okay, I promise. I’ve just had so many seeds of doubt planted over the past year, it’s probably going to take a while to harvest those crops and for my brain to be left fallow.”

  “Good. I’ve no idea what you just said, but it sounds good.”

  “Arable farming. It’s something I was taught in geography right before we left England. A fallow field is one the farmer harvests, then ploughs and leaves to rest for a year or two so it can recover. The analogy. . .”

  “Is a pretty good one for so early on a Sunday morning.”

  “Right? I think so too. No idea where I plucked it from, but maybe I should consider a career as a poet or creative writer if no one wants my interior design services?”

  He screws up his face and gives his head a small shake.

  “I’m thinking not. Just brush up on your interior design skills and put yourself back out there.”

  “Fair enough, but right now, I need to put myself in the loo before I wet the bed.”

  “You know a full bladder is supposed to make a woman’s orgasm much more intense? If you let me plough your field. . .”

  “Seriously? My field has been thoroughly ploughed. Ploughed to the point that I’m not even sure I’m going to be able to walk to the toilet.”

  He waggles his brows at me and talks through a grin that lights up his entire face.

  “You fucking loved it and didn’t complain once that I was hurting you.”

  “I did love it. You’ll get no complaints from me, Mr Sex God Surfie Dude, but that does not negate the fact, I’m still not sure if I can walk.”

  My stomach chooses that moment to growl really loudly.

  “We didn’t eat much yesterday,” I whisper.

  “I ate you,” Gabe says with a wink which brings on an onslaught of fanny flutters. Having no other response, I smile and shake my head.

  Gabe rolls off me, taking the sheet with him. The harsh morning sun glares down on my exposed body, and I fight every insecure atom of my being not to react.

  “Hurry up and go to the toilet, Ren. If you don’t, I’m coming back over there, then I’m gonna fuck you.”

  I turn my head to look at where he’s now lying on his back staring up at the ceiling.

  “Thank you,” I whisper quietly.

  “For what?” He turns to meet my gaze and asks.

  “It’s going to take a while till all of those seeds of self-doubt are harvested, and all of my old insecurities stop rearing their ugly heads. I knew I was a mess. . .”

  “Only because he got in your head and made you that way,” he interrupts me and says.

  Rolling onto his side, he reaches out his hand and rests his palm on the side of my face.

  “He did, I know that, and I know I need to stop overthinking every thought that goes through my head. I used to have so much confidence, and I know if I dig deep, I can find that part of me again, and you’re helping me do that, you’re making me want to do that, to be that person again, and all of that is making me wonder, what was I thinking? Why did I stay and let him fuck with my mind like that? Why didn’t I get out sooner?”

  His thumb brushes back and forth over my cheek, his tongue darts out and swipes at first his bottom lip, then his top. He leans in, kisses me oh so gently on each of my cheeks, then my nose, and finally my mouth.

  “Because you’ve been waiting for me.”

  His words are almost a whisper, as gentle as his kiss, but he says them with absolute conviction. He says them in a way that I wonder why it’s not blatantly obvious. Like it’s a fact, and my whole life has brought me to him; has led me across the world and through a marriage, all so I could find him.

  I fight not to drown in the ocean of his blue eyes as tears burn at my own.

  “How are you still single?” I ask around the lump in my throat.

  “Because I’ve been waiting for you.”

  That might just be the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. He’s truly just made my day - my life even.

  “You’re too much, you know that, right? Too gorgeous, too perfect, too. . .”

  He cuts me off with a shake of his head.

  “I think we established last night that I’m not perfect, Ren. Like I said, there will be times I fuck this up, but always try and remember that I’m not him. I know this is hard for you, but what you've come to accept as normal really isn’t. It’s going to take time, I get that, but please, have a little faith in me. I want this to work. I’ve never wanted that, didn’t think it was something I needed in my life, and then there was you, and now I feel the way I do, and I want you in my life. I don't know what else to say, how to explain myself better.”

  “You don’t have to. I get what you’re saying,” I tell him.

  “Do you? Because I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in your head right now, but just know this, while you’re sorting through the shit you’ve got to sort through, I’ll be right here. I’ve got you, Lauren. You don’t have to deal with any of that shit on your own.”

  He leans in and kisses my nose again.

  “Now go use the bathroom. I’m gonna go sort us out some breakfast.”

  Chapter 25

  Gabe

  When I head back into the kitchen after breakfast and a shower, Lauren isn’t on her stool at the bench where I left her adding numbers and setting up her new phone.

  After checking out on the deck and not finding her, my gut tightens as I begin to wonder if she’s left, and my eyes dart to the dining table and benchtop for a note.

  “Gabe, can you come down here,” she calls from downstairs, and I move my bottom jaw from side to side to loosen it before I start moving.

  I find her in the doorway of Ava’s bedroom leaning against the frame.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, coming to a stop beside her.

  “I wasn’t being nosey; I brought some towels down to do some washing, and the door was open.”

  I move to stand and wrap my arms around her waist from behind. Pulling her against me, I rest my chin on her shoulder.

  “Ren, you live here, you can open any door you like. This one is usually closed because I can’t stand to look at the mess she leaves it in most of the time.”

  She doesn’t respond to my comment but turns her head to look at me after a few seconds of silence.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Just under a year.”

  “And how old’s Ava?”

  “Twelve, she’ll turn thirteen in September.”

  “Did you let her decorate this room?” She turns back to take in the space, and I cast my own eyes over it. Her walls are painted in the standard builders white the rest of the downstairs of the house is painted. Three sliding doors cover the built-in robe along one wall, a pink, metal framed single bed sits against the other, a bedside table with a lamp on it beside the bed. There are a couple of posters on the wall, a pile of clothes on the bed, shoes scattered under it.

  It’s a big room, and as I stand here and take in what I imagine Lauren is seeing, I realise it’s a bit lacking.

  “I just sent Dani out shopping for girlie stuff and told Ava she could do what she likes with the walls, but, as you can see. . .” I shrug and trail off.

  “Dani?” She questions.

  “Daniella, my sister.”

  Her head moves next to mine as she nods. Tilting her head, she aims her eyes and a small smile my way.

  “Tell me about her?”

  “Ava?”

  “No, the woman walking her dog on the beach out there.”

  Despite her sarcastic tone and knowing full well I can’t even see the beach from here, I still look out the window before slicing my narrowed eyes back to Lauren. She rolls hers before shaking her head.

  “Did anyone ever tell you. . .”

  “That sarcasm is the lowest form of wit? Yes, but I’m funny in other ways so I can get away with it.”

  We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds. I consider kissing her smart mouth, but we’re standing in the doorway of my daughter’s bedroom, and kissing will likely lead to other things I don’t want to be doing, or even thinking about, anywhere near my daughter’s bedroom.

  “Yes,” Lauren finally says. “Tell me about Ava.”

  “Despite everything, for Ava’s sake, me and Lena try and keep things civil. We mostly achieve this by having as little to do with each other as possible, and when we do have any kind of direct communication, she makes it blatantly obvious, she hates my fucking guts.”

  “Wow,” she huffs out what I have learned is her go-to response for varying situations.

  “Yeah, look, I was a dick. I was twenty-three and clueless, but I’ve always wondered why she wanted more from me, why she agreed to get married. But anyway. . . Ava.” I move from behind Lauren into the bedroom, shift the pile of clothes and soft toys out of the way, and sit on my daughter’s bed.

  “Ava has never known life any other way, so she’s grown up spending every other weekend and half her school holidays with me. She’s a good kid, doing great at school, loves anything and everything One Direction, and is growing up way too fast for my liking.”

  “Who does she look like?”

  It hits me then, I still haven’t found frames for all the photos Dani had printed off for me, so Lauren wouldn’t yet have seen an image of Ava.

  “She’s a mix of both of us—my olive skin and blue eyes, Lena’s blonde hair. We’re both fairly tall, so she gets her height from both of us. She’s a lot more outgoing than her mum, which, believe me, is a good thing. She’s sharp, funny, probably a lot like my sister.”

  I notice Lauren smiling at me at the same time she rubs at her chest with her palm as she watches me talk.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Missing my kids, but love seeing the way you light up when you talk about yours,” she says with a shrug, completely throwing me off what I was saying.

  “Carry on,” she orders.

  I clear my throat.

  “Right now, I think the hormones are kicking in as she’s clashing with her mum a lot. She can’t go anywhere without Sophie, her sidekick, and I’ve noticed she’s started wearing a little bit of makeup.”

  “Is Lena married or with anyone else?”

  “Yeah, she remarried around five years ago. She has a three-year-old and another one on the way.”

  “Did you never want more kids?”

  I spin a pink and purple octopus around in my hands as I think about my answer to that question.

  “If I’d have been in the right relationship, found the right girl, then yeah, I would’ve liked more kids. But it didn’t happen. I’ve never really put myself out there enough to let it happen. I’ve never been in love. . .”

  “Never?” She questions.

  “Nope,” I answer with a headshake.

  “I lost my mum when I was eleven. It broke my heart, probably to the point it’ll always be that way and I just never wanted to experience that kind of pain, or loss again. Maybe that makes me a coward.” I shrug and shake my head as I speak. “I dunno? If it does, I’ll take it on the chin. I was at a point where I accepted that it would always just be me and Ava, but then you happened, and now look at me. Falling all over myself to spill my guts, keep you close, and breaking all the rules I’ve lived by over the years. And guess what?”

  I meet her eyes from across the room, where she’s still leaning against the door frame.

 

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