Page 9 of Forgotten Romance

My memories stray back to waking up next to Mack and his mouth breathing. He runs naturally cold, so without a doubt, every night, he’d steal the blankets, and by morning, he’d be wrapped in an impenetrable cocoon, and I’d be plastered up against him, trying to steal some of his warmth.

My hands run over the bedding, still lying neat and straight over the top of me, hating how unnatural it looks. I kick the blankets off and slide my feet into my waiting slippers before heading downstairs to turn the heat on. It’s cold enough this year that we could be heading for a white Christmas. We haven’t had one since before Van was born, and there’s nothing more magical to me than looking outside on Christmas Eve and seeing the snow fall.

It’s about the only time of year I can stand the stuff.

I get myself a coffee but make a conscious effort to leave my phone behind as I walk into the back room off the kitchen. We enclosed it when we first bought the house so we could make use of it in winter too. It has a clear view out to the woods behind the house, and to the left, I can make out one side of Kil Pen sitting high on the mountain.

I try to imagine this being my life. Waking early, drinking coffee in the quiet, no job to get to … Taking Mack and the kids out of that picture, it seems … boring. Fuck.

I bury one hand in my curls and sip my drink. This is the problem. I know that giving up my job and being here permanently would go a long way toward fixing things between us, but how do I do that when I know that it will make me miserable? At some point, I’d end up resenting him. I never, ever want that for us.

The thing is, I truly believe that to be in a strong relationship, you need to have strength in who you are outside of it. If you’re not your own person, with your own goals and life, what the hell can you offer your partner?

Do I wish I could travel less? Of course. But I’ve worked so damn hard for my career that I can’t throw it all away. Especially because we need the money I’m bringing in, and with how the economy is going down the shitter, I’m always terrified of the world Van and Kiera are inheriting. If I can build a sizable nest egg for them, it’s a sacrifice I have to make.

Even if my whole life’s trajectory outside of work makes me miserable as fuck.

I sigh and down my coffee, then head into the kitchen to get Kiera’s school lunch ready. I pull out clothes for her and Van, and then, on a whim, I grab Mack’s favorite work shirt and the pants that make his butt look edible and throw them in the dryer to warm up before he puts them on.

The shower comes on upstairs, letting me know he’s up too, and I smile a little over him expecting to come down and scramble around getting everything ready when I’m all over it. I might only be here half of the time, but when I’m here, I make sure to pull my weight.

I grab the clothes from the dryer and sneak upstairs into the room we used to share, ignoring the pang it sets off behind my sternum. Then, I fold his warm clothes and set them at the foot of his bed before sneaking out again.

It’s only a few minutes later that what can only be an elephant stampede thunders down the stairs. The TV comes on, and then Mack appears, hair wet, eyes reddened, probably from having as crappy of a sleep as I had.

His face lights up with a smile when he spots me, and then he surprises the hell out of me by setting his hand on my waist to get around me to the coffeepot. “Warm clothes and fresh coffee?” He moans sinfully. “Morning in heaven.”

Then my heart goddamn stops when he wraps an arm around me and presses his lips to my temple. Mack moves on like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, and maybe two years ago, it wasn’t, but that … it’s been so long since I’ve had casual affection from him that I’m momentarily stunned.

“Sleep well?” I ask, stumbling over my question.

“Like a baby.”

“Huh.” I glance at his bloodshot eyes and away again. It’s not my place to ask. “Busy day at work?”

Mack lights up like he always does, and I wonder if that’s what I look like when I talk about work. “We’ve got the mini lit program on this morning, and this afternoon, Wheedling and Needling had a room booked. I swear their knitting club is more for gossip than anything else. They could give Art a run for his money.”

“I’m surprised he’s not part of that club.” I chuckle, thinking of Art de Almeida getting wrapped up in yarn as the old ladies fuss over him.

“What are you going to do today?” Mack asks.

He doesn’t normally ask, so I hesitate before answering. I’ll probably check in on work, even though I don’t have to, but the last thing I want to do is ruin a good morning talking about something he hates. “I’ll go for a walk until my balls feel like they’re freezing off and then visit some people. Mind if I drop you at work and take the car?”

“Fine by me.”

We have breakfast together and get the kids dressed, and as Mack darts upstairs to finish getting ready, there’s a knock at the door.

I open it to find a cute redheaded guy huddled into the scarf around his neck.

“Davey, right?” he asks, smiling at me.

“Ah, right …” I look him over, getting a bad feeling about this. “Sorry, I don’t think I know you.”

“Oh, Luke.” He holds out his gloved hand, and I can’t do anything but shake it.

“Hey …”

He doesn’t look anywhere near as awkward as I feel as he scuffs his sneaker on our front step and glances into the house. “Is, uh, Mack home?”

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