Page 97 of Muddy Messy Love

Dressed, Cole returns, carrying my jacket. He holds it up, prompting me to slide in my arms. I oblige. Forever the gentleman, except in bed, where I’m glad he’s not. He turns me to face him. “What’s going on? Your thoughts are practically screaming.”

I bite my bottom lip, wrestling over whether to say anything. Who am I to impose conditions on his generous offer? But this is important. This ismine. Wincing, I lift my gaze to meet his. “My work needs to stand on its own. I don’t want special treatment just because they owe you a favour or something. That would be humiliating, and I’d feel like a fraud.”

Cole’s lips twitch. “I’ll make it clear there are no expectations. The merit of your work alone should be the focus. But, in my opinion, they’d be lucky to have you.”

His certainty, the reverence in his stare, the tenderness in his smile—they all fill my chest and threaten to explode like a grade-six science experiment. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I say, but in those two words swims so much more.

Hannah’s interior style can only be described as hippie boho. Macramé wall hangings with beaded tassels cloak her apartment walls. Mismatched painted furniture fills the lounge room, showcasing stacks of colourful books, tie-dye doilies, and more babushka dolls than I’ve ever seen. A bronze couch loaded with mandala cushions faces the television, and a hint of lavender lingers in the air.

It’s 2:00 a.m., and Cole disappeared ten minutes ago to check on Ella. I rise from the couch to search for him and find him standing at the end of the hall, leaning against Ella’s door frame,lost in a trance. I tiptoe towards him as quietly as boots allow, then slide my hand over his shoulder and peek inside. Tiny and cherubic, Ella lies fast asleep under frilly pink covers. Her little breaths float across the room, and I sigh at her sweetness.

She was a bundle of energy tonight. She clapped her pudgy hands, bounced on the couch, spilt spaghetti everywhere, and made us dance with Dorothy the Dinosaur no less than a dozen times. And let me tell you, Cole hasmoves. It’s official, he’d make an excellent Wiggle. An excellent father too.

“She’s angelic,” I whisper, glancing up at him. The light from the muted television bounces down the hall, painting Cole’s profile blue, and I spot moisture in his eyes.

He clears his throat. “That she is.” Stepping back, he slowly clicks her bedroom door shut, then turns to face me. His thumbs graze my cheekbones as he cradles my face. “She means the world to me.”

“I know,” I say. That was more than evident tonight, but still, sadness seems to ooze from him, thickening the air and clogging my throat. I swallow it down. “Where’s Ella’s dad?” I gently ask.

Cole’s jaw tightens, his hands drop away, and immediately, I regret prying. He delivers four hard words: “Where despicable creatures belong.” Then turns away and charges down the hall.

I trace his steps. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, you never do,” he snaps.

The icy words Taser my heart and shock me still.What just happened?

Cole halts at the end of the hallway with a heavy sigh, hangs his head, then turns back to face me. “I’m sorry. That was unfair.”

I swallow the rocks in my throat. “It’s okay.” But is it really? He seems to guard a circus tent full of secrets while knowing every humiliating one of mine. But what’s worse is feeling soincredibly close to him one minute and shut out the next. Smacking face first into an invisible shield is disorienting.

He grips the back of his neck with an agonised expression. “No, it’s not. Come here.”

Tentatively, I close the space between us, and the second I’m within reach, he wraps me in his arms. I rest my forehead against his collarbone, willing the panic to wash away.

He kisses the top of my head. “I can’t talk about it,” he says in a strangled voice. “But my reaction was shitty. Forgive me?”

Pulling back, I nod, my wide eyes glued to his. The air buzzes around us, dense and electric, as though a dark storm looms nearby. A hundred questions zip through my head, and his pain grips my heart, but it’s none of my business. He said as much. Not everyone can open up on my command, and why should they?

The sudden slam of a door makes us flinch.

“Oh,looovebirds. Where are you?” The slurred singsong voice drifts from the entrance, followed by a clang, rattle, smash, and, “Whoopsie.”

Cole and I look at each other. “She’s tanked,” I say.

“She doesn’t hold liquor well. One of the many reasons she’s safer at home on Saturday nights.” Cole rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch with a smile.

Thankful for the atmospheric change, I take his hand and tug him along. “Let’s stop her before she wakes Ella.”

As we approach the front door, Hannah stands in a sexy silver mini dress. Her glossy black heels lie askew, and her bare feet, covered in black thigh-high stockings, rest perilously close to ceramic shards scattered all over the floor. She grips the wall with one hand and leans into the mirror, fogging the glass with her breath. Sparkly fingernails drag down the side of her face as she admires her reflection. “Oh, fizzle sticks. I look like a zombie.”

She doesn’t. Even in her state—with her cinnamon waves nested in knots and mascara smudged under her eyes—lives dishevelled beauty.

Cole curses and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t move.” He grumbles about a dustpan, then disappears to the kitchen.

Hannah drops her gaze to the pale timber floorboards. “Oh crap, that was my favourite one.” Pouting at the broken orange vase, she tries to finger-comb her hair with no success. Her fingers catch in the tangles, so she gives up and instead pats the top of her head with both hands. It does zilch to fix her hair, and I bite back a laugh.

“Where’s my baby girl?” she asks with a floaty smile.

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