Page 10 of Monstrosity
His hand doesn't move from my back, and I find myself holding my breath, afraid that any movement will break whatever spell has fallen over us.
"Dasha." My name is barely a whisper, but I hear something in it that makes my heart stutter.
I start to turn in the circle of his arm, wanting to see his face, wanting to know if this moment means what I think it means.
But before I can complete the motion, Cali's voice echoes down the stairs.
"Daddy! I can't find my purple socks!"
Rio's hand drops from my back like I've burned him, and he steps away so quickly I actually feel the loss of his warmth.
The moment shatters like glass, leaving me standing at the stove with trembling hands and a racing heart.
"I'll go help her," he says, his voice carefully controlled. But when I risk a glance at him, his jaw is tight and there's something almost painful in his expression.
"Rio—"
"I'll go help her," he repeats, already heading for the stairs. "The purple ones are probably in the laundry room."
And then he's gone, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the smell of eggs and coffee and the lingering warmth of his touch on my back.
I lean against the counter, pressing my palms to my heated cheeks.
This is insane.
We're adults—I'm thirty-nine, he's thirty-two—and we're acting like teenagers who don't know how to communicate.
But there's something there between us, somethingrealand electric and terrifying in its intensity.
The question is: what are we going to do about it?
Heavy footsteps on the stairs announce the return of the Rojas family chaos.
Florencia appears first, her long dark hair tangled from sleep, wearing the pink nightgown she insists on even though it's too small for her eight-year-old frame.
"Dasha!" She launches herself at my legs, hugging me tight. "Did you make the eggs the way I like?"
"Of course,mija." I smooth her hair back from her face, my heart clenching with love for this little girl who's become such an important part of my life. "Runny yolks for dipping, just like always."
Cali appears next, wearing the now-located purple socks and a triumphant grin. "Daddy found them! They were hiding under Florencia's bed."
"They were not hiding," Florencia protests with the dignity only an eight-year-old can muster. "They were just... visiting."
Rio follows them into the kitchen, and I pretend not to notice the way he carefully avoids making eye contact with me.
Instead, I focus on getting breakfast on the table, on the familiar chaos of morning routines, on anything except the way my skin still tingles where he touched me.
"Can we have pancakes tomorrow?" Cali asks, climbing into her booster seat. "With the Mickey Mouse shape?"
"We'll see," Rio says, ruffling her hair. "Depends on whether you eat all your eggs today."
"Ialwayseat my eggs," Cali protests. "Florencia's the one who feeds hers to the dog."
"We don't have a dog," Florencia points out logically.
"That's why the eggs disappear," Cali says with five-year-old wisdom. "The invisible dog eats them."
I can't help but laugh at their banter, the way they can turn anything into a grand adventure.
