by Ally Blake
Rafe stopped her there, with a staying hand. “I have provisos.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. The edges of her bubble of pure happiness starting to wobble. “Such as?”
“I never wanted kids. You know that. I was also nineteen when I made that declaration. Janie was a nine-year-old wildling, still under my care, my father was in as dark a place as he’d ever been and I had no clue if my mother was even alive. Back then, family was a four-letter word.” He stopped, picked a stray fleck of peeling vinyl from the dash. “Now, things are different. I’m different. I’m settled. I have structure in my life. Success. Businesses, I’ve discovered over the past few days, that can actually run without my micromanagement.”
When he paused, Sable took a moment before speaking. For she felt, right to the very marrow, that she was a breath away from feeling the first true spark of her dream coming true and she didn’t want to ruin it.
“What are you saying exactly?”
“If we do this, we do it together.”
A sudden vision filled her head of them “doing it together”, making her mouth go dry, and her palms turn damp. “Mmm?”
The edge of his mouth flickered. “Not like that,” he said, his voice rough and raw.
Then something flashed over his face that made her wonder if he was imagining the same thing she just had after all.
“I won’t walk away, Sutton. I would have to be involved.”
“Oh,” she said, when she meant, No, no, no, no, no.
This wasn’t part of the plan! The whole point was, she was doing this on her own. She was finally claiming agency over her life.
She should have known he wasn’t the kind of man who would simply walk away.
You did know, a little voice piped up in the far reaches of her subconscious. A little voice that sounded far too smug. She could all but hear it clapping happily at this turn of events.
She shook it off. She couldn’t possibly have been sure of anything after all this time.
Except him. You were always sure of him.
She pushed the voice deep, deep down inside and said, “Involved?”
“I can’t imagine having a child in the world knowing I chose to be uninvolved.” A pause, then, “I know what it feels like to be that kid, Sutton. And so do you.”
Sable blinked so hard she had to stop in order to disentangle her lashes. “Then again it was the parents who stuck with us who made our childhoods harder still.”
She let that sit for a beat.
“Kids are clever. They know when a parent is there under protest. But I won’t be that parent. I’ll be the mum who loves their kid so deeply they never doubt it. Who shows them and tells them, every single day, how wanted they are. How important. How loved. You know I have that in me, Rafe. You know how it feels to be loved by me.”
Oh, God... She heard the words before she could stop them. Saw the heat and the hurt ravage his gorgeous face.
“My point is, if a child is seen, heard, guided, understood, and wanted so patently, surely it doesn’t matter if they have one parent, or ten?”
Rafe’s gaze was hard on hers as he listened. Really listened. No dismissing her, or deciding instantly that his opinion mattered more. Considering the myriad people she’d had to deal with in her life who did the opposite, it was a hell of a thing. And while bigger things were at stake here, she found another piece of herself falling into his hands.
“What was it you said the other day?” she said. “That romantic vision you had of me heading out into the world and—how did you put it?—demanding more. Well, the truth is, until the past few months I’d demanded very little for myself. It was all so foreign, so fast, so lonely—I went along with anything offered. So, this is me demanding more. Demanding I do this on my own.”
Her final words were super husky. But what could she do? There was no hiding this was fraught. No hiding this was emotional. That they were both on the verge of something life-changing.
“And this is me, demanding that if we do this, we do it together. You don’t get to disappear this time. You don’t cut me out.”
The word again hovered in the tense air between them.
She’d come with a plan, with bullet points, and preparedness. And oodles of rediscovered hope. Her expectations higher than any sane person had the right to feel. Now she wavered between panic and possibility. Disappointment and utter joy.
Rafe was offering up her dream. With addenda.
The next step, the next yes—or no—was up to her.
“So what do you say?” said Rafe, his voice wry. “Initial thoughts are fine.”
Sable breathed out a laugh as Rafe tossed her the line she’d already used once on him.
And she said, “Yes. It’s a yes. Yes, please. And thank you. And, oh, my God, I can’t believe this is actually happening!”
“You’re telling me.”
Sable laughed again. “I imagined this moment so many times, certain I’d be leaping for joy. But instead I feel like I might never stop shaking. This is a big thing, Rafe.”
“About as big as things get. Shaking is smart. Parenthood should be humbling.”
“Humbling.” He was right. Right and good and strong and generous. She couldn’t wait to see how all that translated into a brand-new little person in the world. “Can you imagine? A girl with your eyelashes?”
“A girl with your terrible sense of direction.”
“Yikes. A boy with your sense of justice.”
“A boy with your terrible sense of direction.”
She grinned. He grinned back. And she felt it. Like that arrow on her wrist, right through the chest.
Rafe reached out, found her fingers and entwined them with his. Then used them to draw her in. And she went to him. For it felt right, as right as any part of this plan, that they should seal their bargain on a single sweet kiss.
When she pulled away, he had a look in his eye that had her all but ready to ask why the hell they needed doctors. They knew how to make babies the old-fashioned way.
But her reach for independence, for autonomy, her determination to hold true to herself, could not waver.
Yet here they were. Holding hands and gazing into one another’s eyes.
She cleared her throat, took back her hand. And remembered she was sitting inside the car he’d spent years building. For her. It was all suddenly a little too much.
She hopped out of the car. Breathed deep. Happy to have a little distance from the man.
Though distance wasn’t a luxury that would last long.
Though they had to work out the exact details, saying yes would likely mean visits and catch-ups and holidays and birthdays, having his input, his help. Being connected to Rafe for the rest of her natural life.
It would also probably mean sticking in Radiance for a little while longer, at least. Meaning more time with her mother. Having to face the Wandas and Trudys out there. To accept that the people around here would care about her business whether she wanted them to or not.
She should have felt twitchy. Trapped.
Instead she felt her feet grounding. Her skittish heart settling.
She could handle waking to the sound of birdsong for a little longer. The crisp feel of autumn leaves crunching underfoot. The taste of home-made cherry pie and fresh whipped cream made from the milk of a cow living just down the road.
More than that, the juxtaposition of light and colour, foliage and bark, trickling streams and the violent beauty of a forest reclaiming fallen trees had relit the fire of inspiration inside her. Her daily walks with her old camera slung around her neck had reminded her, up close in full colour, why she’d taken up photography in the first place. Before it had become a job.
Back here at the site of the original crossroads, she was now officially taking her road less travelled. The road to m
otherhood. Not only settled on who her child’s father would be, but getting closer and closer to being sure of who her child’s mother was too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“THIS IS SUCH an LA thing to do,” Mercy grumbled.
Sable turned towards her mother, who was chopping vegetables with such vehemence she’d made sure to keep her distance.
“It’s so not,” Sable chided.
“So why are we doing this?”
“Asking friends over to dinner is a regular grown-up thing to do. It’s just that you were never a regular grown-up.”
The fact that she needed one of those “friends” and her mother to get along as well as possible because they soon might be related was something she didn’t plan to own up to just yet. The others she’d invited as mere window dressing.
It was a few days after the Big Yes, as Sable called it in her head, and Rafe was due back any minute. In the end he had driven the Pontiac to Melbourne, probably trying to keep things as normal on his end as possible. He’d also promised to see a specialist there that Sable had found. She hoped the invasive nature of what she was asking wouldn’t send him running for the hills.
His words came floating back to her, as they had over the past few days.
“If we do this, we do it together. You don’t get to disappear this time. You don’t cut me out.”
Clearly she’d taken on the “running for the hills” mantle in their relationship. Not that they had a relationship so much as an agreement. Terms still under construction.
She glanced at her mother. The queen of disappearing, walking away, cutting people out. “You okay over there?”
Mumble, mumble. “Can’t cook and she throws a dinner party.” Mumble, mumble.
“I lived with a world-famous chef for years. Chances are I picked up a thing or two.”
Mercy stopped, shot her a sharp look, thoughts tumbling over behind her vivid eyes. “And how was that?”
“Which part, exactly? LA? Living with a chef?”
“Take your pick.” Mercy waved a hand her way. The one holding a knife, naturally.
Sable found herself looking for her mother’s motivation in asking. The ulterior motive. For she never—ever—asked such open questions. But this was her future child’s grandmother. If there was ever a time to accept an olive branch, this was it.
“New York was great. But LA? The light was different somehow,” said Sable, starting slow, “which made everything feel a little unreal. For quite a while, actually. As to living with a chef...” She shrugged, feeling a little squally. She pressed her shoulders back. That part of her past was done.
While Rafe’s part in her past, present, future, would never be done.
There it was, that cheeky little voice again. It had been piping up more and more over the past few days.
She glanced at her mum to find Mercy still watching her. Carefully.
“Was he kind to you at all?” her mother asked, gripping the knife handle tighter.
Sable blinked. “Um, yes. Of course. I wouldn’t have stuck around so long if he wasn’t. He was...nice. He told me he loved me, but I think what he loved was my work. He raved about my photographs. But with me he was...detached. A complete turnabout from how intense everything had been back here. Which, at first, was a relief. But after a while I craved the rawness, the honesty, the directness I was used to.”
Sable nudged a hip against the bench.
“And while we may have different ideas on what my life should look like, I’ve never for a second doubted your love. So thank you. For that. I now know just how much better that is than the alternative.”
Mercy swallowed. Sable gave her mother a smile.
“Now get out of my kitchen,” Mercy said, quickly swiping a finger beneath each eye. “Before you do something truly LA and skip the salt and sugar.”
* * *
Everyone arrived en masse, right on the dot of seven, as if they’d all heard about dinner parties but this was their first. Stan, moustache trimmed for the occasion. Bear, looking twice as big as usual without his apron. The McGlinty brothers and their mother Carleen bearing bottles of wine. And lastly, Janie.
And Rafe.
Dark jeans, dark jacket, white T-shirt. Dark hair curling about his cheeks. Dark eyes boring into hers. He could have been the poster boy for bad boys who grew up good. And the moment his eyes met hers, Sable felt the floor dip under her.
“Hey, Sable!”
Sable flinched as Janie leapt in between them, giving her a huge squeeze. And a wink.
She knows, Sable thought, her heart suddenly hammering. How does she know? Did he tell her? Surely not.
Then Janie was off, heading into the kitchen. To Mercy. And soon the two of them were chatting and laughing like old friends.
Leaving Sable and Rafe. Alone in the entrance. Starlight poured through the gaps in the overhanging trees beyond, darkness and muffled laughter at Sable’s back.
“Hi,” she said, her hammering heart now at full gallop. Then she said it again, and felt instantly foolish.
Until Rafe’s hard-hewn face broke into a charged smile. Then she felt giddy, and fizzy, and seventeen years old, all over again.
Funny that she’d gone nearly ten years without seeing him, now a couple of days apart felt like an eternity. At least she hadn’t said I missed you, the words that she now held tight behind her lips.
Rafe leaned in, placed a hand on Sable’s lower back and murmured, “Can we find a minute tonight? Alone?”
“Everything okay?” she said, her voice more than a little husky, hoping his visit to the doctor had gone well. What if it hadn’t? What if he had issues too?
“Mmm-hmm,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”
She leaned back to catch his eye, and his hand turned with her till it rested on her waist. His thumb traced circles over the bone. His little finger slid up and down her hip.
“Fine,” she said, her voice a little croaky as she found herself all caught up in his dark eyes, his beautiful face, the way he looked at her as if he could keep doing so till the end of time. “There’s that word again.”
He laughed, a deep, sexy chuckle.
And she thought back to her conversation with her mother in the kitchen and wondered how she’d ever managed to convince herself that what she’d had with The Chef was in any way enough. When, on the other side of the world, once upon a time, she’d had this.
“Rafe!” Janie called.
And Sable jumped. Reminded herself that they were not what they were. What they were, what they would be, was to be affirmed. And that was what Rafe no doubt wanted to hash out tonight. In private.
Sable turned to find Janie holding a jar of pickles that looked as if they were a hundred years old, the younger girl all smiles as she took in how close her brother stood by Sable.
“I need your muscles, bro.”
“Later, okay?” Rafe said, his breath catching on her hair, and it was all she could do to stay upright. His hand slowly trailing over her stomach, leaving spot fires in its wake before he sauntered away.
Breathing out hard, Sable looked over to find her mother watching. A silhouette at the end of the hall. Her expression fierce. The knife gripped in her hand once more.
This was going to be a long night.
* * *
Sable sat diagonally across from Rafe at the dinner table, watching him over her glass of wine, while trying not to look as if she was watching him. Unable to keep her gaze from swinging his way.
Bear, seated beside her, said, “Hey.”
Sable flinched, her knee hitting the underside of the table. “Mmm?”
“Did Janie and your mother do all the cooking?”
Sable managed a nod.
“Then none of us are getting out of here alive.”
Sable lifted her g
lass in salute, and he clinked it with his, then turned to talk to Fred on the other side.
Leaving Sable to not look at Rafe. Her leg jiggling so hard under the table she worried it might jiggle right off.
For her mind had been spinning in circles ever since he’d walked in the door. Ever since she’d allowed herself to admit she’d missed him. Ever since she’d let herself acknowledge what she’d had with him, back then, was irreplaceable.
How had she possibly been strong enough to come back to him, put herself out there, open up, exposing her most vulnerable self, if not for the surety that a single moment of Rafe’s unbroken attention had always been worth more to her than an entire city of lights?
For she’d never loved anyone—anyone—the way she’d loved this man.
Loved. Past tense.
This, this feeling swarming over her right now, it was gratitude. Anticipation. With a healthy dash of lust. Not the other thing.
“Best dinner I’ve had in as long as I can remember,” Stan professed, his plate squeaky clean while the others were barely touched.
“You eat at mine three times a week,” Bear protested.
Stan shrugged, then sent a moony glance towards Mercy. “You’re a fine hostess.”
Mercy waved a hand his way. “It’s inedible. But thank you.”
“So, what are they going to call you when the bairn arrives? Nanna? Grandma?”
Leading Sable to spit a mouthful of wine fair across the table.
Carleen gasped, her white top covered in splatters of pink. The boys leapt up, fussing over her. Bear turned to Sable, his eyes near bugging out of his head. While Stan sank down into his seat.
How the heck did Stan know? Sable glanced around the table; Janie looked at her lap, while Ed looked chagrined. Did they all know? And how?
No. Not all. For Mercy glared at her like a thing possessed.
“You’re pregnant?” Mercy managed. “To him?” A long bony finger pointed towards Rafe, her tone acidic enough to burn through metal.
