“I’ll take them.”
After paying for my goodies, I headed out, the young girl following me and flicking the latch behind me with a click we both heard. With a shake of my head, I went and climbed back in my SUV and headed home, unable to shake the feeling of how dangerous that situation had been. Anyone could’ve walked in then. She was a young girl, all alone, completely unaware of her surroundings. She needed to be more careful. Pay more attention.
Thankfully when I reached my front door and tried to turn the handle nothing happened. Glad to see it was locked, I dug my keys from my pocket, careful not to drop dessert before pushing open the door.
“Honey, I’m home,” I announced coming inside, the scent of something rich and delicious assaulting my senses.
“Hi!” Charlotte called out from where she was perched at the kitchen counter looking like every man’s dream. And mine.
With her long legs folded, cased in those tight black yoga pants she strutted around in, the ones that made her peach-shaped ass look addictively smackable. She had her hair piled up in a messy bun, pieces escaping everywhere and her reading glasses on. Why I was so damn turned on by those glasses, I couldn’t explain. She was reading something and drinking a glass of wine. The sexiest thing about the whole picture was how perfect it was. Charlotte was being one hundred and ten percent perfect. Her completely authentic self and she was doing it in my home. I needed to make it our home. I mean, she already had a key and was here most of the time anyway but there were nights when she still went back to her place. They were the nights I hated the most. I tossed and turned and slept like shit.
“Something smells good,” I commented, dumping my stuff on the couch, and moving toward her.
“It’s lasagne.” She shrugged. “I needed comfort food.”
“That doesn’t sound good?” I told her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and stealing an innocent kiss.
“Just one of those days, I guess.”
Charlotte’s job sucked. I mean, she kicked ass at it, and she was the perfect person to do it, but as a profession, dealing with sick kids, there was no wonder some days she just came home and collapsed. I was just grateful she let me be the one she collapsed on and let me hold her until the pain stopped suffocating her. Fuck I was a lucky guy.
“Well, maybe these could help a bit?” I offered, pushing the cardboard box of macarons onto the table.
“You didn’t?”
“I did. They were still open when I drove past. It must’ve been a sign.”
“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” she teased, standing up and padding into the kitchen, opening the oven.
“If you want to get changed, I’ll get this served.”
“Smells amazing.”
“Confession?”
“Uh oh.”
“I didn't make it.”
“You didn't?”
“Well, I did. But I had help.”
“That’s okay.”
“And when I say help, I mean, Mrs. Neal made it and told me how to reheat.”
“I’m sure you did a great job. Let me change.”
After stripping off, I tossed my clothes in the hamper and ducked into the bathroom to wash my face. Even though I was bone-weary tired, I had to keep pushing for another couple of hours. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I was just tugging my hoodie over my head when my phone rang. A number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello Luke Steele?”
“Mr. Steele. This is Doctor Williams. My apologies for calling so late,” she began formally and I dropped onto the edge of the bed. Even though I’d been waiting for this call, at least I think it was this call, now it was here, I wasn’t ready.
“No, no. You’re fine.”
“I have your test results back. Unfortunately, you’re not a match for Isla.” I could hear her still talking but nothing she was saying was sinking in. It was all just noise. All I could think, all I could hear were her words ‘not a match’. Not a match. I’d needed to be a match so damn badly. But I wasn’t. And there wasn’t one fucked up thing I could do about it.
