“Let me help,” Will insists, reaching out as if to steady me. His hand hovers, unsure, and I feel this strange twinge ofvulnerability at the thought of accepting his assistance. I don’t want to be indebted to anyone—but especially not Will.
“Help?” I scoff. “I don’t rememberthatbeing part of the consultancy package.” But even as I say it, I’m aware of how petty it sounds. He’s offering assistance, not a business transaction.
“Come on, Sophie.” His tone softens. “Be reasonable. I can hear Julian crying. You must be going through hell right now.”
He’s not wrong. But if I let him help, what will it mean? Will Matt find a way to hold it against me somehow?
“I’m just fine,” I mutter under my breath, but the fight in me is fading fast.
“Look,” he continues, taking a step forward to force himself inside. I’m too weak to protest and simply back up so our chests don’t collide. The heat rising from him is dizzying. I blink as he adds, “There is no such thing as work-family separation when you’re a business owner. So, like it or not, this is part of my mandate.” The right corner of his lips lifts into a teasing smile.
I’m suddenly struck by the contrast between us; he’s wearing a black dress shirt and dress pants, his short stubble neatly trimmed and put together. Not a single chestnut hair is out of place on his head, despite being wet from the rain outside.
In short, he’s utterly gorgeous. In comparison to him, I must look like I’ve been chewed up and spit back out.
“Okay.” It’s barely audible, the word slipping out before I can snatch it back.
“Okay …” Surprise flashes through his eyes. I don’t think he expected me to give in so quickly. I move aside, and he fully steps into the havoc of my home. I ignore the spark that ignites when his arm accidentally rubs up against mine.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m grateful. Grateful for the support, for the presence of someone else in this overwhelming moment. Already, I can feel the nausea coming back; I don’tknow if I can give Julian’s full feeding before I need to pull myself away from him again.
I lean against the door frame, watching Will’s every move as he stands in my entrance. He’s got a determined look on his face as he removes his rain-soaked boots.
“Okay, first up, let’s take care of Julian.” Will gives me a reassuring smile. “How do you feel about bottles?”
My lips part, warmth snaking up my body at his thoughtfulness. He didn’t just ask if he could give Julian a bottle. He considered that I may not be open to the idea. Not many people would have thought of that; he keeps surprising me today. And I’m feeling too woozy to try not to enjoy it.
“Check the fridge,” I say, my voice raspy. “There should be two bottles of pumped milk I was going to send to daycare.” Yet another wave of nausea hits me, and I press a hand to my mouth, willing myself not to be sick again.
“Got it,” he replies, already heading toward the fridge. Then, he pauses, his eyes looking over me. “Go lie down. I’ll handle it.”
‘Handle’ feels like such a simple word for what he’s doing. It’s more than handling—it’s stepping into the chaos of my life without hesitation. It’s caring when he doesn’t have to, when no one else would.
As I hear the fridge open, followed by the gentle clink of glass bottles being retrieved, a strange feeling washes over me. Here in this overwhelming storm, Will is the unexpected lifeline thrown into the turbulent waters I’ve been struggling to stay afloat in.
I head into the living room and slide down onto the couch in between my two girls, closing my eyes for a moment and listening to the sounds of Will preparing the bottle for Julian. His footsteps grow louder, and soon enough he’s in the living room with us. Julian’s cries settle down.
I dare to open my eyes despite the pain in my head, just to catch a glimpse of William with Julian. He’s sitting in the overstuffed armchair on the other end of the couch, looking completely at ease with Julian in his arms. His sleeves are pulled back to reveal his strong forearms keeping my youngest firmly in place.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not alone. And that thought is both comforting and utterly terrifying.
Heather’s tiny frame shifts at my feet, and I turn to see her opening her eyes. She spots Will and sits up like she was just hit by lightning. “Will!” Heather’s voice is a raspy whisper, but her smile is bright. Gwen’s attention goes toward Will too, and her hand flutters in a weak wave, a silent echo of her sister’s greeting.
“Hey girls,” Will says, his voice warm like sunshine. “How about some chicken broth to warm you up after this little guy is full?”
Their nods are feeble but eager. I marvel at how quickly they’ve taken to him, especially Heather, who’s shy around newcomers. But then again, he isn’t really a newcomer. And without the baggage I hold in my heart against him, I can only imagine how easy it must be to feel drawn to that disarming grin and those profound dark eyes.
“Okay, soup coming right up.” Will gets up to go to the kitchen, only to be halted by Julian’s insistent wail. He pivots back, deftly scooping my baby boy into his arms. The crying subsides as if Julian senses he’s in capable hands.
I lean back against the soft cushions of my couch and sigh. The room spins slightly as I watch Will, this man I’ve spent so much time convincing myself to loathe, move through my home with an ease that speaks of something deeper than just obligation.
“Shhh, little man,” he coos, gently rocking Julian while navigating towards the kitchen. “I’ve got you.”
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. My stomach churns, hinting that I might need to rush back to the bathroom sooner rather than later. The sounds of Will warming the broth and humming softly to Julian from the kitchen are surprisingly soothing, a lullaby for my frayed nerves.
“Mommy?” Heather’s voice pulls me back, and I force my eyes open to see her concerned gaze. Her small form shifts to me and cuddles my thigh.
“I’m here, baby.” I weave a hand through her hair. But before I can muster another word, the nausea surges forward. I scramble to my feet, barely making it to the bathroom in time.
