“Ooh, I have a playlist!” Gwen says, her eyes lighting up like fireworks. She stomps off her stool and runs into the hallway, toward her bedroom.
Will looks at me with questions in his eyes. “She has one of my old phones for stuff like this,” I explain. “I installed Spotify and a few other approved apps on there.”
Gwen runs back into the kitchen with the phone in her hand. “Here!” she exclaims right before handing it to Will, then climbsback on her stool and points to the Bluetooth speaker settled on the counter. “Can you turn that on, please? I can’t reach.”
Will obeys, and seconds later the kitchen is flooded with the sound of Les Colocs’Passe-moé la Puckblaring from the speaker. I laugh with my whole chest at Gwen as she sings along to the tune while she keeps peeling her potatoes. Is it weird that my five-year-old daughter is a full-on Les Colocs stan? I don’t know, but I’m certainly not complaining.
But my laugh intensifies when I notice Will swaying his hips to the beat of the tune next to her.
While Gwen and Will prepare dinner, Heather erupts into dance. I follow along with her, helping her twist and twirl while holding her hands. We continue on like this, dancing along to other classics likeLa Rue PrincipaleandJulieuntil the aroma of Will’s homemade gravy and French fries hangs in the room around us. My cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing. At some point, Will ends up losing his kitchen assistant, and Gwen joins her sister in her dance party. Both Heather and Gwen have flushed cheeks from dancing and jumping, and I beam at the sight of my daughters.
I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.
“It’s ready!” Will calls out, right before setting steaming plates of homemade poutine on the table. Dinner passes in a blur, and much more exhausting than the dance party was. I have to keep wrangling Heather to stop playing with her food while making sure Gwen stays firmly in her seat without squirming. Meanwhile, Will eats with a fussy Julian in his left arm.
Once dinner is done and the table is cleared, I think Will sees my patience beginning to wane. As I’m placing dishes in the sink, he comes up behind me, the heat of his chest seeping through the knitted fabric of the sweater on my back. My lower belly clenches.
“You look like someone who needs a break,” he whispers so the girls can’t hear; they’re still in the kitchen, busy playing with Heather’s big train. He’s close enough that I feel his warm breath behind my ear.
“It’s not so bad,” I whisper back.
“Come on,” he says right before grabbing plates from my hands. “Set this down. I’ll do it.”
Heat floods my chest at his thoughtfulness. But right now, it’s the kids that have got me overstimulated. Not the dishes.
Come on. Ask for what you need, Sophie.
“Actually,” I begin, turning to face him as I lean back against the counter, “could you …” I’m having trouble concentrating on my words when he’s this close. Damn. If he hadn’t pulled away from me at the hot chocolate place earlier today, I don’t think I could stop myself from pulling his mouth towards mine right now.
Will raises one eyebrow. “Yes?” The air is so thick I can hardly breathe.
“Could you …”Come on, Sophie. Breathe.“Play with the girls instead? I can handle the dishes.”
Will pauses for a moment, and I try to make out what thoughts are hiding behind those dark eyes of his. Then he speaks up: “I’d be happy to.”
Relief floods through me. In all honesty, I’m feeling a bit touched-out. This was a wonderful day, and I’m grateful for every moment that will now live in my memories, scattered atop every other precious fragment of my kids’ childhoods.
Yet, it can be a lot. When I don’t have anyone else to share the load with me, I tend to get overstimulated, even if I have a high threshold for such things. So it means a lot to me that Will is willing to act as a buffer, even just for a short time while I wash some dishes.
I’m about to thank him, but Will continues, “I can do the dishes too, you know. Later, when they’re in bed. Why don’t you go enjoy some time to yourself?” He leans back, giving me space. In more ways than one.
“I’m not lying down and doing nothing while you do everything here.” My heart hammers against my ribcage. The truth is, I want to be selfish and take him up on his scrumptious offer. But it’s not right.
“Why not?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve had plenty of time this morning to be by myself and do absolutely nothing. I think it’s fair to say it’s your turn.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t your responsibility.” I furrow my brows and plant my hands on my hips in defiance. “I chose this lifestyle.” Well, I didn’t choose to get cheated on and become a single mom. But when you willfully choose to have kids, you do it while assuming the risk that a million things can go wrong at any time.
“What if I want to choose this, too?” Will steps close again, his voice almost a whisper. “Would you believe me if I told you I actually enjoy being here with them? With you?” The air between us is so palpable I can hardly move or think.
“Why?” It makes no sense that he’d go to these lengths to be here. This is more than just being a friend. And from what I gathered, it’s not about trying to get in my pants, because he can hardly stand to touch my hand.
So, why?
A strange look passes through his eyes. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he clenches his teeth. “Just … please let me do this for you. Sophie …” That tenseness in his jaw loosens, giving place to a cocky smile. “I can see you’re exhausted. Come on. Give in.”
Give in.
Those two words alone are enough to make my knees weak.
