As an afterthought, she glances at Brent. “Hi, Brent—it’s nice to see you.”
“You too, Chelsea,” he answers softly.
She hoists Regan higher on her hip and pushes hair behind her ear. “Well . . . I should get going. Have . . . have a good night.”
She walks around me. But she only gets a few steps.
“Chelsea!” I call, her name sounding like it’s been torn from the deepest part of my lung. I step quickly, moving in front of her. “I can explain. This isn’t—”
“Jake, you don’t have to explain,” she tells me gently, shaking her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
And I know that’s true—so why does it feel like I’ve been kicked in the nuts?
We stand that way for a few seconds. Then I reach for Regan. “Let me help you get the kids ice cream.”
But Chelsea steps back. Out of my reach. “No. It’s okay.” Her smile is so soft. So sad. “I can do it on my own.”
She walks away. Leaving me standing on the sidewalk. Alone.
• • •
A few days later I’m in the office; Stanton’s at his desk. “Are you and Sofia coming over to watch the game tonight?” I ask him.
“Ah . . . no. Change of plans.”
“What are you guys doing?”
Sofia brushes into the office, timing as impeccable as ever. “We’re watching the kids for Chelsea.”
I lean back in my chair, my work totally forgotten.
“Why? I mean . . . why didn’t she ask me?”
Sofia hands Stanton a folder. “Probably because she has a date and didn’t want things to be uncomfortable.”
“A date?”
My first thought is she’s doing it to get back at me, because she caught me out on my own stupid double date. But Chelsea’s not like that. She’s not petty. Which means she’s going out on a date because she’s moving on. Just like I told her to.
Fuck.
“Do you . . . did she tell you who she’s going out with?”
Sofia’s hazel gaze regards me with no sympathy whatsoever. “She did actually—Tom Caldwell.”
“Tom Caldwell? Get the hell out of here! How did that happen?”
“Apparently, Chelsea ran into Tom at the grocery store. They started talking, he asked if she was available . . . then he asked her out.”
Motherfucker.
“And how do you know this?” I ask harshly.
Sofia shrugs. “Chelsea and I talk. We’re friends—she doesn’t have a lot of friends here, Jake.”
I know. With six kids to look after she doesn’t have a lot of time for friends. But—bitterness stings sour on my tongue—I guess she’s making time for good old fucking Tom.
“I’ll watch the kids.” I don’t leave any room for discussion in my tone.
That doesn’t mean Sofia won’t try to discuss it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
She points to my fists, which are clenched tightly on the desk. And she doesn’t really have to say anything else.
I force them to loosen, shaking them out. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I just want to make sure he knows not to mess with her.”
“Stanton and I are fully capable of putting the fear of God into him. Not that he really needs it—Tom is a nice guy.”
I scowl at her. “I want to watch the kids.”
“I don’t—”
Luckily, Stanton has my back. “I think Jake should watch the kids, Soph. If he and Chelsea are going to be strictly friends, he’s gonna have to deal with her dating. If he thinks he’s up for it, I think we should let him have at it.”
And he smirks at her. The smirk gets her every time.
“O-kay.” She looks at me hard. “But don’t be an asshole, Jake.”
I look right back at her. “Who, me?”
• • •
That night, I knock on Chelsea’s front door. It’s locked—and she finally removed the key from under the mat. The door opens, and it feels like déjà vu—like the first time I saw her in this doorway. And just like that time, the breath is knocked out of me.
Her dress is dark green, simple and understated. Utterly stunning. Her long, delicate arms peek out from tiny cap sleeves, a shiny belt shows off her trim waist, and her legs—Jesus—they look fucking endless beneath the short, slightly flaring skirt.
Chelsea’s eyes go round with surprise and I’m guessing Sofia didn’t give her the heads-up about the babysitting switch.
“Hi.”
“Jake—hi. What are you—”
“Something came up with Stanton and Sofia . . .” Which would be me. “So . . . I’m going to watch the kids—if that’s okay with you.”
She recovers from her shock and opens the door wider. “Of course it’s okay. Come on in.”
The kids are in the den. “Hey, guys.”
“Cool—you’re watching us?” Rory exclaims. “You owe me a Halo rematch.”
Chelsea says she has to fill Ronan’s bottles and heads to the kitchen. After greeting the rest of the rug rats, I follow her. She’s at the counter, staring harder than necessary as she fills the bottle in her hands. Silently, I move to stand beside her. Just inches away.
Close enough to touch her.
“You look beautiful.”
“You too, Chelsea,” he answers softly.
She hoists Regan higher on her hip and pushes hair behind her ear. “Well . . . I should get going. Have . . . have a good night.”
She walks around me. But she only gets a few steps.
“Chelsea!” I call, her name sounding like it’s been torn from the deepest part of my lung. I step quickly, moving in front of her. “I can explain. This isn’t—”
“Jake, you don’t have to explain,” she tells me gently, shaking her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
And I know that’s true—so why does it feel like I’ve been kicked in the nuts?
We stand that way for a few seconds. Then I reach for Regan. “Let me help you get the kids ice cream.”
But Chelsea steps back. Out of my reach. “No. It’s okay.” Her smile is so soft. So sad. “I can do it on my own.”
She walks away. Leaving me standing on the sidewalk. Alone.
• • •
A few days later I’m in the office; Stanton’s at his desk. “Are you and Sofia coming over to watch the game tonight?” I ask him.
“Ah . . . no. Change of plans.”
“What are you guys doing?”
Sofia brushes into the office, timing as impeccable as ever. “We’re watching the kids for Chelsea.”
I lean back in my chair, my work totally forgotten.
“Why? I mean . . . why didn’t she ask me?”
Sofia hands Stanton a folder. “Probably because she has a date and didn’t want things to be uncomfortable.”
“A date?”
My first thought is she’s doing it to get back at me, because she caught me out on my own stupid double date. But Chelsea’s not like that. She’s not petty. Which means she’s going out on a date because she’s moving on. Just like I told her to.
Fuck.
“Do you . . . did she tell you who she’s going out with?”
Sofia’s hazel gaze regards me with no sympathy whatsoever. “She did actually—Tom Caldwell.”
“Tom Caldwell? Get the hell out of here! How did that happen?”
“Apparently, Chelsea ran into Tom at the grocery store. They started talking, he asked if she was available . . . then he asked her out.”
Motherfucker.
“And how do you know this?” I ask harshly.
Sofia shrugs. “Chelsea and I talk. We’re friends—she doesn’t have a lot of friends here, Jake.”
I know. With six kids to look after she doesn’t have a lot of time for friends. But—bitterness stings sour on my tongue—I guess she’s making time for good old fucking Tom.
“I’ll watch the kids.” I don’t leave any room for discussion in my tone.
That doesn’t mean Sofia won’t try to discuss it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
She points to my fists, which are clenched tightly on the desk. And she doesn’t really have to say anything else.
I force them to loosen, shaking them out. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I just want to make sure he knows not to mess with her.”
“Stanton and I are fully capable of putting the fear of God into him. Not that he really needs it—Tom is a nice guy.”
I scowl at her. “I want to watch the kids.”
“I don’t—”
Luckily, Stanton has my back. “I think Jake should watch the kids, Soph. If he and Chelsea are going to be strictly friends, he’s gonna have to deal with her dating. If he thinks he’s up for it, I think we should let him have at it.”
And he smirks at her. The smirk gets her every time.
“O-kay.” She looks at me hard. “But don’t be an asshole, Jake.”
I look right back at her. “Who, me?”
• • •
That night, I knock on Chelsea’s front door. It’s locked—and she finally removed the key from under the mat. The door opens, and it feels like déjà vu—like the first time I saw her in this doorway. And just like that time, the breath is knocked out of me.
Her dress is dark green, simple and understated. Utterly stunning. Her long, delicate arms peek out from tiny cap sleeves, a shiny belt shows off her trim waist, and her legs—Jesus—they look fucking endless beneath the short, slightly flaring skirt.
Chelsea’s eyes go round with surprise and I’m guessing Sofia didn’t give her the heads-up about the babysitting switch.
“Hi.”
“Jake—hi. What are you—”
“Something came up with Stanton and Sofia . . .” Which would be me. “So . . . I’m going to watch the kids—if that’s okay with you.”
She recovers from her shock and opens the door wider. “Of course it’s okay. Come on in.”
The kids are in the den. “Hey, guys.”
“Cool—you’re watching us?” Rory exclaims. “You owe me a Halo rematch.”
Chelsea says she has to fill Ronan’s bottles and heads to the kitchen. After greeting the rest of the rug rats, I follow her. She’s at the counter, staring harder than necessary as she fills the bottle in her hands. Silently, I move to stand beside her. Just inches away.
Close enough to touch her.
“You look beautiful.”
