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Chapter 11

[Clay]

After the day Mavis had, she deserves to be spoiled, so I do my best. I bring home a pizza, and we eat together before she checks Dutton’s unofficial math homework.

Earlier, Mavis made a series of decisions.

Sell the property. Find a job. Send Dutton to school.

Her perseverance is admirable, and I sit back and marvel at her superpower. After a tough morning, she came home and taught her kid some math skills, checked his work, and then lined things up to do it all over again the next day.

In the simplest way, she reminds me of my mother.

As we sit on the couch after Dutton’s homework, trying to concentrate on Princess Power , I don’t miss how Mavis is nodding off, the day finally catching up to her. With Dutton between us on the couch, my arm is outstretched behind his head, and I nudge Mavis’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go take a bath? Relax.”

I have a soaker tub in my guest bathroom that I don’t think I’ve ever used.

Mavis stares at me, startled by the suggestion. “I’m alright. Just been a long day. Need to focus on the routine of things.”

Tomorrow, Mavis returns to the hospital as an emergency room nurse. She had been talking to her old boss who told Mavis they were begging for nursing staff and offered her a job on the spot. With Dutton still so young and childcare slim and costly in the area, part-time was the most Mavis could do at the moment.

It was a start.

As for routines, I knew all about them. I also knew that they lead to ruts, like mechanically moving through your life on autopilot. I don’t begrudge my position at Sylver Seed & Soil. I am honored my family trusts me to keep it afloat. I love my job, something not everyone can say, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t overwhelmed by the demands. Never having a day off. Never taking a vacation. Never slowing down.

Then again, keeping busy kept me out of trouble, not that I’d get into any regularly anyway. Still, a little reprieve might be nice occasionally.

And a bath sounded like exactly what Mavis needed.

I wish I could join her.

“Go.” I nudge her shoulder once more. “We’ve got Princess Power here.” I nod at the screen. Surprisingly, the show had more plot than I expected.

Mavis blinks at the brightness of the large monitor over a wooden mantel on the field stone fireplace. Then she glances down at Dutton, sitting closer to her than me.

“Are you sure?” She’s looking at him while questioning me.

“How much trouble can I get in?” I tilt my head at the screen again. “The princess is watching me.” I crack myself up, but Dutton doesn’t blink, mesmerized by the girl in pink, doing a one-two punch, and yelling hi-yah before racing after a bad guy.

Mavis smiles, the slight curl not lighting up her eyes like I’ve seen before. Like the look she used to give me when she’d wander into the store, or I’d see her in town. I’d feel like a high school teen stumbling upon my crush, earning a prize with that smile. Like we shared a secret. Only Mavis never knew about my conflicting emotions. I was highly attracted to her, while I respected the hell out of her marriage vows or, rather, the ones I thought she had.

She leans to the side to kiss Dutton’s head. “I’m going to take a bath. Then it’s your turn,” she warns him. Looking back up at me, her face softens as she mouths, Thank you .

When Mavis leaves the room, a weird tension remains. I wouldn’t say I’m not good with kids, but I also can’t say I am good with them. Up until recently, my interaction has primarily been with my nephew, Hudson, who loves all things traditionally boy. Or should I say stereotypically boy?

He’s into baseball, video games, and dirt. He’d never watch Princess Power or wear pink or want to dress like a female superhero for Halloween. He also isn’t six.

I’d been raised in a male-dominated home, one fraught with the arrogance of my father, thinking because he was labeled the patriarch of our family it meant he deserved honoring when not one of us respected him toward the end of his life. I’d always love him in some twisted way because he was my dad, a sad, lost man. But it didn’t mean I valued or obeyed him.

He’d lost that privilege when he knocked my younger siblings around and tried to emotionally tear them down as they aged. He’d used damning words on me as well.

So stupid you flunked out of college before you got in .

I’d been confused at first, wondering where the supportive man who loved his wife and family more than anything, had gone. A bottle of Jack stole him from me. But I wasn’t one to place blame. My father made his own choices, and unfortunately, his decisions had not been in favor of his children or his business. The legacy my mother built with him through both a company and their offspring were a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

Love hurts. That’s what I’d learned from my dad. And the long-term investment in it can be cut short within a moment’s notice.

Dutton flinches beside me, then he giggles, laughing at his own startling.

“What’d I miss?” I ask, knowing my mind had wandered off and my body wants to follow Mavis to the bathroom, climb into my tub behind her, and hold her against me again. Last night had been nice despite the storm and loss of power which came back on at some point in the early hours of a new day. Holding Mavis felt right. Sandwiching Dutton between us felt strangely good.

And finding her sitting against a brick wall earlier, crying into her hands, nearly broke me. Hugging her on the public street was the least I could do for her.

“She just found a hiding spot.” Dutton stiffens beside me, straightening his arms at his sides and tightening his outstretched legs like he’s the one hidden behind an open door.

“She why you’re good at finding hiding spaces?” I hadn’t forgotten what he said earlier today. How his mama taught him how to hide. I’d been puzzled on and off throughout the day what he meant by the admission.

“Mama used to make a game of hide ‘n’ seek when Wesley was fired up.”

“Fired up?”

“When he drank too much and got mean.” Dutton’s eyes don’t leave the television screen, but I can’t be certain if he’s focusing on the hidden princess or falling into a memory. His body slowly slumps into the couch cushions. I shouldn’t be prying into his history. I don’t want to trigger him.

Still, I don’t like that a child was conscious of what drinking too much alcohol can do to a person and how it can make him cruel.

This reminds me of my father.

“So you hid from your dad?”

Dutton shrugs, lowering his gaze and picking at the track pants covering his legs. “When I could.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. If his father was anything like my father, I shiver to think what was said, what was done, to frighten a child enough he tried to hide. And at his mama’s request.

Then another question strikes. He’d called Wesley by his first name, not Dad. I’d started doing the same thing as I aged. Working in the family business, it seemed better to distinguish myself from Dad by calling him by his given name, Flint.

The irony of his hard name compared to the softness of our mother’s—Violet—was never lost on me.

“I’m sorry Flint promised we could deliver by Friday. That’s just not possible.”

“No, we cannot honor the extension Flint allowed you.”

“What do you mean Flint owes three months of payment for the feed shipment?”

“How is it Flint didn’t cover taxes for the last two years?”

The last one had almost been the end of me and the Seed & Soil.

Deciding I shouldn’t question a six-year-old about his past, my attention returns to Princess Power , finding my focus waning occasionally. Drifting to a woman taking a bath in the tub down the hall, imagining the water enveloping her body. Maybe bubbles covering her thighs, her breasts, her nipples rising above the suds. Just a peek to confirm they are dusky like her skin, or rosy and pink.

All I want to do is comfort her.

Shaking the thought, I drift back to why her son had to hide from his dad. From Wesley.

And what the man has done to Mavis.

+ + +

Once the program finishes and Mavis exits the bathroom, I call for a celebration.

“Why?” Mavis chuckles, freshly fragrant in that floral scent of hers. Her cheeks are brighter, heated from the bath. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a wobbly twist. She looks younger, relaxed a little bit.

And sexy as hell wearing a ratty, peach colored robe with giant mint-green flowers here and there on the worn material. I’m one-thousand percent positive she’s naked underneath it and I’m jealous of the material. She looks comfortable, plus confident enough to wear something so casual around my house, like it’s her home.

I want her to stay here, and she hasn’t given me an answer about whether she will or won’t.

“For the winner of this morning’s race,” I announce.

Dutton sits upright on the couch, leaning forward a bit, and tilting his head, like he forgot about my promise only this morning. He’d win something if he picked up the pace, like Mavis asked.

“I won?” Dutton whispers, as if suddenly remembering our deal.

“I won,” he says louder, with more confidence.

“I was the fastest.” He shifts his body so he’s facing me. His dark eyes are wide like his mother’s. His face incandescent.

“What do I win?” The enthusiasm in his voice causes me to chuckle.

“Your choice of ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” He practically yells. “We never get ice cream unless it’s a special occasion.”

My gaze lifts to Mavis who is standing behind the couch, waiting out this moment.

“Well,” I begin. “Today feels special. Your mama made a bunch of important decisions. And you won the morning rush.”

For an average Tuesday, the day feels surprisingly special.

“So, your choices are chocolate swirl, which has caramel and chunks of chocolate. Or pink surprise.”

Dutton sits as tall as a six-year-old can. “What’s pink surprise?”

“I think it’s strawberry ice cream in disguise.”

“I like disguises,” Dutton admits. “Strawberries are my favorite.” He’s nodding emphatically. “And I love pink.”

“Somehow, I guessed that.” I meet Mavis’s eyes once more, only I’m not prepared for what I see in them. A storm of emotion swirls within the darkness. Sparkles crackling like fireflies in the night amid a depth too black to decipher. She anxiously runs her hands down the length of the robe-belt, then releases the sash.

“Why don’t you head to the kitchen and grab some spoons? And your mama and I will be right there.”

Dutton flies from the couch, literally springing himself forward and leaping over the ottoman where we’d had our legs outstretched.

As he rounds the couch, running for my kitchen, I cry out. “Seven point nine-nine for the dismount.”

His laughter carries back to the living room, and I turn toward Mavis. “What’s wrong, butterfly?”

Without thinking, I reach out for the end of the sash around her waist, holding her robe closed. A peek of her skin where the material slips open leads to a hint of her breasts.

“Don’t do that,” she whispers, dropping her gaze and running her fingertips along the top edge of the couch.

“What? What’d I do?”

“Don’t spoil him.”

Feeling strangely chastised, I shift on the couch, climbing up to my knees and leaning the front of my thighs into the back cushions to face her. I spread my arms, bracing myself on the top of the couch, leaning slightly toward her. “And how am I spoiling him? It’s ice cream.”

“It’s pink, and you know it.” Her eyes lock on mine.

“So?” I shrug, lowering my gaze to the belt around her waist. “I took a gamble.”

“You didn’t need to even buy it.”

“It’s dessert, not a crime.” I don’t understand where she’s going with this. Why she seems equally worked up and worn down.

Glancing up at her again, I tug at the knot of the robe-sash, and keeping my tone playful, demand, “Talk to me.”

“Don’t be nice to us.”

The words are like a blow to my chest. A straight up roundhouse kick with a hi-yah to the sternum.

“Why not?” My brows cinch, hard and deep.

“Because he can’t get attached. I won’t let him be hurt again.” Her eyes flit between mine and the kitchen, then back, cautious, almost frightened. Vulnerable.

“I’m not going to hurt him. It’s ice cream,” I repeat. My hand grasping the robe knot tightens in the soft material and I gently jiggle her once again.

“Don’t hurt me either,” she whispers, dipping her lids.

“Mavis,” I groan, slipping my hand to her hip, causing our upper bodies to draw closer to each other. “How could I hurt you?”

Her eyes leap up to mine once more. “By being kind. Then stripping that kindness away from us.”

Wesley . Fucking false promises. Masked compassion.

“I’m not him.” I struggle to keep any irritation from my voice. I don’t want to be compared to that asshole. She doesn’t know me. Not enough to understand I’d never be like him. I would never offer compassion then tug it away.

“You haven’t told me whether you’ll stay or not. But I want to be clear that my offer stands. I want you here. I want you and Dutton to stay as long as you need.”

Mavis closes her eyes and leans forward just the slightest bit. The couch is a barrier between us, but I sense her wanting to lean into me.

I didn’t miss the way she clung to me earlier, when I surprised her with a hug in the parking lot. Her holding me tight in response to my embrace did something to me. This wasn’t damsel in distress syndrome. She was turning the tide on me. Doing something to me I couldn’t explain yet.

Presently, I risk running my hand around her lower back, pinning her in place. The warmth from her bath seeps through the threadbare material of her robe. Or maybe that’s just how she naturally feels, and I want to further investigate that heat. I want to feel her skin.

And I want to reassure her she’s safe with me. “We might not know one another well, but I promise you I won’t intentionally hurt you. Or Dutton. I realize that a promise might not be something you can take from me. You don’t trust them. But I’m asking you to trust me. Have faith in me, at least.”

She slowly nods, her eyes still closed, her head bowed.

“Look at me, butterfly.”

Her lids flit open. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

I glance between us, my sight catching on the hint of cleavage easier to see from this vantage point. Definitely naked beneath the robe .

“Earlier, I mentioned a phoenix, but you’re softer than that mythical bird. Butterflies mean transformation, too. And a change is coming for you, Mavis.”

Dutton claimed he’d been taught to hide. Maybe Mavis has been hiding, too. Buried inside a cocoon of sorts. “You’re free now. Free of Wesley. Free to be you. Whoever that might be.”

Because I was certain Mavis didn’t know herself, didn’t fully recognize her strength. Not yet.

And for some unknown reason, I wanted to be beside her as the discovery happened. As she unfolded from the cocoon around her heart, a chrysalis liberated herself from slumber, to emerge stronger and more stunningly beautiful, if that was even possible. And simply be Mavis.

Tears well in her eyes and she rapidly blinks them away, touching her finger to the corner of one eye to capture the drop before it escapes. “You’re too sweet, Clay Sylver.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.” I wink at her, and she chuckles, giving in to the pull between us and resting her forehead against mine.

I breathe her in again. Floral. Fresh. One day mine? I don’t dare to dream. Not when she had to be hers first before she could give herself to me.

“Are we eating ice cream or what?” Dutton calls from the kitchen.

I’d like to answer or what . Want to take this woman to my room, remove this ratty robe, and show her how precious she is. How beautiful. How sexy. How liberated she could be.

Instead, I pull back and yell over her shoulder. “Eating ice cream.”

The pink surprise kind.

Dutton and Mavis fit the flavor. They’re surprising me.

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