Chapter 7

Chapter 7

WINTER

Derek's expression darkened slightly. "Your ex-husband didn't appreciate your cooking?"

"Stiles appreciated it when it served his purposes," I said carefully, not wanting to burden these children with the ugliness of my past. "But he had... very specific expectations."

"Well, his loss is our gain," Derek said firmly. "Boys, come sit down. Dinner's ready."

"It's lunch, Daddy," Andre corrected as they scrambled into their chairs.

"After the morning we've had, I've lost track of time completely," Derek admitted.

I served the omelet with toast and some fruit I'd managed to salvage from their limited supplies. The boys attacked their food with enthusiasm that warmed my heart, making appreciative noises and asking for seconds before they'd finished their firsts.

"This is the best food ever," Jamal declared around a mouthful of omelet. "Daddy, can we keep her forever?"

"That's up to Mummy," Derek said, and something in his tone made me look up sharply. He was watching me with those intense green eyes. "Whether she wants to stay."

The question hung in the air between us. I thought about the alternative—returning to Stiles' house as the hired help, watching him play happy family with Annalise while Thomas grew more distant every day. Or trying to make it on my own with no money, no job, and no references since my only employment had been as a wife and mother.

"I don't understand what's happening here," I said slowly. "You don't know anything about me. I could be a terrible person. I could be dangerous."

"Are you?" Derek asked simply.

"No, but—"

"Then that's settled." He stood and began clearing plates with the same decisive energy he'd shown when punching Stiles.

"Boys, why don't you show Mummy where she'll be sleeping? I'll finish cleaning up."

"You're going to clean?" Andre asked in wonder, looking at his dad like he just said he could walk on water. "By yourself?"

"Don't sound so shocked," Derek said with mock offense. "I am capable of loading a dishwasher."

"Remember what happened last time you loaded the dishwasher?" Jamal asked ominously, causing me to chuckle. There seemed to be a very interesting story there.

"That was a learning experience," Derek replied with dignity, although his ears were red, which showed that a part of him was still embarrassed by it. "I now know that you have to use dishwasher soap, not regular dish soap."

"There was so much foam," Andre told me in a stage whisper. "It looked like a bubble monster exploded in the kitchen."

I couldn't help but laugh—the first real laugh I'd had in months. 

"Maybe I should supervise the cleaning too."

"Come on, Mummy!" Jamal grabbed my hand, pulling me up from the chair as he continued speaking. 

"First we'll show you your room, then you can save Daddy from the evil dishwasher monster!"

They dragged me down a short hallway to a small bedroom that was clearly Derek's. It was tidier than the rest of the apartment, with a large bed covered in a deep blue comforter and windows that looked out over the city.

"This is Daddy's room, but he can sleep on the couch," Andre announced matter-of-fact. 

"He's been doing that anyway because he says the bed is too lonely."

"Andre!" Derek's voice carried from the kitchen, suggesting he'd overheard, what he had said and h ehad comments about it.

"It's true!" Andre called back. "You said so last week when you were talking to Uncle Peter on the phone!"

"I am not sleeping in Derek's bed," I said firmly, my cheeks heating up at the very thought. Sleeping in his room, surrounded by his teeth, I'll never stop blushing.

"I'll take the couch."

"No way," Jamal shook his head. "Ladies get the bed. Daddy told us that. It's about being a gentleman."

"Besides, the couch is really comfortable," Andre added. "It's where Daddy watches his boring movies with all the explosions."

I was about to argue further when a crash came from the kitchen, followed by Derek's voice saying something that was definitely not appropriate for eight-year-old ears.

"Daddy said a bad word," Jamal observed cheerfully.

"Should we go save him?" Andre asked.

We found Derek standing in front of the dishwasher, which was indeed producing an alarming amount of foam, that seemed to have no end. 

It was oozing out of the machine like something from a science fiction movie, covering the kitchen floor in sudsy white bubbles.

"Learning experience number two?" I asked, trying not to laugh at his disaster, and I bit back a smile.

"I was sure I had the right soap this time," Derek said helplessly. "I specifically bought dishwasher detergent."

I walked over to examine the bottle he'd used. "Derek, this is dish soap. Dishwasher detergent comes in powder or little packets."

"They're different things?"

"Very different things."

The boys were already sliding around in the foam, turning the disaster into an impromptu game. Their laughter filled the small apartment, bouncing off the walls and settling into my chest like warmth.

"I'll help you clean this up," I said, rolling up my sleeves.

"You don't have to—"

"Derek." I turned to face him fully, this man who had appeared like a knight in shining armor when I needed rescue, who had claimed me as family without knowing my last name, whose children had wrapped themselves around my heart in the space of a few hours. 

"Yes, I do. We're family now, right? That's what families do."

His smile was brilliant, transforming his entire face. "Right. Family."

As we worked together to contain the foam disaster, the twins "helping" by sliding around and making the mess infinitely worse, I realized something had shifted inside me. For the first time in months, I wasn't thinking about what I'd lost.

I was thinking about what I might have found.

The afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, highlighting the chaos and the laughter and the strange, wonderful man who had somehow become my anchor in the storm, that had rescued me from a miserable life, without thinking twice about it. 

Whatever this was—this unexpected family, this bizarre situation, this feeling of belonging that I'd thought was lost forever—I wanted to hold onto it.

Even if it made no sense.

Even if it couldn't possibly last.

For now, it was enough to be wanted. It was enough to be home.