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Hi. I’m sorry to be bothering you so late. I just wanted to thank you again.
9:42 p.m. | Luca
It was no trouble. Your kids are amazing, Jillian.
Reading this makes my chest swell with pride. They are amazing. And I created those little people.
9:50 p.m. | Luca
Is it okay if I call you?
My heart rate picks up. And not for the same reason it did thinking of him in the shower. It’s more than his good looks and sex appeal. There’s just something magical about Luca.
9:53 p.m. | Jillian
Yes.
The phone vibrates in my hand almost immediately. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
My cheeks hurt with the strain of my wide smile. This man makes me giddy. Like what I’d imagine a schoolgirl would feel if her crush was calling to wish her goodnight. Not that I ever had that.
“I didn’t want to keep texting if I could hear your voice.”
“Oh. And here I thought you couldn’t spell.”
“Ah. You know me so well.” He chuckles and the sound travels right to the apex of my thighs. I can feel the same blush return that makes an appearance almost every time I’m near him. And he’s not even in the room.
“I was thinking about you earlier.” I admit.
“Oh really?” His voice sounds seductive, but I’m not ready to go there. He doesn’t need to know thoughts of him visit me in the shower, or my bed.
“Yes. I can’t believe as protective as I’ve become with my kids that I’ve welcomed you into their lives and my home, yet I know so little about you. I must come off as desperate and foolish, huh?”
“No. You have a lot to handle on your own. I was happy to help. I’m glad you trusted me enough to allow me to do that.”
This man is so incredibly smooth. He could convince a desert to crave rain.
“Can I ask you something, Jillian?”
“Of course, anything.”
“Why doesn’t Myla talk?”
Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have saidanything. I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to best broach this subject. “No one knows for certain, but I’m pretty sure it’s related to her father. It could be a control mechanism. But it’s more likely emotional trauma.”
“I’m so sorry. She’s such a bright, beautiful girl.”
“Yes, she is. She was always quiet.” I pause, remembering our life before. “Just never this quiet.”
“Have you tried therapy?”
“Yes. After a year of no progress, it just made it hard to keep going. She was a daddy’s girl. We didn’t see him often, with him being in the military. But she idolized him. And when he was home, he could barely take two steps without her tagging along behind.” Just sharing this with him makes my heart clench. My poor, sweet child.
“Have you…” The line goes quiet, and I’m not sure if he’s struggling to ask something or if the line has gone dead. “Please know you don’t have to answer anything you don’t feel comfortable with. I just want to get to know you better.”
“Okay.”
