Page 112 of Before We Break

♫ I Wanna Dance With Somebody - Whitney Houston

NOAH

Clio’s hype girl playlist blares through the apartment, rousing me from sleep. For a second, I forget where I am, convinced I imagined the events of the night before, but when I open my eyes, I’m assaulted by a kaleidoscope of bright colors, and I realize it wasn’t a dream.

I lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the regret to sink in. It never comes. Every promise I made, every whispered word uttered in the heat of the moment—I meant them all. There’s nothing casual about this anymore.

A sense of urgency comes over me, and I throw back the covers. When I reach the kitchen, Clio’s standing there in my oversized T-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, singing “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” into the flat end of a spatula and swaying her hips to the beat. She has a large griddle set out with six perfect pancakes sizzling on the surface, infusing the air with their rich aroma.

A warm smile curves across her face when she sees me, but my presence doesn’t deter her. I lean my elbows on the kitchen island, content to sit back and watch the show. She saunters across the room and holds out the makeshift microphone, staring at me intently.

“I don’t know the words,” I shout above the music.

“Liar.” She shimmies her shoulders and crooks a finger in my direction.

When the chorus hits, I snatch the spatula out of her hand and wrap my other arm around her waist, rocking us from side to side with my leg trapped between hers as we sing at the top of our lungs. All of my inhibitions seem to melt away. Maybe there’s something to this hype girl playlist, or maybe it’s Clio and her infectious joy.

She shoves me away to flip the pancakes before they burn. Loathing the distance, I wrap my arms around her from behind instead. Swaying us more while she works, I press a kiss to the bare expanse of her neck.

The apartment door swings open and Auggie runs at us at full speed. I lift him into my arms and dance with him on one hip. Lexi takes a slower approach, shimmying her way into the kitchen, hip-checking Clio when she finally reaches us.

Auggie makes grabby hands at Clio, and I have no choice but to let him go. She twirls them in a circle. Though I can’t hear their laughter over the music, it rings out in my head anyway. She’s captivating, and I’m drowning on dry land.

The song ends, shifting into a stripped-down version of “Wonderwall.” I want to wrap her up and have a replay of the festival where I actually kiss her this time, but I’m not sure I could stop at just a kiss, and I can’t do more with the kids around.

Clio sets Auggie on one of the stools and picks up her phone, lowering the volume on the Bluetooth speaker.

“Who wants pancakes?” Clio asks.

I lean back against the adjacent counter and wait for Auggie to ask for chicken nuggets instead. To my surprise, his arm shoots up like he’s in school. “Me!”

Lexi slides onto the stool next to him. “Me too.”

I take the spatula from Clio and discreetly swat her butt. “Go. I’ll take care of breakfast.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” I whisper against her ear. “But you’re going to let me take care of you and the kids this time, and then you can take care of me later.”

She shivers. “Noah.”

“Go sit down, baby.”

I plate up four servings of pancakes, making sure to cut Auggie’s up into squares just the way he likes it, then I set a cup of coffee in front of Clio, made just the way she likes it, along with her daily dose of meds.

The whole scene is so domestic I can hardly believe it’s real. This is everything I never wanted, and now I never want to let it go.

Lexi’s phone vibrates against the counter, the screen lighting up with a photo of her and Hayden kissing on stage. A strange, almost protective feeling comes over me as she types out a reply to his text.

“Can I take the car after breakfast?” Lexi asks. “Hayden wants to meet up so we can exchange Christmas presents.”

I set my plate down on the counter and pick up my coffee. “Where are you meeting? Somewhere public?”

Clio cocks her head, her brows drawn together in confusion. She doesn't say a word, but she doesn’t have to. I can read her like a book, and the question on the tip of her tongue is the same one I’m already asking myself. Why the fuck do I care?

“I’m not sure, Dad.” She accentuates the title, and I shudder.

Clio splutters into her coffee, causing it to splash her chin. I tear off a piece of paper towel and hand it to her.