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They’d agreed to take things slowly, dinners and dating—and the sex certainly hadn’t been a problem. Even as inexperienced as she was, Celeste knew that for certain—what she had shared with Ben was so much more than she had ever expected or anticipated. So what had gone wrong between them?
Though cool and sophisticated wasn’t really her forte, though she wanted to curl into him, to wake him with the kiss her body was demanding that she give, to roll over in the soft warm bed and feel his arms wrap around her, she resisted the temptation.
This was way too important to misjudge. So instead she slipped a reluctant body out of bed and checked on a still sleeping Willow, deciding to take advantage of the peace and have a shower, because if she’d stayed in bed she’d surely break the strained silence.
* * *
He lay still, hovering on the edge of the decision.
Ben knew that she was awake, knew she was waiting for him, knew that last night had confused her.
It had confused him too.
With Willow in the room, he hadn’t slept a wink. It wasn’t the little snuffles that kept him awake, it was the silences that killed him.
He walked across the room, checked that she was still breathing, which, of course, she was. In fact, as he looked down at her, she promptly opened her eyes and smiled at him.
Only Ben struggled to return it. Instead, he tried to go back to bed, but she’d seen him now and was starting to cry.
God, he hoped Celeste wouldn’t be long in the shower.
Ben headed down stairs and made coffee for them both and a bottle for Willow, gritting his teeth as the cries grew louder, wondering if Celeste would be out of the shower by the time he got back up stairs.
Hoping so.
He walked back into the bedroom and put down the bottle and mugs, listened at the bathroom door and could still hear the shower—surely she could hear Willow crying?
Surely!
Ben stared into the stroller, picked up the baby’s little soother and popped it in her mouth, but Willow spat it out in disgust, her eyes fixed on him, real tears at the edges, pleading with him to pick her up. So he tried, telling himself to pretend that he was at work where he operated on automatic, except this wasn’t work.
He wanted to pick her up, even put his hands into the pram to do so...then he pulled back and tried rocking the pram instead, willing Celeste to come out of the shower and tend to her babe.
What the hell was he so scared of?
Cross with himself, Ben paced the room. He would just go right over and pick her up and be done with it.
Then he heard the bleep of Celeste’s phone.
Dean
He didn’t read the text—just felt the chill of a shadow, a big black bird in the sky that could swoop down and take them at any given moment...
‘Willow!’ Shivering wet, wrapped in a towel, Celeste headed straight for the pram, scooping her daughter up in her arms, feeling her hot, red face and turning questioning eyes to him. ‘She’s been sobbing!’
‘I was about to knock and tell you,’ he said lamely.
‘To knock?’ Celeste stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Did you not think to pick her up?’
‘I was making coffee,’ Ben said defensively. ‘And her bottle.’
Which sounded logical and reasonable, Celeste realised—except babies were neither logical nor reasonable, and Willow had needed to be held.
‘Can you hold her for me?’ Celeste’s voice held just a hint of challenge. ‘I just need to get dressed...’
‘I have to shower and get dressed too,’ Ben lied. ‘Switch just called, I have to go into work.’
‘Ben...’ For someone usually so emotional, Celeste’s voice was ominously calm. ‘I’m not asking you to feed her or change her, I’m asking if you could hold Willow for two minutes.’
‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve got to get ready.’
‘Ben?’ She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe the way he was acting. ‘I’m not asking for—’
‘Look,’ Ben interrupted, ‘she’s not my...’ He didn’t finish, his mouth snapping closed before this morning turned into the mother of all mornings, but Celeste finished for him.
‘Not your problem?’ That wasn’t what he’d been about to say, but it was easier to nod than to explain. ‘God.’ Celeste gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I really know how to pick jerks, don’t I?’
Ben didn’t answer so she spoke instead.
‘Just how slowly did you want to take it, Ben? What, by the time she went to school, maybe we could move in with you?’ she said scathingly.
‘Willow’s father just texted....’
‘Don’t blame this on him!’ Celeste retorted. ‘You’ve been off with me since last night.’ When he didn’t answer that, she asked again, ‘Just how slowly did you mean, Ben?’
‘I don’t know.’
She stared down at her daughter, the most important person in the world to her, and she knew what she had to do.
‘I’m not putting her through this.’ Willow was starting to whimper. Her mother’s arms were a nice place, but it would be even better with a bottle. ‘I should have listened from the start—you don’t want kids and I’ve got one.’
Her phone bleeped again and Celeste gritted her teeth. What the hell did Dean want?
‘You’d better see what her father wants!’ Ben was done. She was right, Willow deserved better than him, and the only way out was to end it—really end it. ‘After all, she’s his responsibility.’
‘Correction!’ Celeste spat, hating him too much at this moment for tears. ‘She’s mine.’
He didn’t respond, just headed for the shower.
‘You might be glad to get rid of me and Willow, Ben,’ she called to his departing back. ‘But you’ve no idea what you just lost.’ He closed the door behind him and knew, because he knew Celeste, that she’d be gone when he came out, that she wouldn’t hang around to debate the point. He turned on the shower full blast, and prayed she’d go soon, because while the water might drown the sound of Willow’s tears, it wouldn’t drown his.
It wasn’t Willow that was his problem.
He sat on the floor of the shower and held his head in his hands.
It was his own daughter.
* * *
It was a hurt like she’d never known.
A rejection not just of her—that she could deal with, had dealt with in the past and could deal with again now. It was the rejection of Willow that was as acute as a sting but didn’t abate like one.
Was this the price of motherhood—that the man of her dreams could walk away from her so easily?
Well, let him.
‘How long will you be?’ Her mother hovered at the door, holding Willow.
‘I don’t know,’ Celeste snapped. After weeks of nagging for Celeste to speak with Willow’s father, now that the moment was here, her mother was demanding timelines! Did she not realise how hard this was? ‘There are bottles made up.’
‘You will be coming back to get Willow, won’t you?’
That didn’t even deserve an answer, so Celeste just gritted her teeth.
‘Maybe you should take her with you...’
‘Mum!’ It wasn’t a snap this time, just a plea for her to stop fretting, worrying, fixing... And then Celeste got it, answered the question that she had wrestled with for weeks, no, for months now. Seven weeks into motherhood and Celeste was starting to get the swing of it—this aching, endless worry lasted longer than the pregnancy, longer than the first days or months. She was stuck with this fear for her child for life—as was her own mum—and now when her voice came, it was gentler, more reasonable, friendly even. ‘I’m not going to parade Willow in front of him—he hasn’t even asked to see her. I’m just going to see what he wants.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I don’t know,’ Celeste admitted. ‘For some sort of father for Willow, I suppose...’
‘What if he wants you back?’ It was the first real conversation they’d had in years and Celeste was finally able to answer honestly.
‘He lost me a long time ago, Mum. I’m only meeting with him now for the sake of Willow.’
‘Be careful,’ Rita said, and Celeste nodded.
‘Don’t wor—’ The words died on her lips and then Celeste smiled. ‘Okay, worry away if you must, but you really don’t have to. Whatever he has to say, Willow and I are going to be fine.’
* * *
Seeing him again, all Celeste felt was older and maybe, possibly, just a little bit wiser.
There was none of that giddy rush she’d had as a student when he’d walked into the lecture room—no blushing when he spoke or hanging on to his every word.
Whether she’d wanted to or not, she’d well and truly grown up and could see Dean for what he was now—a rather sad attempt of a man who’d played on her naïvety, who had taken full advantage of a perfectly normal crush when he really should have known better.
