A Little Too Late

by Staci Hart

  They all spoke at once, reaching for me. Her mother kissed my cheeks, hers high and rosy. Her father clasped my hand with a strong grip and a warm smile, and her sisters took turns kissing my cheeks too, three times on alternating sides. Her little oma was next, nearly pushing one of her cousins out of the way to get to me.

  “Come here,” she said, her hands up and open, reaching for my face.

  I obliged, bending over for her to reach me and kiss my cheeks, too. But she held me there instead of letting me go.

  “I can see why she didn’t want to talk about you. I would have told her she was being stupid.”

  I laughed. “Well, I’m glad I would have had your support.”

  “Yes, well, I am old enough to know when you have something to lose that you’ll regret not going after. But tell me, Charlie—you came all the way here for her, but if you take her away, will you treat her with care?”

  “I swear it,” I said, my voice low and serious.

  She patted my cheek and smiled. “You’re a good boy. You take care of her.”

  “I will.”

  “You’d better.”

  “Come on, Mama,” Hannah’s mother said, shaking her head apologetically at me.

  I met her aunt, uncle, cousins and her younger brothers. Everyone was so blond and so tall, I felt almost like I was a normal height.

  The crowd filtered into the living room, and Hannah ushered me in to sit in an armchair. She sat on the arm, leaning into me, her arm around my shoulders.

  “Where are the children?” she asked me as everyone was getting settled.

  “My mom came up from Florida after I figured out what to do. I couldn’t … I couldn’t let you go. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

  “I’m not,” she said softly and kissed my temple. “Let’s just stay for a little while. Can we go somewhere?”

  My arm slipped around her waist, my hand coming to rest on her thigh. “Of course. There’s so much I want to say, so much more. I just … I can’t believe I’m here and that you said yes.”

  She brushed my hair from my forehead. “All I’ve ever wanted to say is yes, Charlie.”

  Hannah kissed me gently, chastely, and all I wanted to do was pull her into my lap and hold her and kiss her and love her.

  Her uncle ducked out with a wink, and everyone began to sing a cheery song in Dutch, the whole lot of them. A few of them harmonized, the sound so lovely, I felt nostalgic without even understanding what they said.

  The doorbell rang a moment later, and this time when the children opened it, it was to a sack of presents. The twins dragged the velvet bag in by its rope like they were hauling a twenty-point buck, and when they opened it, they took turns passing out the contents. There was a gift for everyone—everyone but me, of course, but I already had my gift. There was quite literally nothing else I could have asked for.

  They opened their presents one at a time. Every present had a poem or letter attached to it, and they read them aloud—Hannah translated for me. Most of them were jokes or teased the recipient, and every one seemed to have meaning, nothing extravagant, all of them thoughtful.

  And just like that, I had an idea.

  But not for tonight. Tonight, all I wanted was Hannah.

  We ate pastries and drank coffee and talked and answered a thousand questions until Hannah disappeared to pack, giving me plenty of time to pull Oma over and enlist her help, ending up enlisting both of her sisters and mother too, because there were apparently no secrets in that house. And just as we finalized our plan, Hannah returned with a small bag to take my hand again. And we said goodbye to her family with promises to see each other the next day.

  The second the door closed, I pulled her into me and kissed her. I kissed her as the snow began to fall, the warmth of her a part of me, our breath mingling. I kissed her and told her how much I loved her, and I hoped she understood.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said when she pulled away.

  “It was the only thing left to do, the only way I knew to prove that I meant it when I said I wanted you back.” I kissed her again, just once, and took her bag. “Plus, I had Lysanne at my back with a pitchfork.”

  She laughed down at her feet as we walked. “Yes, she would do that.”

  “It helped that she was right. I owe you so much, more than I can ever repay you for, more than I can ever give you. More than I deserve.”

  She pulled me to a stop on the sidewalk. “Why don’t you feel that you deserve me?”

  I watched her face in the moonlight, the snow whispering around us. “Because you’re everything right, everything good. Because everything you touch is made better. But everything I touch spoils. You’re young and beautiful and free. And I wish I could have always belonged to you and you alone.”

  “Are you mine now?”

  I stepped closer. “Hannah, I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours even if you don’t want me. My heart was in your hands the first moment I saw your face.”

  “Then it isn’t about what we think we deserve. It’s about honoring what’s been given to us. I promise to honor your love if you’ll honor mine.”

  “I will,” I breathed, stepping into her. “I do.”

  And I sealed the vow with a kiss in the falling snow.

  We hurried to the hotel a few blocks away and up the stairs and to my room. The building was old, but the interior had been remodeled, though they’d left the original fireplace —when she ducked into the bathroom, I built a fire. And then I turned out the lights, kicking off my shoes and hanging up my coat, climbing into bed to wait for her.

  When she opened the door, she stepped out and walked through the quiet room.

  Hannah was an angel in white, with alabaster skin and hair the color of wheat, her eyes like sea glass, clear and blue and deep and fixed on me. The fire cast the gauzy fabric in an orange glow, her body a silhouette, but I could see every curve, see the shadows of her breasts and her peaked nipples, the valley of her waist and the swell of her hips.

  And when she was at my side, when she was in my arms, when her breath was my own, I found myself no longer free.

  I didn’t want to be free. I only wanted to be hers.

  My hands held her face in the firelight, held her body against mine, laid her down, her hair spread out around her like gold. Down her body I moved, her legs parting and thighs shifting against my thighs, then my waist, my hands wanting to touch all of her. They slipped up her legs, taking her nightgown with it until it was hitched over her waist, but my eyes were down, at the center of her, which was where I wanted to touch most of all.

  I settled between her thighs, opening them up, my breath ragged as my fingers spread her open, and I lowered my lips, closing my mouth over her core.

  A sigh slipped out of her at the contact, her hands twisting into my hair when I swept my tongue, thighs trembling when I slipped my finger into her heat, and I took my time, waiting until her hips rolled and breath grew loud. And then I let her go, backed off the bed, stood with the fire at my back and reached between my shoulder blades to grab my shirt and tug it over my head.

  I gripped my belt as she watched me with heavy lids and swollen lips, her legs still spread and hips shifting gently. I unfastened my pants and stepped out of them, climbed up her body, pushing her nightgown up her ribs, over her breasts. She moved to pull it over her head, and before it was even gone, my fingers were grazing her long neck, her collarbone. The weight of her breast rested in my palm, her nipple tight under my circling thumb, her lips parted, her eyes on my own. And I lowered my mouth to hers as her fingers closed around my length, her hips angling until my crown rested against her core.

  I flexed my hips, sliding into her gently as my tongue searched her mouth with slow purpose. And when I had filled her, when there was no space between us, skin to skin, heart to heart, I was whole. I was home.

  We moved together, her arms around my neck, my hand gripping her thigh, our bodies a wave and l
ips never parting, not until she turned her head, her eyes pinched shut, whispering my name as I pumped faster, harder. Her neck arched, her chin pointing at the ceiling, a gasp of pleasure that marked a shuddering throb through her when she came, and I was right behind her, letting my past go with the future in my arms.

  25

  Dreamers

  Hannah

  I woke the next morning tangled up in Charlie, aching and sore in all the best ways.

  For a long time, I lay there awake in his arms, listening to his heart beat and his slow breath, wondering over my future, not the least bit afraid.

  He’d shown me the waiver, told me that Mary had let him and the children go. He’d told me again what I’d always known—that he did trust me, that he did love me—and I knew he’d never second-guess me again. We’d talked about Quinton through my tears, and I didn’t doubt for a breath that Charlie would never forgive himself for not believing me.

  But we hadn’t talked about what would come, though I knew he’d want me to come back with him, and I knew I’d go.

  There were no more questions. Everything had been stripped down to its simplest form—I wanted him, and he wanted me.

  After a while, he woke, his hands finding my hair and his lips finding mine, almost as if they needed to be certain I was real. And the kiss deepened with our breath, our bodies finding their way together again.

  We spent the morning in bed, only deciding to leave when we were too hungry to stay where we were. So we showered and dressed, walked along the canal until we found a café for brunch, and ate bread and jam and cheese until we were satisfied.

  And then we headed back to my parents’ house. I popped my head in just to ask to borrow their bikes and a blanket and basket, which brought everyone out to talk to us. But an hour later, after stopping by the market, we were sitting on a plaid blanket, sipping wine and eating more bread and more cheese.

  Charlie took a bite of cheese, stretched out on the blanket next to me, the wind ruffling his hair as he looked across the field and toward the green pastures beyond. The snow hadn’t stuck, and the day was bright and sunny and crisp and perfect. I looked in the same direction with a sigh.

  “So beautiful,” he said.

  “It really is, isn’t it?”

  “The countryside is nice too.”

  I smiled down at him, touching his face as I kissed him, running my thumb over his bottom lip when I pulled away.

  “I’ve got something for you.” He moved for his bag as I watched, curious.

  And when I saw what was in his hands, I was too stunned to speak.

  He handed me the wooden shoe, stuffed to the brim, painted with a scene of a bakery with a pink-striped awning and a sign that read Lekker, and along the edge were the words, Home is where the heart is, in Dutch. I touched the words and met his twinkling eyes.

  “Charlie …”

  “Look inside.”

  So I did. Inside were rolled up drawings from Sammy and Maven and a snowflake they’d made for me out of popsicle sticks. My curiosity rose when I found Oma’s set of silver measuring spoons nestled in the bed of hay, coming to a roll of paper last, tied with a broad red ribbon.

  I set the shoe down and untied the ribbon, the paper unfurling to reveal a real estate listing.

  My hands went numb. It was the sandwich shop near Charlie’s house, and behind it was an unsigned lease agreement.

  My eyes snapped to his, and he sat up.

  “I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with my life since you left me, and I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be with you and that I didn’t want to go back to law. And when I thought about being with you, it made me want my family, want that future I’d dreamed of. It made me wonder why I had to find another job. It made me wonder if I could help you have your dream so that I could have mine.”

  He looked down at the papers in my hands, but my gaze stayed on his long face, on his elegant nose and the curves of his lips.

  “You have the ability and skill to run a bakery, and I have the money to put behind it and the business acumen to help you run it. The apartment above the shop was for lease too, and I’ve got everything ready to list my house and take this lease. I can stay home with the kids, and you can have your bakery. And it would be yours. The papers have already been drawn up, and everything is in your name. If something happens, if I lose you again, if I lose you for good, the shop is yours.”

  I swallowed back tears, and he took my hand.

  “Hannah, just say the word. Say the word, and it’s yours. If you need time to think—”

  “Yes,” I blurted, the word tight with emotion and my cheeks hot.

  He searched my face, his voice hushed. “Are you sure? Don’t … I know I put you on the spot with all of this, and I—”

  I shut him up with a kiss, rising up on my knees as his arms wound around my waist.

  When I broke away, he looked up at me with a lazy, hazy smile.

  “You bought me a bakery,” I said with wonder.

  He shrugged. “I’m only in it for the kwarktaart.”

  And I laughed against his lips and kissed him again, knowing dreams were free and feeling like the luckiest woman in the world because every one of mine had come true.

  Epilogue

  Charlie - Two Years Later

  Everything smelled like apples.

  The scent hung in the air of the apartment, as much a part of it as the couch or the table or the rocking chair where I sat, rocking Ava, her bottom so little, it fit in the palm of my hand. She was only a month old, and she smelled like apples too, apples and milk and baby—that intoxicating concoction that made you feel your mortality as surely as it made you feel infinite.

  It was early—the sun had just begun to lighten the sky, and the birds had yet to wake and begin their chirping. Maven and Sammy would still be asleep for another hour at least, and Hannah was already downstairs in the bakery with Fein—her cousin who had recently moved from Holland—getting ready for the day. With appelflappen, if I had to guess. It had become the shop’s bestseller over the last couple of months, per my numbers, maybe because of fall’s entrance or the upcoming holidays. Or maybe because Hannah’s cooking was actual magic, and people just couldn’t get enough.

  I’d bank on that being the truth, and I could attest to the fact that Hannah was in fact magic.

  We’d spent the last two years building the shop and building our lives together, the two of us finding easy symmetry and harmony. The weekend after my divorce was final, Hannah and I had flown with the kids to Holland and were married. And no one had told us we were rushing, and no one had accused us of being crazy.

  It seemed everyone who truly cared for us knew as well as we did that we were meant for each other.

  Mary had done as I’d asked, and at first, she’d tried. She had occasionally called and asked to see the kids, but those calls had become few and far between until they’d stopped all together. And Quinton had been charged and ended up on probation, with a divorce and a restraining order to boot. We hadn’t seen him again.

  Construction on the bakery had been stressful and long, but when we’d opened, business had taken off. The sandwich shop had always done all right, but Lekker was such a welcome neighborhood addition that it had become a staple, the place everyone would go to for coffee and pastries in the morning, where they would work at the big table facing the window, just like Hannah had imagined. Within six months, we had been in the black.

  And I might well be in heaven.

  Don’t get me wrong; being a stay-at-home dad was weird and disorienting and made me feel like I’d lost some part of myself, lost my identity. But it was also everything I had wanted. I got to coach Sammy’s little league team and attend Maven’s ballet recital, which was really just an adorable cat herding of a dozen five-year-olds in tutus. The day-to-day monotony of raising small children was balanced by the feeling of rightness, the understanding that I was where I needed to be, where I wante
d to be. And I had been able to help Hannah build something we were both proud of, give her her dream just like I’d wanted. She’d already made all mine come true.

  I hummed “Hey Jude,” rubbing Ava’s back as I rocked her. It was my favorite time of day—when the world was asleep, my baby was in my arms, my wife was downstairs doing what she loved, and the day was full of possibility and promise. It was the first thing I did every day, before coffee, before anything. I would sit in this chair and hold my daughter as I considered just how fortunate I was.

  Ava wriggled, her arms stretching over her head and tiny fists balled up, nuzzling her face into my shoulder, rooting around for something she wasn’t likely to get from me.

  “Come on. You want Mama?”

  She mewled a little cry, and I smiled as I stood and shuffled down the building’s stairs in my slippers, sleep pants, and a hoodie—my uniform.

  Hannah stood behind the cases, loading them with trays of pastries with little chalkboard signs, looking as blissfully happy as I felt, if not a little tired. She waved, and Fein ran around to unlock the front door for me.

  I stepped into the warm shop as Hannah walked around the counter, untying her apron and reaching for us—me first, her hands on my cheeks and vanilla on her lips as she kissed me sweetly, and then Ava, whose back she patted.

  “Good morning, my loves,” she said with that smile of hers.

  I shifted so Hannah could see her face. “Baby’s hungry.”

  “Ah, come here, leifje,” Hannah said as she scooped the baby up and cradled her.

  Ava turned her face the second she realized where she was, mouth open and frantic. She squealed a frustrated cry.

  Hannah smiled and bounced her, shushing her as she sat in one of the armchairs in the back corner and situated Ava, who squeaked and wriggled until she was happily suckling with Hannah’s finger clutched in her fist.

  I sat on the arm of the chair, and Hannah leaned into me.

  “Tired?” I asked.

  “Mmm,” she hummed noncommittally and sighed dreamily. “Sometimes everything feels like a dream.”