by Ciara Shayee
“No. Not tonight,” Laker mumbled, looking down at his flip-flop-clad feet.
Only then did she notice that he was still in the clothes he’d worn all day—a pair of cream, chino shorts and a pale blue polo shirt. The colours accentuated his golden tan, and the fit of his top exaggerated the musculature of his arms and chest. Indie felt her skin flush as she forced her eyes to leave his biceps, filling the short sleeves of his polo, and met his gaze.
Busted.
He was looking straight at her—he almost appeared amused.
“It’s been a while since we were here, huh?”
Laker nodded slowly, looking around as though searching for the past; as though he’d be able to see the months between this and their last visit hiding within the blooms. “A lot has changed.”
Indie couldn’t help but agree. A lot had changed.
Indie, I love you.
Warmth spread through her veins as she remembered their last visit to Italy—as she remembered the declarations that had been made, the bonds that had been strengthened.
I love you. Indie, I love you. I love you.
Since their last evening here in the rose garden, Laker had admitted that he’d fallen for her, admitted that he loved her. He’d shown her that he loved her every day since. And, slowly but surely, she’d begun to see that he wasn’t the only one falling.
With every smile, every hug or laugh or wink, she knew.
Every time she watched him tickle Bodhi until he was breathless or crouch and let Bodhi stagger around hanging onto his fingers to practice walking, she knew.
And as he cuddled his Little Sweet, taught her to play the piano, to be confident and to speak Italian, Indie knew.
Indie knew she was falling for Laker—hard and fast. She was all-too-aware that her feelings of friendship were evolving, or had evolved already and were just now becoming more apparent. She’d realised a while ago that there was no going back; no denying how right it felt to think of him as something more than her friend.
He’d featured as a starring role in more than one of her dreams in recent weeks. Often, she woke flustered and red-faced, wondering if her dream would come true.
Wondering if Marley and Bodhi would one day call Laker ‘Daddy.’
Wondering if Bodhi would always be the baby of the family; if he’d ever wear a t-shirt that said ‘Big Brother.’
Or if Reagan would tease his newest grandchild for having red highlights in his hair when the sun caught it like he teased Laker for having the same thing.
These were dreams she didn’t share with anyone. They seemed too private, too intimate. However, at this moment, with Laker tugging her into a dancing hold to dance her around the fountain in loose, slow circles, Indie couldn’t help but ache with want for those dreams to come to fruition, even though the thought of admitting her innermost thoughts and desires frightened her.
Even now, with Laker gazing down at her with soft wonder colouring his mint green eyes, she couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t just say the three words he’d given her those weeks ago on the patio beside the pool. Indie wasn’t brave enough, even though Laker had been.
Frustration at herself nipped at Indie’s heels as she bit down on her tongue, staring at the pocket on the front of his shirt. It rested exactly where his heart beat away inside his chest, and she felt the surprising, unstoppable rush of impulsiveness just seconds before she let herself lean forward slightly to kiss it—she felt the hard thump-thump of his heart against her lips before she pulled back.
Silence descended over the duo as they continued to move around the fountain in perfect synchronisation; Indie’s body was hyper-aware of how close Laker was, his body heat joined with hers.
Her hip tingled beneath his palm. Her fingers suddenly felt like live wires entangled with his. As they turned, their stomachs brushed, heat settling in her belly. Indie lifted her gaze to Laker’s face, peering up at him as she blinked her long lashes. He was staring back at her, emotions Indie couldn’t begin to identify or name swimming in the depths of his eyes. Her heart raced, and she was abruptly certain that Laker must be able to hear it thundering away.
How could he not? It was flying—thumping hard enough against her rib cage that it must have been impossible for him to miss.
The whoosh of a breath escaping her lungs was almost painful as Indie shivered, feeling Laker’s hand leave her lip to ghost up her side. He paused at her ribs to tickle lightly, a smirk dancing on his lips, before continuing up until he was cradling her face. His hands were warm, with slightly calloused fingertips from years of woodworking, and made her feel like the most precious piece of glass.
Ironic, considering that his inability to handle her with kid gloves had been the thing that relaxed her most when she first escaped Garrett’s tyranny.
“Indie, I…” Laker trailed off, shaking his head.
They came to a stop, their joined hands lowering, but Laker didn’t move his hand from her face—if she was honest, Indie didn’t really want him to, anyway.
The air around them seemed to crackle and swell, the breeze dropping as the fountain quieted to a low, unimportant trickle. Indie sucked in a breath and tried to decipher the intense look on Laker’s face.
Eventually, after a minute that felt more like a lifetime, he sighed and smiled self-consciously. “Can I…” He coughed, clearing his throat, and tried again. “Can I say it?”
It took a few moments for Indie to realise what he meant by ‘it.’ When it clicked, she froze—just for a second. Then, relaxing, she nodded bashfully and readied herself to hear it. To hear the three words that lingered on the back of her tongue but weren’t yet brave enough to take the leap to freedom.
His answering smile was beautiful in its exuberance and joy. His eyes were lit from within, framed by endlessly long lashes as his dimples popped to bookend his crooked grin. Indie reached up to run her fingers through his riotous, dark mess of hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Laker hummed a pleased sound, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment before they reopened and he inhaled deeply, running the pad of his thumb over her lower lip as he whispered, “I love you.”
~ oOo ~
Laker startled as a warm, soft hand slid against his, small fingers pressing their way into the balled-up fists his hands had become. He forced his hands to relax before peering down at the woman at his side.
“Are you okay?” Indie whispered, squeezing their joined hands.
He managed a weak smile, leaning down to press his forehead to hers, just for a second. “I’m okay.”
Enrico’s funeral had gone as well as expected. There had been plenty of tears, readings, and emotional eulogies. Contessa read a poem—the same poem they’d read together during their wedding ceremony some fifty years ago. At the end of the service, each member of the immediate family set a solitary red tulip atop his coffin; his favourite colour paired with his favourite flower. Laker had lifted Marley so she could reach, and had cried as she placed the flower atop the picture she’d drawn of herself with Bodhi and Enrico, setting them gingerly on the coffin.
Then the entire congregation had filtered out into the sunshine for the burial.
The priest’s blessing was in Italian. He spoke in a monotone voice and had a wrinkled face, aged by time and now clouded with grief; he missed his friend, with whom he’d grown up.
“Do you think he knows we’re all here?” Laker asked softly, closing his eyes against Indie’s forehead.
“Yes,” she said, after a short contemplation. “I think he knows. And I think he’s grateful, and he can see that we all love him.”
Laker opened his eyes. They were just an inch or two away from hers. Her solemn gaze filled him with hope. If she believed that Enrico could see this, could see his loved ones gathered to say ‘goodbye,’ after all she’d been through and endured, Laker could believe it, too. Pulling back, he watched Indie as her gaze moved to the priest.
She looked heartbreakingly beautiful in a plain, blac
k, knee-length sheath dress with cap sleeves. Her hair had been pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she wore a simple pair of low-heeled, black court shoes; Marley looked almost identical, except she wore her curls loose and tumbling over her shoulders and wore black sandals instead of heels. Laker fidgeted and bit his tongue.
At that moment, he almost couldn’t contain his love for Indie. It threatened to pour from him as he fought tears and cursed himself for not being able to resist her. It had only been made harder since last night—since he’d seen her love for him reflected back at her from within her stunning azure eyes. At first, Laker thought he was only seeing what he wanted to see. But as they’d danced late into the night, or early into the morning, he’d come to a sudden realisation.
There was no disguising what she felt. No denying that he could see her emotions clear as day, painted across her face and overflowing from her gaze. She may not be ready to admit it yet, but Laker was certain he could wait, now that he knew she felt the same.
Now that he’d seen it.
“Laker, can I come up?”
He scooped Marley into his arms without hesitation, holding her as close as possible and rocking their bodies side-to-side as she wrapped herself around him like a spider monkey clinging to its mother. He didn’t pull his hand from Indie’s—he simply used his free arm to cradle Marley, pressing a lingering kiss to the little girl’s forehead when he pulled back with a small, sad frown.
“Everyone’s sad, Laker.”
“I know, Little Sweet. But you know what? One day, everyone will be happy again, because even though Nonno Enrico is up with the angels now, he can still see us and hear us. We can talk to him, and he’ll listen.”
Marley contemplated this new information for a few seconds, then smiled hesitantly. “So, I can talk to Nonno Rico whenever I want? And he can hear me?”
“He sure can, Little Sweet.”
“So I can still tell him ‘bout my dreams and stuff? And when I teach baby Bodhi how to do things?”
“Yep. And you know…I think Nonno Enrico would really like to hear all that stuff if you want to tell him.”
With a decisive nod, Marley sighed and relaxed against Laker’s chest, leaning her head against his shoulder. “‘Kay. I’ll talk to him lots then, so he doesn’t get lonely.”
Laker exhaled shakily and pressed his lips together to stifle a cry as he blinked away an onslaught of tears. Seeing what was about to happen, Indie stepped closer and tucked herself into his side, holding him up as he crumbled and turned to cry silently into her hair.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, holding him tighter. “I’ve got you.”
Those were the words she said, but she was thinking “I love you” on a loop.
~ oOo ~
The wake carried on long into the evening. By the time the guests not staying at Laker’s house left, everyone was exhausted and more than ready to fall into their beds. Carl-Roman and Chase were carried off with Archie to his room, quickly followed by Sarah, Andy, Peter, the twins, and Reagan. Mark, Josie, and their boys headed out to the tent they’d borrowed from Laker to create more room inside the house, and Grace finally yawned enough times while helping Indie clear away the platters that she shooed her toward her room.
“Are you sure?” Grace asked doubtfully, glancing toward Ryan hovering in the doorway playing on his phone.
“Of course. Head off to bed, and we’ll see you in the morning. Thank you for all your help.” Indie gave Grace a firm hug, kissed her cheek, and nudged her gently in the direction of the door—and Ryan.
It hadn’t come as a surprise to Indie at all when Marley had tattled on Grace and Ryan, gleefully telling her mother that she’d seen him sneaking into her room a few nights previous. Indie was just waiting for the right time to pounce on Grace for details. Memories of Grace doing the same thing to her when they were last in Italy were fresh in Indie’s mind. She absolutely intended to get payback for her nosiness.
“’Night guys, I’m gonna turn in, too,” Ryan called, following Grace out of the room and down the hall like an incredibly unsubtle puppy.
Laker chuckled when the pair disappeared from sight, stacking the last of the paper plates and tossing them into black bags. “Those two couldn’t be more obvious if they tried.”
Indie snorted, nodding. “You’re right there. I bet they think they’re being so sneaky.”
“Who’s sneaky, Mamma?”
Indie twisted to face her daughter, smiling when she saw the way Marley battled to keep her eyelids open. “Nobody, baby girl. All right, I think it’s bedtime for you, huh?”
“No, Mamma. I’m not even—yawn—sleepy yet.”
“I think baby Bodhi is, though. And I’m very tired. Laker, are you tired?”
“Molto stanco!” He crossed the room to kneel beside Marley, whispering, “That means ‘very tired,’ by the way. C’mon, let’s go get our jammies on and get to bed.”
Despite her assurances to the contrary, Marley was tired enough that she didn’t argue with Laker when he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room, Indie close behind once she’d scooped Bodhi from his nest. She made it to the bedroom just as Laker and Marley decided Marley would wear the 101 Dalmatians pyjamas.
“Again, baby girl? Don’t you want to wear any of your other ones?”
“No, Mamma. I like these ones. They’ve got Dalmatians on ‘em!”
Indie laughed quietly, mindful of the sleeping baby in her arms. “All right, all right. The Dalmatian ones, it is.”
“Mamma, can we get a Dalmatian? A real one? Ooh, we can get a cute little puppy with lots of spots and a waggly tail!”
“Maybe one day when you’re older, baby girl,” Indie hedged, settling Bodhi into his travel cot after quickly changing his diaper without waking him. Tucked back into his sleep shorts and t-shirt, Bodhi barely stirred as he was nestled into bed for the night. “We don’t have anywhere near enough time or room for a dog right now.”
Laker distracted Marley with talk of all the swimming he’d promised while Indie darted into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and change into a comfy set of pyjama shorts and a tank top. She spread the dress neatly on the counter beside the sink, knowing she needed to get it dry-cleaned before giving it back to Sarah.
When she emerged back into the bedroom a few minutes later, intending to drag Marley into the bathroom to brush her teeth, Indie paused and leaned against the doorframe to take in the adorable sight before her.
Marley and Laker were fast asleep on the bed, Marley’s arm tossed over his stomach, her right leg curled around his, and her head pillowed on his chest. Rounding the bed with whisper-soft footsteps, Indie found herself unable to stifle a girlish sigh. Marley’s hair was a wild mess across his bare chest, her hand resting right over his heart.
The exact spot Indie had impulsively kissed the night before when she’d been able to tell that his heart was hurting. It seemed she wasn’t the only one with that sixth sense.
As her gaze travelled up past Marley’s peaceful face to Laker’s, she was saddened to see the troubled kink in his brows and the purse of his lips. She reached out to flick the switch, still able to see enough that she didn’t trip on anything as she moved towards the bed. Thankfully, it was warm enough that the covers weren’t necessary, because even with the best will in the world Indie wouldn’t have been able to tug them from beneath his dead-weight. She curled herself into the space beside him, content just being able to feel the heat from his body without actually invading his personal space by touching him.
With the sadness of the day leaching from her body, soft light illuminating Laker’s increasingly peaceful features and the line of drool hanging from Marley’s mouth onto his chest, Indie felt the cotton-soft embrace of sleep welcoming her into its folds. She snuggled into the soft sheets and nestled her head into the pillow, happy in the knowledge that her three favourite people were safe in the room nearby.
~ oOo ~
Hot. I’m so hot…
Indie woke uncomfortably hot and feeling as though she was being held down. A shot of panic raced through her veins as she contemplated the terrifying notion that the past year had all been a dream.
But no…it couldn’t have been.
Even as her heart thumped away in her chest, the panic ebbing, Indie realised she could hear Bodhi’s cooing and Marley’s giggles. She could hear the quiet swish of the drapes on the tiles, and feel the balmy breeze sweeping in through the windows.
A deep inhale meant to calm her speeding pulse only served to make her heart skip a beat.
Warm…woodsy…manly?
Indie’s eyes flashed open, and she immediately recognised the woodsy, manly scent for what it was.
Or, who it was.
In their sleep, Laker and Indie had gravitated towards one another. At some point in the night, he’d rolled onto his stomach, thrown his arm and leg over Indie, and nestled his face into the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Soft puffs of breath fanned over her neck and collarbone every few seconds, gooseflesh rising over skin the warm air touched. His hair was an absolute mess and tickled her jaw each time he moved even only slightly, and the warmth of his body spread the length of hers was the source of the heat that had woken her—the side he wasn’t pressed against was noticeably cooler, thanks to the air sneaking into the room.
“Mamma, Laker’s talking,” Marley giggled.
Much to Indie’s relief, her daughter didn’t seem to notice the fire-engine-red flush that had overtaken her face when she realised Marley was doubtlessly going to tell everyone about this—that she’d woken up to Indie and Laker entwined in bed.
“What? He’s sleeping, baby girl.”
Marley’s eyes were aglow with mischief, her lips curled up into a wide grin. “He’s talking in his sleep! Shhh, listen!”
Indie and Marley waited in silence for a few seconds and both failed miserably at stifling their giggles when, true to Marley’s word, he began mumbling about cheese and salami roll-ups and dancing pelicans.