Chapter 410
Madison
We fell into comfortable silence. The streetlights painted patterns on the dashboard as we drove through Connecticut’s quiet neighborhoods. Christopher’s house wasn’t far now, maybe another five minutes.
“Can I ask you something?” Christopher said.
“Depends on the question.”
“Why me? For the fake boyfriend thing.” He turned slightly in his seat. “You could have asked anyone. Why pick the guy who shows up at your café regularly for overpriced coffee?”
“It’s not overpriced.”
“Madison.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Because you’re safe. You’re not complicated. You don’t come with baggage or expectations or…” I trailed off.
“Or a billion–dollar empire and fiancée?”
“Something like that.”
He was quiet for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I don’t mind being the safe choice. Better than being the complicated one.”
“You say that now. Wait until Alexander starts asking invasive questions about our relationship.”
“Let him ask. I’ve got answers.” Christopher grinned. “We met at the café. You made me the perfect cappuccino. I was smitten immediately.”
“Christopher.”
“What? Details matter. We need to sell this.”
I turned onto his street, the houses growing larger and more spread out. His place came into view, a beautiful independent house with perfect landscaping and warm lights glowing from the windows.
I pulled into his driveway and killed the engine.
“Thanks for the ride,” Christopher said, reaching for the door handle. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“It’s nothing.”
He paused, his hand on the door. “Do you want to come in? I was about to make tea. Or coffee, if you prefer. Though I imagine you’re sick of coffee by now.”
I should say no. Should drive home to my mother and Ethan and the life I’d carefully built without complications.
But something in Christopher’s expression made me hesitate. Not expectation exactly. Just genuine kindness. An otter without strings.
“Tea sounds nice,” I heard myself say.
His face lit up. “Great. Come on.”
I followed him to the front door, suddenly aware of how late it was getting. My mother would wonder where I was. But she had her phone. She could call if she needed me.
Christopher unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. His house was just as I remembered. Clean, modern, tastefully decorated without being cold. The kind of place that looked like it belonged in a magazine but still telt lived in.
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“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
I settled onto his couch, sinking into cushions that were somehow both firm and comfortable.
Christopher returned with two mugs, steam rising from both. He handed me one and settled into the armchair across from me.
“So,” he said, taking a sip. “Tell me more about him.”
“About who?”
“Alexander Knight. Your ex–boss. Ethan’s father.”
I stared into my tea, watching the steam curl upward.
“Some other time,” I said finally.
Christopher studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”
We finished our tea in comfortable silence. The kind that didn’t demand constant conversation or explanations. Just two people sitting together, drinking tea, existing in the same space without pressure.
I set down my empty mug and stood. “I should get going. Mom’s probably wondering where I am.”
“Of course.” Christopher walked me to the door. “Thanks for the ride. And the company.”
“No problem.” I paused on his doorstep. “If you need any help, just call me.”
“Alright.” His smile was genuine, warm. “Drive safe.”
The drive home took fifteen minutes. The streets were quiet; most people already settled in for the night. My mind wandered as I navigated the familiar roads, circling back to Alexander like it always did these days.
I pulled into my driveway, killing the engine and sitting in the sudden silence. Through the window, I could see the living room lights on. Mom was probably reading or watching one of her shows.
I climbed out and headed inside.
“You’re home late,” Mom called from the living room.
“Christopher needed a ride. Flat tire.” I hung my keys on the hook by the door.
“That was kind of you.” She looked up from her book. “Ethan’s already asleep. Went down at eight without any fuss.”
“Good.” I kicked off my shoes. “I’ll check on him.”
Ethan’s door was slightly ajar, his nightlight casting soft shadows across the walls. I pushed it open gently.
He was sprawled across his bed, one arm flung over his stuffed T–Rex, his mouth slightly open. His hair stuck up in every direction, messy and perfect.
I watched him sleep for a moment, my chest tight. This beautiful, perfect boy who looked so much like his father that it sometimes hurt. Those eyes. That stubborn set to his jaw even in sleep.
Alexander wanted to be part of his life.
I pulled his blanket up, tucking it around him gently. He stirred but didn’t wake, just burrowed deeper into his pillow.
“Love you, baby,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Back in my room, I changed into pajamas and collapsed onto my bed. The celling stared back at me, familiar and boring, and safe. My phone sat on the nightstand. No new messages. I grabbed it anyway, scrolling through old photos. Ethan at three, covered in
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Chapter 410
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birthday cake. Ethan at two, taking his first steps. Ethan as a baby, wrinkled and red and absolutely perfect.
Not a single photo of Alexander.
Was it fair to keep them apart now? Now that Alexander knew? Now that he clearly wanted to be involved?
The question circled in my head, impossible to answer.
I set my phone aside and closed my eyes. Sleep didn’t come. Just thoughts of Alexander.
The ceiling fan hummed above me, a steady rhythm that should have been soothing but only made the silence worse. My mind kept replaying the conversations with Alexander.
I rolled onto my side, punching my pillow into a better shape. This was ridiculous. I needed sleep, not midnight overthinking sessions about Alexander.
But sleep refused to cooperate.
Around two in the morning, I gave up. Padded to the kitchen in my pajamas, the hardwood floor was cold beneath my bare feet. The house was silent except for the occasional creak of old wood settling.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
