Page 51 of Small Town Daddy

Somehow, I managed to get down to work.

It wasn’t fun, but it was something. The trim was fiddly. I had to move slowly and use a lot of tape to stop the paint from coloring the walls. I made a couple of mistakes, and had to carefully rub paint off where I went over the line. It was slow, demanding work.

After the first coat, I paused, had a cup of coffee. Obviously, it didn’t taste as good without Marcus here. I resisted the urge to send him a message. He was probably busy. I didn’t want to burden him with questions. I just had to trust him.

When I was done with my break, I dipped the brush into the pale blue paint, watching the color drip slowly back into the can. With the first stroke, memories flooded in, unstoppable as the tide. Marcus’s laughter echoed in the empty house. I could almost see him there, flipping pancakes while teasing me about my poor flipping skills. The way he’d lean over, brushing flour off my nose, his touch lingering longer than necessary. My heart squeezed tight, but I pushed the thought away, focusing on the steady rhythm of painting.

In the glasshouse we fixed up together, we'd been covered in dust and grime, grinning like idiots at our handiwork. Marcus had pulled me into his arms there, ignoring the dirt, holding me close until the world faded away. He always had a way of making everything else disappear.

Now, without him, the house felt like an echo chamber, amplifying the silence and my loneliness. Each brushstroke felt heavy, dragging through the paint like my thoughts through molasses.

"Get it together, girl," I whispered, leaning against the wall for a moment. But the emptiness pressed in, and tears threatened to spill over. I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall.

This was supposed to be my safe place, my sanctuary. Instead, it was full of reminders of what might already be slipping away.I took a deep breath, willing myself to focus on the task at hand, ignoring the gnawing ache in my chest that refused to be tamed.

A sharp knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. Startled, I dropped the paintbrush, splattering white on my worn jeans. Swiping my hands with a rag, I moved to the door, each step a reminder of the loneliness creeping in.

"Hey, you," Marie greeted, her voice like a balm. She stood there, basket in hand, two cups of coffee steaming up into the crisp morning air. Her smile was warm, but her eyes—those saw more than they let on.

"Thought you might need a pick-me-up," she said, stepping over the threshold. Her gaze flickered over my face, taking in the telltale signs of strain. "Mind if I come in?"

"Sure," I replied, trying to muster a semblance of cheerfulness, though it felt paper thin. I stepped aside, welcoming her into the quiet chaos of my childhood home.

"This is looking so good!" Marie commented, her voice light as she took in the half-finished trim work and scattered tools. We settled on the dusty floor, using overturned paint cans as makeshift seats. It was oddly grounding, sitting there amidst the remnants of my past and the echoes of recent memories.

"Coffee," she offered, passing one cup to me. The warmth seeped through my fingers, a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty.

"Marcus left this morning," I blurted out, the words tumbling free before I could stop them. They hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. "He went to see Emily."

Marie raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern. "His ex-wife?" she asked, her tone careful.

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "He said I have nothing to worry about, but I can't help feeling . . . scared." The admission slipped out, raw and honest, leaving me exposed.

Marie studied me for a moment, her eyes softening. She didn't rush to speak, didn't offer platitudes or dismiss my fear. Instead, she listened, giving space to the vulnerability I'd laid bare. And in that silence, I found a sliver of solace, knowing she was there beside me.

A draft of cool air slipped through the cracked window, stirring the dust motes that danced in the light. I rubbed my thumb against the warm ceramic of the coffee cup, staring at the steam curling into nothingness.

"I think I've lost the bet," I said, my voice a whisper against the quiet room. The words dropped like stones between us, heavy and unyielding.

Marie looked at me, her eyes filled with something soft, yet strong. "What bet?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. "I told myself I wouldn't fall for him. That I'd protect my heart." My laugh was bitter, tasting of regret. "But I love him, Marie. And now, I might have my heart broken because he's going back to her."

My voice cracked, betraying the fear I tried so hard to keep hidden. Tears stung my eyes, and one slipped free, tracing a path down my cheek. Marie's hand found mine, gentle and reassuring.

"Lucy, listen to me," she said, her tone firm but kind. "Marcus cares about you deeply. Anyone can see that. He probably just needs to tie up some loose ends with Emily. You can't assume the worst."

I shook my head, the motion slow and uncertain. "But what if he's realized he still loves her? She says she’s a Little. What if I've just been a distraction?" The thought clawed at me, deepening the ache in my chest.

Marie smiled softly, a light in the darkness of my doubts. "From what I've seen, you're anything but a distraction to him. Trust in what you two have built."

Her words hung between us, offering a fragile hope. I wanted to believe them, to hold onto the possibility that Marcus and I were more than just fleeting moments in time. But fear lingered, a shadow I couldn't quite shake.

"Why do I always do this?" I sighed, staring into my coffee as if it held the answers. "I dive headfirst into relationships, ignoring all the warning signs. I thought this time would be different."

Marie tilted her head, her curly hair bouncing with the motion. "The fact that you're aware of this pattern means you're growing, Lucy. But don't let fear sabotage something good. Give Marcus a chance to explain."

Her words were like a balm, but doubt still clawed at my insides. I knew she was right, yet the fear of getting hurt again was strong, a familiar shadow lurking in the corners of my heart.

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