Page 34 of Make You Mine

Chelsea’s still conked out on the sofa, same place she was when we got home. Curled on her side, blanket up to her waist, mouth slightly open. The telly’s on but practically muted, the screen casting blue shadows across the room. Her large glasses sit folded on the coffee table beside a half-eaten bowl of popcorn. No doubt leftovers from her movie marathon with Widget.

I slip in, grab the bowl, and switch off the television. If she wanted a lift, she’d have asked. Seems she’s happy to stay.

Thank fuck.

Last thing I want tonight is a bleeding late-night drive.

I check the boiler next. It’s tucked in the cupboard off the kitchen. Sure enough, the bastard’s gone dodgy and won’t hold a flame. It looks like the valve’s gone or the thermostat’s shot. Either way, it’s buggered.

I let out a long breath through my nose.

Great.

That’ll be a call to the repair bloke first thing.

I finish my walk through the ground floor, checking the locks, windows, and every shadowed corner, just to be sure nothing’s out of place.

Still... that feeling won’t leave me. Like there’s something I’ve overlooked.

Back upstairs, Amerie’s already cleaned up. She’s changed into one of her nighties and swapped the bedsheet. The moment I step in, her gaze lifts.

“Everything good?” she asks.

“No fires to put out. Just the sodding boiler. It’s done for.”

She frowns. “Didn’t the old owners say it was new?”

“Must’ve gone for the bargain bin model,” I mutter. “We’ll have to ring someone in the morning. ’Til then, we’ll double up on blankets.”

But even as I say it, there’s still that ache in my gut. That creeping unease that doesn’t just go away. The kind that keeps a man up long after the lights are out…

Chapter 11

Chelsea

I was always meant to be in this house.

A soft little hum escapes me as I glide from room to room and admire every detail. My fingertips graze the smooth porcelain vase on the mantel. It’s lovely in a way, though she’s put it in the wrong spot. It obviously belongs by the bay window. That’s where the morning sun pours in just right.

I’d fill it with fresh flowers each morning. The clematis would bloom brighter for me. They would thrive under my tender care.

I’d grow herbs too. Mints and peppers. Maybe a bit of thyme.

Every dinner would be something fresh and homemade, straight from the garden. A crisp little salad on the table, the dressing from scratch, serving size for four.

Declan and the kids.

And me.

My eyes drift across the living room walls, soaking in the rich teal shade she’s chosen. Maroon would be so much warmer. More refined. More…me.

Emmett’s in his playpen, gurgling to himself as he taps at that garish caterpillar toy. The one that flashes in rainbow colors like a ruddy slot machine. Willow’s at the kitchen table finishingthe last bit of her homework, some workbook she’ll breeze through without blinking. She’s a sharp little thing, almost too clever for her age. I noticed it straight away.

I told her once she’s done, we’ll kick off our movie marathon.

A girls’ night in. Just the two of us. Willow and her new mummy.

I slip out of the lounge and start up the stairs, calling over my shoulder for her to holler if she needs anything.

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