than a full belly, a warm bed and nine uninterrupted hours of peace. He also knew she'd be grateful to hit snooze after seven.
And to get there, she'd need to relax.
He swiped a piece of cucumber and tossed it to Merry. The grateful dog snapped up the food, never leaving Cate's side.
"Unheard of," Tom grinned.
Cate looked up, the wooden spoon she stirred with slowly stopping. Her eyes went from the cutting board, to Tom, to the big dog, taking in the situation and searching for understanding.
"She never left your side, even for food," he told her.
"I'm her alpha," Cate went back to her prep. She poured herself a tall glass of whole milk, and tipped her face up to Tom. "Iced tea? Lemonade?"
"Lemonade."
Nodding, she filled a second glass, adding two clean strawberries and a few ice cubes. She placed the glass neatly in front of him and he caught her hand.
For a minute, they held one another's gaze. Her eyes were weary on his. Tom stood, rounding the island, and moved to her. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her. Her face fell to his shoulder naturally. Turning her cheek to it, she settled.
Chapter Fifty
"Mom, be careful."
Cate was driving home from the train, the short distance marred by fog. She traded her precious music for her precious girl. Al's voice spoke to her over the wireless set-up.
"I am."
She hadn't wanted to tell the children about Tom just yet. She wasn't sure how she, herself, felt. Ordinarily, she would've kept her distance. Tom, however, was pushing (gently, patiently) for what he wanted: her. And she was a sucker for his kindness.
Kindness was her currency. The milk of it, the sudden shock, the absolute innocence of people who did for others with no thought to their own needs. It stopped Cate; it soothed her heart.
She was unsure whether or not Tom was using her love of sweetness and mercy to get closer to her, and if he was, why. It had been too long since they'd been married, since he'd appeared to care for her, since he'd any more than tolerated her presence. It was also a shock to her senses when he'd gone from tolerance to hatred and beyond to−care, she supposed. Her heart hurt from the whiplash. It was a constant ache that confused her.
It wasn't so much about worth; Cate knew she was worthy. She also knew PTSD was a harsh mistress, a bully. This wasn't about her merit; it was about a disease. One that would cruelly strip her of her self-respect, over and over.
If it wasn't about her merit, then, was it even about her? Was Tom seemingly interested in her because she was familiar? The mother of their children? He was lonely? He felt better, so now he'd like to return their lives to normal?
How could she go back? How could she ever go back?
"Mom−"
Cate snapped out of her reverie, trying to focus on what Alex was saying while watching the road. The high-profile Jeep swayed in the wind as she crossed the tall bridge, the fog lifting for a minute then settling around her like an evil blanket fort. She stayed close to the far side of the structure, her exit rapidly approaching, her lights cutting only a swatch into the endless black highway ahead of her.
"Honey−" Cate answered, smiling. She loved listening to Al talk. Her sweet voice lilted and fell like a fairy singing in the early morning. Every time Cate heard her daughter's voice it reminded her of when Alex was younger.
"I want you to be careful."
"I am. I'm almost home."
"Mom? I mean about Dad."
Tom had told both Al and Nic he was spending time with Cate. He'd done it not to be obnoxious but to encourage support. Hope.
Cate wanted to murder him for it. She didn't date. And when she broke that rule, she didn't merge potential suitors with her children. She'd have broken up with anyone who expected otherwise, and that included her husband, ex or not. PTSD changed all her rules.
"Oh, honey," Cate thought carefully. As much as she would've loved to pepper Al with questions: what did he say, how did he sound? her job
And to get there, she'd need to relax.
He swiped a piece of cucumber and tossed it to Merry. The grateful dog snapped up the food, never leaving Cate's side.
"Unheard of," Tom grinned.
Cate looked up, the wooden spoon she stirred with slowly stopping. Her eyes went from the cutting board, to Tom, to the big dog, taking in the situation and searching for understanding.
"She never left your side, even for food," he told her.
"I'm her alpha," Cate went back to her prep. She poured herself a tall glass of whole milk, and tipped her face up to Tom. "Iced tea? Lemonade?"
"Lemonade."
Nodding, she filled a second glass, adding two clean strawberries and a few ice cubes. She placed the glass neatly in front of him and he caught her hand.
For a minute, they held one another's gaze. Her eyes were weary on his. Tom stood, rounding the island, and moved to her. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her. Her face fell to his shoulder naturally. Turning her cheek to it, she settled.
Chapter Fifty
"Mom, be careful."
Cate was driving home from the train, the short distance marred by fog. She traded her precious music for her precious girl. Al's voice spoke to her over the wireless set-up.
"I am."
She hadn't wanted to tell the children about Tom just yet. She wasn't sure how she, herself, felt. Ordinarily, she would've kept her distance. Tom, however, was pushing (gently, patiently) for what he wanted: her. And she was a sucker for his kindness.
Kindness was her currency. The milk of it, the sudden shock, the absolute innocence of people who did for others with no thought to their own needs. It stopped Cate; it soothed her heart.
She was unsure whether or not Tom was using her love of sweetness and mercy to get closer to her, and if he was, why. It had been too long since they'd been married, since he'd appeared to care for her, since he'd any more than tolerated her presence. It was also a shock to her senses when he'd gone from tolerance to hatred and beyond to−care, she supposed. Her heart hurt from the whiplash. It was a constant ache that confused her.
It wasn't so much about worth; Cate knew she was worthy. She also knew PTSD was a harsh mistress, a bully. This wasn't about her merit; it was about a disease. One that would cruelly strip her of her self-respect, over and over.
If it wasn't about her merit, then, was it even about her? Was Tom seemingly interested in her because she was familiar? The mother of their children? He was lonely? He felt better, so now he'd like to return their lives to normal?
How could she go back? How could she ever go back?
"Mom−"
Cate snapped out of her reverie, trying to focus on what Alex was saying while watching the road. The high-profile Jeep swayed in the wind as she crossed the tall bridge, the fog lifting for a minute then settling around her like an evil blanket fort. She stayed close to the far side of the structure, her exit rapidly approaching, her lights cutting only a swatch into the endless black highway ahead of her.
"Honey−" Cate answered, smiling. She loved listening to Al talk. Her sweet voice lilted and fell like a fairy singing in the early morning. Every time Cate heard her daughter's voice it reminded her of when Alex was younger.
"I want you to be careful."
"I am. I'm almost home."
"Mom? I mean about Dad."
Tom had told both Al and Nic he was spending time with Cate. He'd done it not to be obnoxious but to encourage support. Hope.
Cate wanted to murder him for it. She didn't date. And when she broke that rule, she didn't merge potential suitors with her children. She'd have broken up with anyone who expected otherwise, and that included her husband, ex or not. PTSD changed all her rules.
"Oh, honey," Cate thought carefully. As much as she would've loved to pepper Al with questions: what did he say, how did he sound? her job
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