To Have and to Hold

“When?” she breathes.

“How about now?”

Her brows nearly reach her hairline and her pouty bottom lip drops for a moment before she catches herself. “Like, now-now? Don’t you have patients after my appointment? It’s only 10:00 a.m.”

“I’ll have my mom cancel them. You’re more important. I can reschedule everyone else. But you…” I shake my head. “You’re a once in a lifetime opportunity, Scarlett.”

She blinks rapidly but goes soft in my arms, and I take her weight. “Okay.” And then she tilts her head curiously, adorably. “Your mom?”

“Rose, the receptionist. She’s my mother,” I tell her, and her lips tilt up at the corners.

“She’s lovely,” she says, and I agree.

“My mom is the best there ever was. But that’s a story for another time, maybe on our date,” I reply with a smirk, and I finally let her go, taking a step back, wanting to get this show on the road. There’s a sense of urgency in me, like I need to make her fall for me, make her mine, and I need to do it now.

She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and nods with a soft smile. “Well, I guess I’m free, since apparently my consultation was canceled by the doctor.”

I lift a brow and cross my arms over my chest. “Damn right it’s canceled. You’re not changing a fucking thing. It would be a crime… a sin… for anyone to touch you with a scalpel. I wouldn’t even let anyone touch you with a needle. You’re perfect.”

Her face takes on an attractive blush, and I don’t know whether I like it or her haughtiness from before more. She’s this wonderful mix of confident and demure, sassy enough to take up for herself, but then humble enough to take a compliment. I love it.

“So, where does one go on a date before it’s even noon?” she asks.

I grin. “I know just the place.”

Chapter 3

Scarlett

Present

I wake up for my morning run on the treadmill at 4:00 a.m. and set the incline for 7.0. It’s the only time I get before Lilac and Gideon Jr. wake up and rule my entire existence. Gideon and I have been married seven years and have two children. Lilac is five, and Gideon Jr. is six.

Our kids are perfect—kind, smart, talented, loving, and they bring us so much joy. They fill our days with nonstop craziness, but it’s wonderful. Gideon and I… we’re fine. I guess. Nothing really happened between us; we just drifted, and it continues more and more each year. We don’t fight, but we sure as hell don’t spend as much time together talking or laughing. God, I don’t even know when our last date was.

Something changed, in me specifically, when I had Gideon Jr. The doctor brushed me off and told me it was “just postpartum,” but he never listened to me anyway. Although, I could never explain myself well enough to begin with, and the only word that came to mind to describe what I was feeling was shame. I felt myself turning into my mother. My body changed, and my constant need to always be well kept—my looks at the forefront of my mind—became nonexistent. Being a mother was more important, and I take pride in that. But I married a man who ages like fine wine. He works hard, still manages to be a full-time active father.

Yet for me… my skin changed. Nothing drastic, some loose skin, stretch marks, things that show I’m a mother of two perfect beings. But also—to me—they are scars and imperfections that plastic surgeons build their careers on. Gideon has a wife who is the embodiment of what he spends every day “fixing.”

My insecurities have made me shy away from my husband. Gideon is the love of my life, and he always made me feel perfect. For years, he made me stop worrying about my mother’s obsession with being flawless. Now, I’m the one who obsesses over it, and my husband receives the backlash. The cold shoulder. The lack of my physical touch.

I miss my husband. The way he swept me off my feet, worshipped me, made love to me—fucked me. The way he looked at me. It feels like he looks through me now, in the same way I look through me.

I start to get tired, hitting the thirty-minute mark, and my empty stomach is taking its toll on me. Hitting the Cool Down option, I breathe heavily as the treadmill drops to 2.0, taking small swigs of water in between breaths.

“Mama?” Gideon Jr.’s sleepy voice echoes in our large home gym.

Stopping the treadmill, I hop off, drop to my haunches, and open my arms. “Good morning, love of my life.” I smile, his adorable sleepy face lightening my mood and changing my train of thought.

“I’m not the love of your life. You always say that to Lilac too.”