TROUVAILLE ... l.danes (REWRITE)

chapter fifty; the present

EXACTLY WHERE SHE BELONGS

two-thousand-and-three

OLIVE'S HOUSE is warm, the fire roaring away in the living room, the three ladies crowded in the kitchen. November rolls around quickly and with it the chill of winter, getting into all their bones, stuck in their muscles. Like ice in their blood.

But here, in Olive's kitchen, decorating freshly baked cupcakes with pink icing, Shelley is warm. So warm. Her best friend is laughing over the music in the background, flour dotted across her cheeks, rolling dough beneath her strong hands. Her wedding band hangs from a chain around her neck to keep it from getting dirty and it glints in the soft lighting overhead. It is dark outside. It always gets dark far earlier these days.

Shelley's bump, she's around six-months now, touches the counter-top. Her thick, knitted sweater hangs loose on her body – a gift from her boyfriend when he realized none of her favorite sweaters fit her right now – and she cuddles into it when she notices the storm clouds hanging overhead. It'll probably start tonight. At least Luke will be home soon to cuddle.

Autumn's phone starts to ring from its space on the kitchen table and she dives towards it, lighting up when a familiar name flashes on the screen. She answers with a cheery "Hi, Rory!" and rushes from the kitchen to talk to the college student in peace. Nobody really knows what's going on between Autumn and Rory, but they spend hours on the phone talking and on weekends, the younger girl takes Luke's truck all the way there – she's saving up for her own car, but her funds jar is filling up very, very slowly.

As Olive disappears, Shelley turns to her best friend.

"Is that what you were like with Jeff?"

"God, no." They both laugh and as Olive kneads dough, a little bit of flour puffs up around them. "You know me, I wasn't going to show him I was into him. I let him do all the work."

"Well – he enjoyed it. Didn't he?"

"Yeah. Don't think he's ever been bored of me."

They laugh and the conversation switches to baking, again. Olive tells Shelley of all her favorite recipes, especially the ones she loved when she was pregnant. She keeps making baked goods for her best friend and dropping them off on her doorstep for her to pick up in the morning, still warm and fresh. Cookies with the chocolate oozing out. Croissants with steam rising from the middle. Danish pastries with the glaze almost slipping off. Shelley is sure the baby is giving her a sweeter tooth than she used to have.

A few hours later, once all the cupcakes have been decorated and there is fresh bread baking, the front door swings open. Outside, rain slashes against the window, the storm battering against the trees. It is dark enough to be the middle of the night. Shelley and Olive huddle in front of the fire in the living room, freshly-made mugs of hot chocolate in their hands, heavy blankets hanging from their shoulders to keep the chill out. The CD player is playing music they used to love when they were teenagers and they've been singing along – much to the consternation of Autumn, who excused herself to call Jess and complain – over the sound of the rain.

Jeff steps through the doorway first, rain plastering his thick dark hair to his forehead, fishing gear squelching as he walks. He had kicked his boots off and thrown them out on the porch for them to dry once the rain clears away. Luke, close behind him, has done the same and is tugging off a sopping wet jacket to show off the flannel underneath. It too is damp and he looks uncomfortable at the way it clings to him.

Jeff crosses the living room to kiss his wife on the cheek.

"We're just gonna shower and dry off. Won't be long."

Jeff disappears first. Luke's jeans are soaked and he doesn't want to face Olive's wrath at ruining her clean carpet, so he decides just to wink at his girlfriend across the room and follow after his best friend.

"Did you ever think you'd have Luke Danes' baby?"

Shelley's head swings around to her best friend. "I never thought Luke Danes would have a baby. Let alone with me." They chuckle, but Shelley's trickles off rather quickly. Her eyes find the flickering orange flames heating up her slipper-covered feet. "I didn't think I'd ever have my own." With one hand wrapped around her pink mug, the other reaches down to rub over the bump of her stomach. There is a baby hidden in there, tucked away inside of her. Half her, half Luke. She blinks back tears and tries to blame them on the brightness of the flames staring back at her.

It was never her dream to be a mother. She wanted to be a journalist, she wanted to travel the world, she wanted to be famous for actually doing something with her life, for letting the truth be told. And yet, here she is, in her thirties, pregnant and owning her own bookstore. The bookstore that made her childhood hopeful. She has, unsurprisingly, never been happier. Freer. Every time she looks in the mirror, tired, back aching, ankles puffy, she thinks she has never looked more beautiful.

It helps that every time she stares at herself, Luke comes up behind her, holds up her stomach with his hands and kisses the softness of her neck. He calls her all iterations of beautiful that he knows and glows enough for the both of them to feel it.

Shelley tells Olive all of this between sips of her hot chocolate, letting the warmth flow through her veins. Is it the hot chocolate or the love she feels for the little family she has made?

At the doorway, hiding, Luke dries his hair with a towel lended to him by his friend. He has on new jeans and a flannel he left here last time, one of his thicker ones that he always wears when the weather starts to get chillier. He leans back against the wall blocking him off from the women and has to stop himself from smiling too wide. He has been in love with Shelley St James for as long as he can remember and every day he is reminded of how much, how strongly, he feels that love for her. It comes rushing back to him like waves on the shore, every morning waking up and seeing her lying there beside him, tucking himself into bed and having her curl around his body.

Jeff comes stumbling down the stairs moments later and stops when he sees his friend hiding. He stands next to him, their backs to the wall, and they listen to their loves talk. They could stand there all day and just listen.

They continue to talk about pregnancy. About cravings, about all the things that Luke and Shelley will need, about sleeping and teething and talking and eating and all the things that Shelley never really thought about before. Until, finally, Olive stands up, stretching out her back and claiming she's going to search for the boys.

"They probably drowned," waves off Shelley, giggling.

The two men finally turn the corner and sit beside their respective partners, refusing to let them see the softness in their faces. Luke had never really bothered with babies before. They are loud, and smelly, and they love to scream when nobody is paying attention to them. They're sticky, and grabby, and a lot more work than he's used to. But, here, sitting next to the love of his life, he's never been happier. He can't wait to hold a baby. That looks like her, that looks like him, that has one of their smiles or eyes or hair color. They'll be perfect in all the ways he never thought babies could be.

He reaches for Shelley and presses soft kisses to the skin of her neck.

"I love you," he whispers into the space between them, hoping the words carve into her skin so that she can never forget. She smiles as she runs her fingers through his still damp hair and it knocks him out, just how beautiful she is when she doesn't realize.

"I love you too, mister."

And it etches itself into his heart, exactly where she belongs.