The One Awakened: Book 1 in The One Trilogy (5 page)

Folding my sleepy little man, into his Spiderman-adorned bed, I bend over for a much-coveted sniff. It’s true what they say, if the smell of a
just-bathed
child could be bottled, we’d make a fortune. I just can’t get enough of it - oh and his soft chubby cheeks. It really is the little things that make it all worthwhile. For a split second I am sad, as I wonder why and how his father could have left this magnificent little bundle and walk away from these special moments. But I quickly remind myself that he does not think of Finn in the same way as I do; he saw him as a hindrance then and a volume which could not be turned down when he required it - which was usually for around twenty-three hours a day.

Snapping out of the gloomy direction of my thoughts, I gaze lovingly at my boy as he asks,

“Mummy?”
“Yes poppet?” I nod encouragingly.
“Why don’t we live with Daddy?”
Oh God, not tonight, I inwardly groan – how is it that children always seem to ask the difficult questions when you least expect them and are totally unprepared? It was as though he’d been reading my mind.
I take a seat on his bed and discreetly inhale a deep breath.

“Hmmm, well Baby, Mummy & Daddy decided that we are much happier living in different houses. Lots of families live like that darling, like your friend Mason and Meg from next-door. Sometimes it’s just better that way.” I stroke his shining blonde hair off his forehead in the way that I know soothes him.
He takes on board what I’ve said; his small brow furrowed in concentration as he digests it.

“Mummy, does that mean that I am the man of the house now?”
I melt for the second time in the last hour. Oh my gorgeous little boy.
“Yes I suppose it does and you know what? You’re doing a great job of it my Darling. Now off to sleep with you, you little monkey. Sweet dreams.”
 

That seems to work as he continues to quietly ponder my answers, and snuggles down, relaxing into his pillow. I hope he’s not worrying about the separation, too much. He seems to have handled things so well up until now; I had thought that he was settled. It has been nearly a year now, and the departure of his father had meant that we had bonded even more than I felt was possible. It was becoming increasingly more difficult, to make excuses for that bastard though; he was so bloody selfish. I just wish he would put Finn first, once in a while.
 

What I really wanted to tell Finn, was that his father was a spineless, dickless, brainless, tosser, who had been pretty average in bed, moody as hell, and left me in a world of financial shit! But obviously this was not possible; it was completely true, but not necessary to point out all of his bad points to a three year-old little boy, just to make myself feel better. No. It was all about Finn now and his feelings and well being, regardless of my own needs.

“Night Baby; best boy!”
 

“Best Mummy!” he responds, as expected.
 

It is our in-house
Walton’s style
bedtime routine - very corny but something we had started since it was just the two of us. It maintained his routine and actually mine too. Seemingly pacified at that comment, Finn curls up in his usual ball and closes his eyes. He’d be asleep in a few minutes, meaning I could catch up on some much-needed Zzz’s myself. Ha! Like that’s going to happen. Who am I kidding? I have a mountain of ironing, at least two washing loads to do, some layouts for Monday’s new client and I could do with fake tanning for the weekend.
 

Smiling at my golden boy, I head down to the basement, where the kitchen rests. Right, now shall I cook something first or grab a quick shower and get my beloved PJ’s on? I procrastinate briefly and then decide to go straight for the wine from the fridge and catch an episode of Holby City, my favourite British medical drama. Wine is the obvious choice for now and will help to dull the stress I can feel beginning to tap away at my temples; Holby City will make me feel like
my
life is better than the average person’s and would allow me 60 uninterrupted minutes to get lost in someone else’s drama. Sounded good to me.

Just as I am about to go into the kitchen, I hear a knock at the door.
 

“Come in!” I shout loudly, as I quickly nip down the last step to pour my wine. I am presuming it is one of my neighbours, as we all regularly pop into one another’s homes on a ‘
Mi Casa Su Casa’
basis. It generally worked well between us if you didn’t count the time I’d walked in on Gemma, a few doors down, whilst she was getting
down and dirty
with her latest conquest.
 

Wrinkling my nose at that uncomfortable memory, I climb the stairs back to the main living area and enter the room. I then stop dead in my tracks, dumbstruck and mouth gaping to the point of embarrassment; I’m surprised I don’t drool. There, standing in the middle of the lounge, is one of my oldest and bestest friends and a real sight for sore eyes. Sebastian.
 

He’s back already? I wasn’t aware he was due home? What’s it been – nine months this time? Maybe ten?
Composing myself, I swallow hard, lick my lips and close my suddenly very dry mouth; making my way towards him. It is
so
good to see him. He looks like Sebastian, but different somehow, better - yes much better, and very dishy and tanned in his black Ralph Lauren polo shirt and khaki combat trousers combination.
 

I hadn’t realised until this moment, how much I’d missed him. I just want to envelope him in a big bear hug, but oddly something stops me, my feet are rooted to the spot, my arms tightly folded at my chest. I feel a little light-headed as I take him all in.
Did he always look this good? Shit, he looks good.

His tall, well-muscled body fills the room; his presence everywhere - a fixed, considered gaze on my reaction. “Now then Chick, how’s things?” he says in his deep husky voice, smiling at me, in the most appealing way.
 

His voice travels over me, and I gulp, literally. My brain won’t function and I reach up to flick my hair away from my face - has the temperature risen several hundred degrees? His dark brown, almost black eyes follow me as I move towards the doorway. He seems as taken aback as me, at the strange vibe in the air; and also appears to be reluctant to hug me or kiss my cheek as he normally would - instead holding back.
Finding my voice on a croak, I usher him in. “Hi Love. Come in - sorry I thought you were Meg, from next-door. She was due to pop in at some point tonight. Come down to the kitchen, anyway and I’ll find you a beer.”

I am acutely aware that I’m rambling but I can’t seem to get a grip. I blame it on the tension headache and the fact that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
 

Nothing to do with the fact that he looks soo hot, you’re flushed from head to foot from the radiation kickback Lucia!
 

Following me into the hub of the home, I can smell him behind me; all clean, vanilla-musk and pure male, and instinctively quicken my pace to create more distance between us; mumbling incoherently over my shoulder.
 

“Have you eaten yet?”
 

We enter the kitchen and he positions himself in a corner, leaning casually against the entrance to the larder, where he usually posed during our many
kitchen gossips
over the years.
 

“Nope. I’ve not eaten yet, just got back this afternoon from Dubai; the build is
finally
over. Well, I’ve got to fly out for some promo work in the next month or so, but yeah, this one’s been a long-one.”
 

He removes his Ray-bans from the top of his head and places them on the counter top, rubbing the bridge of his nose lightly where the pads have been resting. “I thought I’d pop in and see my favourite person before I go face the mountains of unpacking. It’s been a while.”

Opening the fridge and glad of the welcome cool blast I feel on my face, I respond casually. “Oh, I’ve just put him to bed, literally ten minutes ago. You could check in on him though - he won’t wake up. You know how he is when he’s fast asleep.”
“I’ll do that now,” he says pointedly staring right at me. “But whilst Finn is definitely up there in the top five on my favourite’s list - I actually meant
you
Lulu.”
 

Holy Crap!
His words travel across my body and over every one of my nerve endings, zinging them into life. He hasn’t called me Lulu in forever.
 

With my back to him, I compose myself, grab a Sol and gingerly close the door. He reaches out to clasp the beer I’m holding out for him, studying me intensely. Our fingers brush against each other in the switchover and the shockwaves that crackle on contact cause us both to look up in surprise. I drop my arm to hang at my side in a flash, and with hooded eyes watch him slant his head slightly to the left, then look me up and down appraisingly, for what feels like forever, but in reality is probably only a few seconds. He seems surprised at his own reaction, as he suddenly frowns, shaking his head a little and turns to climb the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I presume he’s gone to see Finn. To be honest I’m glad to have a moment to compose myself.
What the fuck was all that about? Was it me or did there seem to be a whole lot of sexual tension floating around in the room?
 

Oddly enough I’d never really allowed myself to think of Sebastian in that way.
Bollocks!
Well, only once, years ago, when we’d first met. I’d always told myself that he wasn’t my type.

So why am I suddenly as nervous as I would be on a first date? He’d definitely never thought of me that way either?
 

Jesus, he’s hot - Oh. My. God woman
 
- you need to get laid!

There
had
been that one time at a mutual friend’s wedding when we’d ended up very drunk, putting the world to rights in the gardens to the back of the venue. My ex had been inside, probably flirting with his latest crush. We’d downed too many Tequila Slammers to count and a cheeky cigarette out back had lead to a rather deep and meaningful conversation about life and love and commitment. Sebastian had commented that he’d missed his chance at love, when she had settled down with another. At the time I’d been too inebriated to consider that
she
was possibly
me
? The moment passed, and we moved on, as we always had been – the best of friends. After all, I wasn’t his type either - if his usual female company was anything to go by. Tall. Leggy. Blonde. The antithesis, of me; petite, not-so-leggy and brunette.

He’d always gone for the extra lithe, super ditzy women - usually picked up in each Country or City he was frequenting. Each relationship, if you could call it that, conveniently ended when his contract did, if not before. Sebastian had always said that he preferred it that way; a get out of jail free card - all the perks, without the pressure. He was known as a bit of a player with a girl in every port – that kind of guy. Apparently his sexual prowess knew no bounds and for some reason, the reminder of that fact has me quivering.