At first, when the therapist, Wendall Price, arrived at the house for the initial sit-down with only him, Stan had second-guessed his decision to agree to this. But as the hour ticked by and he found himself talking openly about the accident and the guilt he carried from it, he actually liked Dr. Price. The man was down-to-earth and encouraged Stan to show his feelings more towards his son and everyone else he cared for in his life. During the second meeting, still one-on-one, Stan felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he let everything out. Afterwards, he tracked Remy down, and they disappeared into his bedroom for the two hours before Louis needed to be picked up from school.

They didn’t simply have sex that day. They made love, and the passion flowing from every touch she gave him in return showed him that what blossomed between them was real for her, too. He still couldn’t get all the words out he wanted to say, but he prayed she would understand from his kisses.

August faded into September, and by the time October arrived and Remy had decorated the house for Halloween, Stan had been in physical therapy for two months. Louis joined Stan for their once-a-week home meetings with Dr. Price. During the first meeting, Stan learned how alike he and Louis were and how much the boy bottled up inside. By the end of the first session, he hugged Louis close as his son cried about his mom and missing out on all the time he could’ve had with Stan. He was amazed to learn Louis was actually angry with Lara for never telling Stan he had a son. The breakthroughs they both made at communicating with each other and beginning the long path to overcoming their issues was astounding.

Halloween grew closer, and Stan spent five days a week with his physical therapist, Bert. Stan wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Bert pushed him hard. No matter how much he cursed and sputtered about the pain, his physical therapist told him to work through it. Remy was usually present during these sessions to encourage him—or yell at him, depending on his temperament.

It was on such a day, when Remy was busy in her studio and Louis was at school, that Stan managed to walk around the entire first floor of the house using a cane.

“Well now, look at you go, speedster,” Bert teased.

“Not too shabby for taking a few months off from rehab,” Stan agreed.

“How are your legs? Pain?”

“Tolerable. More than tolerable, actually,” he admitted, amazed at how great he felt standing on his own two feet. He held the cane out to Bert and staggered forward the full length of the room and back before collapsing against the kitchen counter. “Damn it.”

Bert handed back his cane. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You’ll damage your legs.”

“I want it to be like old times, that’s all.”

“You’ll get there,” Bert insisted. “Patience—patience and hard work.” He checked his watch. “Well then, I’m off. See you Monday.”

“You mean see you in November,” Stan corrected. “I think I’m going trick or treating this Sunday.”

Bert grinned. “I think finding out you had a son was the best thing for you,” he said then turned when Remy strolled into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Stan standing. “Well, one of the best things. Later all!”

“Bye, Bert!” Remy called out and hurried to Stan’s side. “You’re walking!”

He threw back his shoulders with pride. “With a cane, but yes, I’m walking.”

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “Told you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll find a way to thank you later…or right now.”

Though he couldn’t yet pick her up and carry her like he wanted, he kissed her as he guided her down the hallway towards his bedroom. She tugged on his shirt-front, dragging him into her studio instead.

“I want you to see something,” she whispered against his lips and stepped aside.

His eyes took in the newer paintings leaning against the walls, filled with vibrant oranges and hues of reds and yellows, representing the surrounding landscape of the house. He smiled at such warmth and color showing through her work, but it was the piece at the back of her studio he was drawn to.

“This is what you’ve been working on?” he asked on a breath, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to trace the wires delicately. “Remy.”

“You don’t like it?”

“What? No, no—it’s incredible.” No other word could describe it, and what he said barely did the piece justice. It left him speechless. The beauty of the two figures taking shape from the wires, the love in their embrace, was palpable, and he felt as if he could disappear into it if he stared any longer.

“I still need to finish the wings and the rest of the hands, but it’s getting there.”

He nodded as he leaned his cane to the side and faced her. The same love he sensed from the wire sculpture was reflected clearly in her eyes, and it touched that burning ember deep within Stan. For the past two months, they’d found solace in each other, spending as much time as they could wrapped in each other’s arms and their evenings talking about their lives. He wanted to tell her so many times what he truly felt, what he wanted, but every time, fear got the better of him that she would reject him after everything they’d been through. Even when he thought they were on the same page, he sensed uncertainty from Remy. She would come to understand what he did in time, and pushing her would do nothing except place pressure on her to make a decision.

For now, Stan would continue to explain to her the only way he could what was in his heart. His fingers laced through hers as his other hand pushed up through her hair and freed it from the loose braid. She sighed, closing her eyes as his lips met hers.

Sex with Remy was anything but boring, and it was never just about the lust either. He became lost in her sweet touches, the sounds of her moans, and her breathing against his ear. Their clothes fell to the floor at their feet, and he sank to his knees before her as she leaned against the worktable. He spread her thighs, shifting her feet far enough apart so his fingers could slide along her cleft already crying for his touch. His tongue flicked out, and the sweet, salty taste of her brought his cock to immediate attention. With the strength returning to his legs, at least enough, he hoped to manage a few more enticing positions; he was ready to show her what he could do with her body in and out of bed. He plunged his tongue within her depths, not relenting even when she squirmed against him, riding his mouth as her back arched back against the table. He sucked her clit hard, rolling the nub against his tongue and drinking her in. She was the reason he found the strength to push through his rehab every day. Her smile, her laughter, even her darkness… all supported him. She was his world now, her and a son he never knew he wanted.

Her knees gave out as a cry ripped free from her mouth. He caught her and kissed a path from her clit to her stomach, then higher, pausing to tend to each perky nipple. He lathered them as she grabbed his hips and his cock found its home between her thighs, rubbing against her wetness. He wanted to bury himself inside her, so he broke the kiss and turned her around, holding her breasts firmly in his hands as he nuzzled her neck and bent her over the table.

“Wait, are you sure? Your legs?”

He smirked. “Haven’t felt a twinge of pain since I walked in here to be with you,” he promised her. “And worst case scenario, we fall to the floor and finish there.”

She shivered as he angled himself and with one push, found her ready for him. He thrust all the way home, and they both shuddered at the deep connection.

He held onto her hips as he moved within her, kissing her shoulders. When she shook her hair out, leaning her head back, he wrapped the locks around his hand. She turned her head enough so he caught her wink, and his eyes rolled back as what she wanted him to do hit him. He tugged on her hair, thrusting even deeper, and she moaned with pleasure. Her inner muscles clenched hard, holding him longer each time.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he groaned.

“Right back at ya,” she murmured right before he let loose completely and thrust until he spilled into her fiercely, his yell of release mingling with her cries before his chest fell against her back, his legs shaking, not that he cared. “I’m going to get spoiled with these afternoon romps.”

“Good. I like you being spoiled.”

He kissed each vertebra down her back as he slipped free. His cock throbbed, wanting more, but his legs trembled and he reached for his cane. Remy scooped up their clothes and let him lean on her as they walked together, naked through the house, as casually as if they were strolling in the park. When they reached the bathroom, he dragged her with him into the shower. In there, he could sit on the bench, which led to another bout of her straddling him and making another mess.

As they panted for breath, he nearly asked her to stay with him forever, to move in and stop being the nanny but officially be his girlfriend instead. The words were on the tip of his tongue when the alarm on his cell went off.

“I hate to cut our afternoon short,” he grumbled, “but I have to get Louis.”

“I know.” She kissed the tip of his nose and stepped off his lap, turning around to shower, but he caught the hint of doubt flickering in her eyes again. “Tomorrow, do you mind if I take the day to spend with my friend? She’s been begging me for lunch for days.”

“Sure. Louis and I will go to the zoo and make a day of it,” he said, wishing he had the balls to say what he wanted.

“Great! Bring me home a stuffed animal,” she said with a wink before stepping out of the shower. “I love bears.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He finished showering, dried off, and dragged his clothes back on. Remy handed him his cane and walked him to the front door where the car waited as it did every day to take him to the school. He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, his chest swelling with love when she smiled and leaned into him.

“Be back soon.”

“I’ll be ready for you both.” She grinned and waved until he was in the car and down the drive.

Stan tapped his fingers against his thighs the entire drive to the school. He needed to tell Remy the truth soon. Even Dr. Price had brought it up once or twice when Louis wasn’t there. Keeping this much emotion bottled up wasn’t good, no matter how positive the emotions were. If only Remy and his future were certain, he would be more than happy to spill his guts to her.

* * *

Remy tugged her sweater tighter around her shoulders as she and Callie walked around the art festival. Several pieces called to her that she was interested in buying for the house, masterful pieces of ships she knew Louis would love. Even some metalwork pieces would work really well in Stan’s gardens now that they brimmed with life again.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” Callie stated suddenly.

Remy whipped around to stare at her. “What? I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. I can see it all over your face. Damn, girl, please tell me you did it once and that’s the end of it?”

“Sure, only once,” Remy mumbled as her mind flashed to images of yesterday afternoon in her studio and again in the shower.

They had even risked it this morning. She woke early, unable to sleep with the aching need of Stan, driving her to knock on his door. He’d rolled over with a smirk and lifted the blankets for her to slip into bed beside him. They managed to stay quiet so they didn’t wake Louis, but she was nearly caught sneaking out of his room.

“You’re such a liar! Oh, my God, Remy, what the hell is wrong with you?” Callie grabbed her arm and dragged her off the main path behind one of the booths set up. “You realize how much you’re screwing yourself here?”

“By doing what? So we’re having a bit of a relationship. We’re adults,” Remy shot back hotly. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Has he said anything to you about what’s going to happen later on?”

“What do you mean? Later on what?”

“You’re the nanny right now because he needs you to be the nanny. What happens when he and his son no longer need you around?” Callie asked. “Has he talked to Louis about having a girlfriend or what it might mean to them both?”

“Well, no, but they’ve been busy working on their relationship,” Remy explained and even to her ears, she sounded worried. “We haven’t gotten around to it yet, but we will in time.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, all right? Jesus!”

She paced away from her friend, running her hands over her head as she thought about the last few weeks and how close they’d become. But never during any of their late-night talks did he bring up what would happen once the six-month trial was over for him and Louis. Theresa told Remy several times they had nothing to worry about. Louis was obviously happy and well taken care of. There were days Stan didn’t even need Remy to take him to school or pick him up. He even started cooking dinner now that he could stand for short periods of time.

Remy’s hands fell to her sides as he realized her friend was right. Soon, Stan would realize he no longer needed her as a nanny. Would he risk his fragile relationship with his son by bringing Remy permanently into his life as his girlfriend?

“Remy? You okay?” Callie asked softly, reaching out for her, but Remy stepped away.

“No—no, I’m not. I’ll see you later,” she snapped and stormed off into the crowd.

“Remy, wait!” Callie yelled, chasing after her. “Come on, I’m only looking out for you.”

“Yes, because you have the best history of having successful relationships,” she yelled back. “Damn it, Callie, do you and Matt even know anything about each other? Every time you talk about him it involves sex!”

Callie’s face reddened and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course we do.”

“From that look on your face, I’d say you don’t. Maybe you need to stop worrying about my life and worry about your own. Everyone needs to stop worrying about my life!” She threw her arms in the air and walked into the crowd again, leaving Callie standing open-mouthed behind her.

Remy walked around the rest of the festival, buying the few pieces she’d picked out, and left the address for them to be shipped later. She called for a cab and fumed in the backseat the whole ride home. Stan and Louis were still gone when she arrived, so she barricaded herself in her studio, blaring music from her phone, and glared at the wire sculpture.

Callie’s words cut slashes into the perfect images she had of a future with Stan and Louis. Worried her anger would ruin the piece, she picked up a blank canvas, her paints and brushes, and let her anger drive her hand. She wanted to hear the words from Stan’s mouth, to hear he loved her as she loved him. Several times, she’d wanted to confess her feelings, but something stopped her every time. Callie only repeated what Remy already considered nearly every morning she woke up in that house. Her hand cramped, and she stretched it, squeezing more paint onto her palette. Her gaze drifted across the room to the painting of her and Stan making love in the garden with new life blooming around them. A single tear slipped from her eye, and she wiped it away hastily.

Paint covered her hands and face by the time she heard loud knocking and paused her music. Making sure she was smiling, she opened the door. “Hey, how was the zoo?” she asked Stan.

He leaned heavily on his cane, exhaustion on his face, but his grin was genuine. “Fantastic. I brought you a present. Louis wants to give it to you, though.”

“Great, I’ll be out in a second,” she said and tried to close the door.

Stan moved his cane in the way. “Remy? Your eyes are red.”

“Huh? Oh, my allergies are bad today,” she lied, wiping again at her eyes as if they itched. “I just have to put my paints away.”

“Lunch with your friend go okay?” he pushed, not moving his cane.

Laughing brightly, she waved away his worry. “Perfect. I bought you and Louis some pretty neat art pieces. I promise, everything’s fine. I’ll be right out.”

He frowned but nodded and stepped back. She closed the door quickly, leaning her back against it and hanging her head. Tears pricked at her eyes again, and she sniffed hard, wiping her face and tapping her cheeks.

“Get ahold of yourself,” she hissed, annoyed. “If he doesn’t then he doesn’t. You’ll move on like you always do, even if you’re in love with the bastard.”

The words hung in the air. Her eyes landed on the painting she’d spent the last few hours working on. Pushing off the door, she walked towards it, covering her mouth with one hand as her eyes widened in shock. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sank to the floor in front of the painting. Eventually, Stan would come back, wondering why she was hiding. Rubbing the sleeve of her sweater over her face, she found her feet, covered the painting with a sheet so it wasn’t visible from the door, and walked out of the studio, leaving her pain and sadness behind.

* * *

Stan groaned as he rubbed his face with a weary hand and glared at the clock. It was nearly three in the morning, but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes shut. Since he had given Remy that room for her studio, she hadn’t once locked the door to keep him out. When she opened the door that afternoon, she didn’t even let him see what she was up to. Her face was splattered with paint, and the fake smile twisted his gut. Something had happened. Throwing off the blankets, he reached for his cane and climbed to his feet.

He peeked out his door, listening, but the house was silent. As silently as he could, he crept down the hall, his cane’s tapping echoing around him, until he reached Remy’s studio door. He half expected the door to be locked, but the handle turned and the door swung inward. He flipped on the light and glanced at the wire sculpture across the room, but she hadn’t touched that at all today. Instead, he saw the sheet draped over a canvas. Guiltily, he glanced over his shoulder, but Remy was upstairs, sound asleep. Stan closed the distance between himself and the sheet, lifted it gently off the easel, and stared. The sheet fell from his numb hand and he stumbled back a step at the range of emotions covering the canvas.

“No,” he whispered, his eyes searching every inch of it for color. None appeared in the midst of the black and grays. “Damn it.”

His hand gripping his cane, he forced himself closer, studying the images before him. The image was of a man and a woman, both with hearts dripping black in their hollow chests. Their hands pressed towards one another, but something blocked them, kept them apart. That was only the left side of the canvas. He shifted to see the rest of it and saw the same form of the woman huddled on the ground, dead flowers surrounding her and the heart shattered in her hollow chest. The man was far off in the distance, but there was no heart in his chest. Nothing. Stan ground his teeth. Was this what she thought of them? That he did not love her at all?

Anger flooded his chest, and he slammed his cane into the floor. That morning when he left, she was happy, smiling, and full of a love he sensed in her hand as she clung to him before he climbed into the car. She met with her friend and something changed. What was it? He didn’t know her friend or have a number to call her to ask what they’d talked about that crushed Remy’s heart.

Stan studied the painting until the room lightened with the first hint of morning. He covered it hastily in the sheet and ducked back into his room as a set of steps sounded on the stairs. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard Remy muttering under her breath and the studio door open. He counted to ten then went, ready to confront her about what he saw. Except when he spied her, he saw a paintbrush in one hand covered in white paint. She glared at the painting on the easel and swiped the white paint across it. With each stroke, the painting vanished from view until it was nothing but a blank canvas. She set the paintbrush down, smiling to herself. He backed away, then made sure his steps were louder before he stood in the doorway, smiling.

“Morning,” he said, faking a yawn.

“Oh, morning,” she replied, looking sheepish.

“Working this early?”

“No. I had to take care of something from yesterday. I’m starting over on a project.”

The light was back in her eyes as she sauntered towards him in her sleep shorts and tank top. Her arms wrapped around his neck and brought him down to her lips for a kiss.

“Hmm, bacon or sausage this morning?” she asked.

“How about you let me make breakfast. Pancakes?”

“Oh, those do sound good,” she agreed and kissed him again.

He hugged her close, lifting her off her feet as she squealed with laughter. “You know, Remy, I care about you very much,” he whispered.

She stiffened for a split second in his arms before she hugged him back. “I know.”

“Good, that’s good.” He leaned back to see her smiling. “Breakfast, then?”

“Breakfast.”

She slipped her hand into his, and they strolled to the kitchen, ready to start another day and make ready for Halloween night. Stan watched Remy all day, searching for signs she was pulling away from him, but her laughter was real as she helped dress Louis as a pirate and Stan as Captain Blackbeard. She dressed up as Grace O’Malley, another pirate, and the three set off through his neighborhood as soon as the sun set. Several neighbors were quite pleased to see Stan out and about, and only one glared openly at him and Remy. Melody. She almost didn’t place any candy in Louis’ bucket, but Stan held it out with a great wide smile and thanked her loudly. More parents and kids waited behind them, so she had no choice.

“Happy Halloween,” he told her happily as they left her front porch, her glaring at them the entire time.

When Louis had hit all the houses Stan could walk to, he told him to keep going with Remy, but they both refused to keep doing it without him. Back at the house, they turned on the original Mummy movie and ate candy. Louis fell asleep between them on the couch, and Stan stared in awe at the resemblance his son had to him. It was uncanny, sometimes. He glanced up and saw Remy watching him. The doubt on her face nagged at the back of his mind for the next few days.

He hoped it was nothing, but as the days stretched on into November, she pulled away from him bit by bit. Their afternoon tumbles in bed grew more infrequent, and whenever he was with Louis, she kept herself busy getting the garden and flowerbeds ready for winter or in her studio. Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and he finally gave in and announced to his parents he and Louis would be coming over that night for dinner. He asked Remy if she wanted to go with him or spend time with her own family.

“We do Thanksgiving on the Saturday after,” she told him with a shrug. “If you want me to go, I’ll go with you.”

“Why would I not want you to go?” he pushed. They lay in his bed, Louis at his final day of school before his four days off for the holiday, but they barely spoke.

“I mean, it’s a holiday. Some people consider that to only be with family.”

His brow furrowed and he hugged her closer to him. “You’re pretty much family, Remy. You are more than welcome to come. Louis and I would be thrilled to have you there.”

“Then I guess I’ll go,” she said, giving in.

“If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?” he asked, tracing his fingers along her cheek.

“That was our deal. You know I would.”

She lied, but he could hardly argue when she kissed him, and a moment later, they were both breathing hard as she straddled his body, riding hard and slow against him. Her touch was different—desperate, as if she clung to these few moments with him.

As if she was getting ready to say goodbye.

He sat up, holding her to his body as they made love in the late afternoon sun, the chill from the window brushing against their heated skin. After the holiday, he planned on sitting down with Louis and talking to him about Remy, about her not being his nanny anymore but an actual part of the family. If Louis was okay with it, he would confess his love to Remy. He only prayed he wouldn’t be too late.