Two minutes.
I should move. I should be sensible. Instead I just lie there watching her breathe.
She shifts slightly, her fingers tightening briefly against my chest.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs without opening her eyes.
I huff a quiet laugh. “You’re awake.”
“Proofreaders notice things.”
Her eyes open slowly. For a second she looks almost surprised to see me. Then the memory clearly lands and a faint colour rises in her cheeks.
“Morning,” she says softly.
“Morning.”
There’s no awkwardness. Just that strange quiet intimacy that only exists when two people have crossed a line and neither regrets it.
“You still leaving at five?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
She nods, but she moves a little closer rather than away. Like she’s decided to spend the time rather than waste it pretending this is casual.
“Can I ask you something?” she says after a moment.
“Ask away.”
She hesitates, like she’s deciding whether she’s allowed to ask.
“Alfie’s mum,” she says carefully. “Are you… in contact?”
There’s no judgement in it. Just quiet curiosity.
I take a slow breath.
“She was supposed to be a one-night stand,” I say honestly.
Ava doesn’t react. Just listens.
“She told me about the pregnancy pretty late. Third trimester late.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “That must have been… a shock.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“What did you do?”
“What you’re supposed to do,” I say. “I showed up. We tried to make a relationship work. She wanted that. I wanted to do the right thing.”
“And?”
I look at the ceiling for a second.
“You can’t build a relationship on recognition and good intentions,” I say. “Turns out fame isn’t actually a personality trait.”
That gets the smallest snort from her.
