Page 88 of Stranger to Love

She didn’t sound like she was struggling, thank God. I looked down the hallway toward the kitchen, watching Dr. Carter pull ingredients from the cupboard. “Um, I was actually thinking of staying out for dinner tonight. I might be home a bit late.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “You were out all weekend, and you're out tonight too?”

A pang of guilt hit me. I was twenty-one, but the weight of my responsibilities at home never really went away. This wasn't like me. Before I could find an excuse, my Mum gasped. “Oh, Alex... have you met someone?”

I panicked, my eyes darting toward the kitchen. Well, yeah, technically I fucking had, but we were both currently having an existential crisis about it. “Um, well...”

Great work, Alex. That was basically a neon 'YES' sign. My Mum started calling for my Dad in the background. Oh, fuck my life. I groaned, leaning my forehead against the cool hallway wall.

“Met someone?” I heard my Dad’s confused voice join the call.

“Yes! Catch up. Where do you think she’s been all weekend?” My Mum scoffed.

“Mum,” I groaned. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Please don’t make it a thing.”

A muted flurry of frantic whispering passed between them before Mum came back on the line. “You take your time, love. Whenever you’re ready, we’d love to meet her.”

I sighed. I had never properly dated anyone; I had no fucking idea how to navigate this, let alone with my professor. I blew out a long breath. “Sure. Maybe.”

“We just want you to be happy, darl. You know that,” my Dad chimed in, his voice warm.

“Don’t worry about us, honey. Come home as late as you like—stay over again if you want! Just be sensible,” Mum added.

I leaned into the wall, a lump forming in my throat. They really were the best. “Thanks, guys. I love you.”

“We love you too,” they said in unison. I hung up and found myself smiling like a complete idiot, my heart tingling with a warmth I had never felt before.

I looked up to find Dr. Carter standing just a few feet away, watching me with a curious tilt of her head. “Should I be worried?” she asked softly.

I leaned my head back against the wall, the cool plaster a sharp contrast to the heat rising in my face. I hadn't even noticed Dr. Carter had reappeared. She was standing there, having traded her professional armour for a softer, domestic edge. Without her heels, she was a few inches shorter, yet she still managed to feel feet taller than me—a presence that commanded the room even when she was just holding a wooden spoon.

"Should I be worried?" she asked again, her voice a mix of amusement and genuine caution.

I let out a long, ragged exhale and shoved my phone back into my pocket. "Only if you're not ready for two middle-aged people to start planning our wedding and picking out names for our future golden retriever."

Dr. Carter’s eyebrows shot up, a faint blush creeping across her cheekbones. "I see. I take it the 'staying out late' excuse didn't hold much water?"

"Not even a drop," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "My mum has a sixth sense for these things. She’s already told me to stay over if I want and to 'be sensible.' Which is parent-speak for don't get arrested or do anything I wouldn't do."

The smirk returned to her face, that devastatingly sharp, playful look that made my stomach flip. "Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I have a guest room," she said, her tone light but her eyes lingering on mine with an intensity that suggested the guest room was the last place I’d be sleeping.

She took a step closer, the scent of her perfume—something expensive and floral—hitting me again. "They sound lovely, Alex. Your parents."

"They are," I said, my voice softening. "They’re the best. Which makes me feel like even more of an arsehole for how I’ve been acting."

She reached out, her hand sliding over mine where it was still resting against the wall, pinning me in place. "We’re both learning," she whispered, her thumb grazing my knuckles. "Now, come into the kitchen. I promised you dinner, and I intend to keep my word."

As she turned to lead the way, I found myself watching her, the lingering guilt from my phone call fading into a quiet, steady hum of happiness. My heart was still pounding, but for the first time since I had stormed out of that house, it didn't hurt.

I took a seat at the kitchen island, watching as Dr. Carter moved with practiced ease around the kitchen. The domesticity of the scene felt surreal after the chaos of the day. As she focused on the stove, my eyes wandered to a vase of fresh flowers sitting on the marble counter. Tucked beside them was a small, cream-coloured card.

Without thinking, I reached out and picked it up. It read: ‘Dear Carrie, thank you for all your help. Best, the Grantham Team.’

It hit me like a physical fucking smack to the chest. I let out a sudden, sharp laugh that cut through the quiet hum of the kitchen. Up until this exact second, I hadn't even fucking known her first name. To me, she had always just been Dr. Carter—the formidable, the untouchable, the criminal in a red dress.

The sound of my laughter made her turn around, a look of genuine confusion on her face as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. I held up the card, a wide grin spreading across my face.

"Carrie?"