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I’ve had some small successes with eggs over the last few days, so I decide to continue my winning streak and scramble a few more. We have bread in the cupboard, and I can hardly think of anything more classic than scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast. She’s going to be so impressed.
I lay out my tools on the counter — the frying pan, six eggs, a chunk of butter. Seasoning. Fork. I watched Sophie turn on the stove and paid attention the other day, but it’s harder than I expect to get the gas to light. It clicks and clicks, and I’m about to yell at it in frustration when it blasts into life. It surprises me, but the shock quickly gives way to delight.
Scrambled eggs, here we come.
Unfortunately for me, Sophie is an actual morning person. I’m not sure when she gets time to sleep at all, and now that I’ve unlocked the door on the emotion of guilt, it hits again as I realize that most of that is my fault. All those times I’ve gone to bed, safe in the knowledge that all my work will be done and dusted and sitting on my desk in the morning. How has it only just occurred to me to think about the toll that must have had on her?
I’m just putting the finishing touches to my eggs, and the bread pops out of the toaster as she makes her way into the kitchen. “Lucas… what’s this?”
“Before you start, I haven’t burned anything down, and I haven’t undercooked it, probably. It might not be your grandmother’srecipe, but I’m absolutely confident it’ll be edible.” With a flourish, I turn and grab the toast, placing it as artfully as possible on the plates I prepared earlier.
Sophie comes to sit at one of the stools at the kitchen island. “You made all this for me?” she asks, frowning as I push her plate in front of her, followed by a knife and fork and a napkin.
“Yes. A morning treat,” I say, gesturing to the plate to emphasize the point.
She hesitates then smiles. “Thank you.”
Before she starts to eat, she catches my eye, and again I feel that moment of connection between us. A flash of emotion that can't be explained away by something as simple as gratitude. There’s a fire between us. It’s been embers for so long, but finally someone’s blown on it and it’s burst into life.
This isn’t just about a job anymore. This is about me and her and what we could become.
I know she feels the same as I do. The look she gave me last night is not the kind of look you give someone by accident. That look was a spark that flashed between us. It was two live wires flashing together. It was atoms colliding, fuel in an engine bursting to life. It’s clearer than ever before.
I can’t deny these feelings from myself. For so long, I’ve ignored any possibility of romantic attachment, hidden away any part of myself that longs for a connection. I’ve closed off my heart and called that better than the alternative. Now, she’s made me see I’ve been wrong. Now it’s my mission to prove to her that she feels the same. To prove to her that she doesn’t need to leave me.
I take a seat next to her and lean in a little, assessing my options. If I can just get a little closer, just let our eyes meet in the right way…
Then all my plans are spoiled by an enormous crash coming from the children’s bedroom. “God, what now?” I grumble, rising back up.
Our moment completely shattered, Sophie stands up too. She shrugs, almost apologetically. “Guess we’d better go and find out what they’ve broken this time,” she says with a shrewd smile.
With my newfound epiphanies still rolling around my mind, all I want to do is freeze that smile and frame it. I want her to keep smiling at me forever, looking at me with those half-lidded, sleepy eyes, the morning sun highlighting her hair in gold, brushing over her face until she glows. It would be so easy to reach out and touch her face right now, to drag my thumb over her cheek, to lean in and finally let our lips touch. To finally give in.
I’ve got this so bad.
We share a disgruntled look, then head off towards the bedroom. As we get closer, we can hear Noah and Chloe yelling at each other from within and Ava screaming in tears. I can pick out some of the words —break, glass, your fault. Inevitably, this is going to be another de-escalation situation. Thank goodness for Sophie. I’ve learned a lot in the last two and a half weeks, but I still don’t think I can manage a situation like this as effectively as she can.
It's a complete change of subject, but I have to say it while I have this moment, before the kids spoil it again. “Let’s take the day off. Go to the park. Take the kids to the playground and havea day out. You and me. And them.” It sounds kind of awkward to me, but her look of utter astonishment seems to suggest she didn’t pick up on my stunted phrasing. I doubt she’ll understand that I’m positing it as a date, but I hope she at least recognizes that I’m asking her out for a pleasant day together.
“Okay,” she stammers. Her lips quiver with indecision over what to say next, and I find myself thinking about kissing her again. I want to know what those lips taste like. I want to feel them against mine. “Let’s get them settled first, though,” she says.
I nod grimly in agreement. We share a look, both making the same face of wary curiosity, then I step forward, wrap my hand around the door handle, and push the door open.
We enter onto a scene where the players surround broken shards of glass as they point and shout at it, circling the remains of an object that is very broken. Ava is wailing on the floor, kicking her tiny legs. Noah and Chloe are pacing like wild tigers, glaring and yelling like they’re about to tear each other to shreds.
They freeze as we enter, like we’ve pressed pause on their movie.
Sophie sighs. “Who wants to explain what’s going on here, then?”
CHAPTER 17
SOPHIE
I’ve been to Central Park before, but I must say having a chauffeur is a completely different experience to taking the subway. It’s luxurious, spacious, and not even slightly terrifying.
It’s a weekday, so it’s not as bustling as it gets on a Saturday. It’s midday now, which means it’s the busiest it’s going to get. People bustle backwards and forwards, joggers and cyclists looping around the paths, couples like us holding hands with small kids and pushing strollers.
Not that we’re a couple.
