“Keep an eye on him, of course.”
I narrow my eyes. Nothing is ever as simple as that. As much as I hate it, Baltazar has a great deal of power over me, so I don’t believe for one minute he’d be all benign and assign me an easy task.
Baltazar stands. “And kill him if you have to.”
Oh fuck.
Double fuck. Triple fuck. I should have known that life was treating me too kindly. Turns out that bitch is just a tease.
Because seriously, fuck my life.
Chapter fourteen
Morgan
Ihaven’t felt like this since I was a young man. All jittery and like I’m walking on clouds. With butterflies swarming in my stomach, and as if I could burst into song at any moment. It’s as if every cell in my body is vibrating, alive with a force I haven’t experienced in what feels like decades. That lightness of being, the thrill of something unfolding, of something new, wonderful, and terrifying in the best way possible.
I suppose it could be too much caffeine. But I really don’t think it is. No, this is different. This feeling, it’s not the jitter of an espresso shot. I remember this feeling, this giddy, dizzy first step of something magical. The raw potential, the endless possibilities, spooling out in front of me like a vast, untrodden landscape. The daydreams of what might come to pass are vivid, almost real. I can touch them in my mind, taste them in the back of my throat. It’s wonderful, and I’m loving every minute of it.
Last night, Ned kissed me. And with that single, simple gesture, he cracked open a whole new chapter of my life. A chapter I thought had closed forever. One of fresh starts, of new beginnings, where the future feels boundless, andhappiness fills our days. It’s the sort of moment you don’t expect to happen at my age. Not when you’ve already lived and loved, and come to terms with the thought that some things just don’t happen anymore. But then they do, and it feels nothing short of miraculous.
I’m sitting here now, in my home office, grinning inanely at an email from a supplier. I’m so glad there’s no one here to see me. If anyone saw me, they’d think I’ve lost my mind, smiling at stock inventories and shipment schedules. But I can’t help it. The joy, the excitement, it’s bubbling up inside me, completely uncontainable. I really need to focus and get some work done, but every time I start to type an email, my mind drifts back to Ned, back to that kiss, and my fingers hover uselessly over the keyboard.
I pause, taking a deep breath, and listen. It’s pointless, I know, but I listen anyway, trying to hear any sign of Ned somewhere in the house. He’s here. I can’t hear a thing, but I know he’s here, under the same roof as me, and that alone feels marvelous. It’s like having some secret treasure close by, something precious and warm, even when he’s in another room.
But something was off this morning. He seemed a little distracted and distant, a shadow of worry creasing his forehead. He pulled up in his tatty old car just as I was returning from dropping Noah off at school. I watched as he greeted Oscar and Lottie warmly, his smile genuine and bright, but he barely spared me a glance. A small part of me felt a sting of disappointment, though I brushed it aside.
I hope it’s nothing to do with us. Perhaps he just doesn’t want to be too affectionate in front of the kids yet, and I can understand that. They don’t need to be dragged into the whirlwind of new emotions just yet. Ned’s right. Asmuch as it pains me, taking things slow is the sensible idea. We’ve both been through enough in life to know how important it is to protect what’s precious. Yet, as much as I tell myself that, a bigger part of me wants to rush in, full speed ahead, all guns blazing.
I’m still lost in thought when I hear it.
“Blasted new-fangled thing!”
Ned’s voice echoes down the hallway, and before I can even fully register what’s happening, I’m on my feet and running towards the kitchen. I skid around the corner, and I’m greeted by a sight that almost sends me into fits of laughter. There’s a sea of bubbles, white foam everywhere, covering the floor, knee-high and even deeper in spots.
Oscar and Lottie are in the middle of it all, giggling hysterically, scooping up big armfuls of bubbles and throwing them into the air like confetti. Ned, meanwhile, is standing in front of the open dishwasher, glaring at it with an expression of complete exasperation. The machine is overflowing with foam, spilling out like some sort of comedic disaster in an old sitcom.
There’s a bottle of laundry detergent sitting on the counter, and I immediately realize what’s happened.
“Did you accidentally put laundry liquid in the dishwasher?” I ask, fighting back the urge to laugh.
Ned’s eyes flick to the bottle, and then he groans, smacking his forehead. “Gordon Bennett!”
I can’t help but laugh at that. It’s a phrase I haven’t heard in years, proper Cockney slang my granddad used to say.
“It’s an easy mistake to make,” I say, still chuckling as I coax the kids into helping clean up the mess. Between the four of us, we make quick work of the bubbles, scoopingthem up and dumping them into the sink until the floor is finally clear again.
Ned clears the worst of the foam out of the machine and sets it to rinse, looking more than a little sheepish. I can see the tension in his shoulders and I know something more pressing than housework chaos is weighing on him.
I herd the kids into the living room to reward them with some screen time. As soon as they are transfixed by cartoons, I head back to Ned and I make us both a cup of tea. Setting the mugs on the table, I beckon Ned to join me.
He walks over to the table with none of his usual grace. There’s a heaviness to his movements, and he sinks into the chair like someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looks tired, worn down. Like an old man.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my heart starting to race. There’s a lump forming in my throat, a quiet fear whispering in the back of my mind. Please don’t say you regret last night.
Ned sighs, fiddling with his teacup. “Nothing,” he mutters, but I can tell it’s a lie.
I swallow hard, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. “Are you regretting last night?”
