“Of course,” I say, holding up the brownies. “You said pasta night. I couldn’t miss that.”
She beams. “Dad made the sauce from scratch. It’s actually good!”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Declan mutters, but he’s smiling.
“It smells amazing,” I say, laughing softly as I set the brownies on the counter. “You weren’t kidding.”
Dinner’s easy. The three of us gather around the table: pasta steaming, laughter cutting through the hum of playoff talk and Sophie’s nonstop chatter. She tells me about her musical rehearsal, about how she and Maya practiced their duet a hundred times, about the glitter that somehow got in her hair and “will not come out, Charlotte, no matter what.”
Sophie also talks about how her stomach feels “fluttery” when she thinks about tomorrow night.
“That’s called excitement,” Declan tells her, twirling pasta onto his fork.
Sophie frowns. “Feels more like I might throw up.”
The honesty makes me smile. “That’s nerves,” I say gently. “They show up when something really matters.”
She slumps in her chair. “What if I forget my line?”
“Then you take a deep breath,” I say. “You’ve practiced a hundred times. You’ll find it again.”
Her brow furrows. “Deep breaths don’t work for me.”
“They might if you do them right,” I counter lightly. “Want to try after dinner?”
She hesitates, then nods.
Later, with dishes rinsed and stacked, we move to the couch. Sophie sits cross-legged beside me, still in her glittery rehearsal sweatshirt, hair falling from her braid. I talk her through it: slow breath in through the nose, out through the mouth.
“Pretend you’re blowing out candles,” I say. “But slower. It helps tell your body you’re okay, even if your brain forgot.”
She follows along, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing. After a few rounds, she grins. “That actually worked.”
“Told you,” I say softly. “You’ve got this, Sophie.”
Declan leans in the doorway, towel still in his hands, watching quietly. “Yeah, you do, kid.”
She beams, then hops off the couch to hug me. “Thanks, Charlotte. You’re gonna be there, right?”
“Yes,” I promise. “Cheering you and Maya on.”
“Okay,” she says, cheeks pink as she heads for the stairs. “I’m gonna go practice one more time.”
When she’s gone, the silence that settles feels warm but charged. Declan crosses the room and sets the towel on the counter. “She’s been nervous all week. You helped her in five minutes.”
His eyes hold mine, something unspoken moving in the space between us. “Thank you.”
I nod once, heartbeat thudding. “Anytime.”
He walks me to the door a few minutes later, quiet except for the soft sound of Sophie’s voice drifting down from upstairs. When I step onto the porch, the night air feels cooler than it should.
He smiles at me, and it pulls at something deep in my chest. For a second, neither of us moves. Then his expression softens.
“Come here.”
His hand slides to the small of my back, steady and familiar, and when he kisses me, it’s unhurried. I melt into him before I even think to resist, one hand fisting lightly in the front of his T-shirt.
When we finally pull apart, his breath brushes against my cheek. “Wish you could stay,” he murmurs.
