The silence felt suffocating, but it also felt safe.
As long as we avoided those dangerous topics, as long as we kept our distance... maybe I could still keep things under control.
A few minutes later, the spaghetti was ready. I drained the pasta, mixed in the sauce, and focused on these simple tasks to ground myself.
"All set," I said, picking up the plates. "Time to eat."
Alexander had already set the table, even finding the napkins and placing them neatly beside each spot.
"Sofia, come eat!" I called.
She came bouncing in, her eyes widening at the setup.
"Wow, it's so fancy!" she said. "Like a real restaurant!"
"Alex set it up," I told her, sitting down next to her.
He took the seat across from us, looking a bit tense. That eased my own nerves slightly—at least he felt the awkwardness too.
"Dig in," I said.
Sofia happily twirled her spaghetti, making contented noises now and then.
"This is so yummy!" she told Alexander. "Mom's spaghetti is the best in the whole world!"
"It really is," he agreed, glancing at me. "Thank you."
I nodded, not sayinganything.
But I noticed how focused he was whenever Sofia spoke, as if he was committing every word to memory.
It touched me—and terrified me.
Because it meant he was serious.
He truly wanted to know her, to be part of her life.
And I...
I wasn't ready for that.
After dinner, Alexander helped me clean up the kitchen. The atmosphere remained quiet, but every accidental brush of our hands sent a jolt of electricity through me.
We said goodbye amid Sofia's reluctant protests, then I gave her an excited bath and tucked her into bed.
Once everything was settled, I wearily made my way to the bathroom.
It was quiet in there, save for the faint drip from the not-quite-tightened faucet. Steam from Sofia's bath still lingered, fogging the edges of the mirror and blurring my reflection.
I leaned on the sink, gripping the cool porcelain tightly, trying to steady myself. But my thoughts ran wild, replaying the evening's events like a relentless loop.
Alexander. His presence seemed to linger in the house—in the kitchen where he'd stood too close, in the living room where he'd knelt to talk to Sofia.
I closed my eyes, trying to shake off the images, but they only grew sharper: his wet shirt clinging to his body, outlining his firm chest and abs; his long fingers working deftly on the pipes.
I took a deep breath, attempting to calm down, but my body betrayed me. My heart raced, my throat tightened, and a flush of heat spread through my chest.
It had been five years since I'd allowed myself to feel this way, but today, Alexander had changed everything.
