By the time I make it downstairs, Dan’s in the kitchen wearing joggers and a faded T-shirt, hair all rumpled, holding out a steaming mug like it’s a peace offering. “For you, my goddess.”
“Careful,” I say, taking it with a grin. “You’re dangerously close to earning a kiss.”
He leans in anyway, eyes glinting. “I like living on the edge.”
Before our lips can meet, Oscar barrels between us, holding up his shin pads. “Mum, look! I found both! That’s good luck, right?”
I laugh, ruffling his hair. “That’s great, baby. Now go put your boots on.”
He runs off, leaving one sock behind. I bend to pick it up just as Sophie twirls into the room, still in her unicorn pyjamas, her hair in a wild halo. She stops mid-spin. “Mum, can I wear lipstick to dance?”
Dan chokes on his coffee. “How old are you?”
“It’s pink lip balm,” she says, affronted. “It’s shiny.”
I glance at her, all earnest eyes and determination, and nod. “You can wear shiny lip balm. But only if you brush your teeth first.”
She squeals and darts away before I can change my mind.
I sip my coffee and look at Dan over the rim of my mug. He’s already packing lunchboxes humming something that sounds suspiciously like Sweet Caroline. Watching him, I feel that small flutter in my chest. The one that reminds me how much I love this man, even when we’re half-zombies running on caffeine and chaos.
“You just gonna stand there staring, or are you gonna help?” he teases, not looking up.
“I’m supervising,” I say, leaning against the counter. “You’re doing a fantastic job.”
He shoots me a look. “You could, I don’t know, pour cereal?”
I grin. “Or I could just keep watching you bend over. Your call.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re so naughty”.
“I’m tired,” I say, setting my mug down. “Tired people flirt weird.”
“Noted.”
Ruby toddles in then, clutching her favourite stuffed bunny by the ear, thumb in her mouth. Her hair is a tangle of curls and dreams. “Mummy up,” she says softly, reaching for me.
I scoop her up, breathing in that baby-shampoo scent that makes all the chaos worth it. She rests her head on my shoulder with a sigh, and for a second, time slows. These are the moments that will vanish too soon.
“Right,” Dan says, clapping his hands. “Boots, shin pads, snacks, let’s move, people.”
The next twenty minutes are a blur of missing shoes, spilled juice, arguments about who sits where in the car, and the discovery that Sophie’s dance bag has somehow swallowed a half-eaten apple. Typical Saturday. By the time we’re all in the car, I feel like I’ve run a marathon before 9 a.m.
Dan drives, one hand on the wheel, the other holding his travel mug. The radio plays softly, a background hum to the steady stream of chatter from the back seat. Oscar starts chatting about how his Rugby coach also coached Rory so obviously that means he’s going to be a superstar too. Sophie sings off-key to the music. Ruby drops her dummy and immediately demands it back. It’s chaos, but it’s a comfortable kind. Familiar. Us.
We drop Oscar at Rugby first. He sprints across the field, waving his arms like he’s greeting a stadium of fans. His coach calls something encouraging. Dan watches him with quiet pride, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
“He’s getting good,” I say.
“Yeah,” Dan nods. “Got your coordination.”
I snort. “My coordination? You’ve seen me try to parallel park.”
He grins. “Okay, maybe mine.”
We share a look, one of those small, silent exchanges that carry more weight than words. The kind built from years of partnership, of knowing when to tease and when to just be.
From there it’s straight to Sophie’s dance class. She skips toward the studio, her shiny lip balm glinting in the sun, her tiny ballet bag bouncing against her back. She turns before going in, waving so dramatically it’s impossible not to laugh.
