I narrowed my eyes at her, unimpressed, then reached for my phone.
Me: Keep her off the true crime programmes on Netflix.
Nick: Do you want us to set parental controls for her profile?
Rowan: Are you feeling nervous?
I smirked, watching her in the mirror as the scent settled—floral, expensive, unmistakably hers.
Maybe I was a little nervous.
But mostly?
I was entertained.
When she lifted her tiny beaded purse from the bed and tapped my feet with it, I stood and straightened my jacket without thinking.
It felt like a night meant for celebration—whether she understood that yet or not.
I offered her my hand. She didn’t hesitate before threading her fingers through mine.
Satisfaction spread through my chest, followed by something warmer. Heavier. Pride, maybe. Possession. Something close to relief. I couldn’t quite name it—but the ease of her acceptance softened a part of me I didn’t often acknowledge.
I lifted her hand and pressed a brief, deliberate kiss to her knuckles.
“Let’s get you two fed,” I murmured.
Her faint smile disappeared instantly, replaced by a sharp shake of her head.
Whatever she was calling me in her head, I probably deserved it.
But I’d never been particularly good at pretending to be anything other than exactly what I was.
???
Slivers of red chilli rested on top of her curry, the greenery unmistakably coriander. Beneath it sat rice and peas, with a few slices of plantain tucked neatly to the side.
“Are you sure you can eat that?” I asked as the waiter set two more plates on the table.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she replied, unfolding her napkin.
“There wasn’t anything about spice in the book,” Rowan said, nudging his plate closer.
“He can’t handle hot,” Nick chortled.“Pussy.”
I shot him a glare—just as Ella burst out laughing.
I resisted the urge to Google it—just in case she was trying to burn my kid out of her.
Our kid.
She lifted her cutlery and dug in without hesitation. I watched her closely as she took a few measured bites. No flinch. No watering eyes. Just quiet enjoyment.
She could handle the heat.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
With a faint smile, I turned my attention to the meat platter in front of me. Charred edges. Rich glaze. The scent of smoke and spice hung thick in the air. I was glad she’d chosen the restaurant. It forced me out of my usual routine—something predictable and safe.
