“I prefer strategic.”
She takes another bite of the crumpet, then eyes me over the top of it. “You okay with that.”
“Honestly,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, “I fear the wrath of Pee-Pee far too much to rush anything these days. That woman would dismantle me in fifty minutes flat.”
Christa snorts, chocolate spread almost coming out of her nose.
“And,” I add, because apparently we are being truthful tonight, “I’m not even convinced my dick would have played along. There wasn’t so much as a courtesy tingle. Not even a polite hello.”
She stares at me for half a second, then absolutely loses it.
“Oh my God,” she says, wheezing. “You could have kept that inside your head.”
“You asked,” I point out.
She wipes at her eyes, still laughing. “ODD needs one of my crumpet creations.”
“That sounds deeply wrong,” I chuckle.
There’s a knock on the door.
Christa looks at the crumpet. The cream. Herself. “If that’s Paul Hollywood, tell him I’m here for judgement.”
I open the door.
Sophia stands there, smiling, jacket on, hair still done, the sort of smile that says spontaneous but not unplanned.It holds for exactly one second before her gaze flicks past me.
To Christa.
To the pyjamas. The hair. The crumpet. The can of squirty cream.
“Oh,” Sophia says.
Christa lifts the crumpet slightly, like a wave. “Hi.”
I feel the temperature in the hallway drop by several degrees.
Sophia’s smile recalibrates. Polite. Careful. “Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.”
“This is Christa,” I say quickly. “My… housemate. What are you doing here?” The words come out sharper than intended and I immediately regret the tone.
Sophia doesn’t comment on it. She just shifts her weight slightly, hands tucked into her coat pockets. “I thought maybe you’d want to grab a coffee. It’s still early.”
I make an awkward noise that lives somewhere between a cough and a failed vowel. Christa, bless her, takes another bite of the crumpet like she’s watching a particularly compelling documentary.
Sophia’s gaze flicks from Christa back to me, something sharpening behind her eyes. “You didn’t mention you had a housemate.”
Right. This is it. The moment. I take a breath, the kind you take before ripping off a plaster or confessing to a crime you definitely committed.
“I should have,” I say. “I wanted to. I just… third date felt too soon.”
Her brow furrows. “Too soon for what?”
“For the part where I tell you that Christa and I are having a baby together,” I say. “But we’re just friends.”
Silence.
Sophia stares at me. I stare back. The kitchen hums. Somewhere outside a car alarm goes off like it’s enjoying itself.
