Then there’s a sharp hiss.
We both look at Christa.
She’s frozen mid-motion, cheeks bulging like a startled hamster, the can of squirty cream lowered slowly from her mouth. A rogue streak of cream sits at the corner of her lips.
She swallows. “Sorry. Tension response.”
Sophia blinks.
I rub a hand over my face. “I was going to tell you,” I say quickly. “I didn’t want to spring it on you. I didn’t want to make it a thing before we’d even worked out if there was a thing.”
Sophia exhales, long and slow, eyes still on me. “You live with the mother of your child.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not together.”
“No.”
“And you thought date three was too soon.”
“Yes,” I say. “In hindsight, perhaps overly optimistic.”
Christa raises a finger. “For the record, I’m not usually like this. I’m tired. And hungry. And your timing is… ambitious.”
Sophia huffs a laugh despite herself, then presses her lips together, thinking. “I appreciate the honesty,” she says finally. “Even if it’s… a lot.”
“That’s fair,” I say. “It is a lot.”
She looks at Christa. “Congratulations.”
Christa blinks. “Thank you. Sorry about the cream.”
I clear my throat. “Sophia, do you want to… step outside for a minute?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Yes. That might be good.”
I grab my jacket out of habit, even though it’s unnecessary, and lead her into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind us, mercifully muting the faint hiss of the cream can from inside the flat.
We stand there for a second, neither of us quite sure where to put our hands. Adult silence. The kind where no one is performing.
“I didn’t mean to ambush you,” I say first. “That was… not the plan.”
“I figured,” she says. “I just wish I’d known earlier.”
“I know,” I reply. “And I honestly wasn’t trying to hide it. I just couldn’t work out when the right moment was. Date one felt like a hostage situation. Date two felt like emotional whiplash. By date three, I’d convinced myself I had at least another week.”
She lets out a short laugh. “Okay. I can see why opening with ‘Hi, I’m Geoff and I’m having a baby with my housemate’ might have been a lot.”
“Exactly,” I say, relieved. “I didn’t want to drop it like a grenade.”
She studies me for a moment. “Is that why you didn’t come home with me? Last time. And tonight.”
I wince. “Partly.”
“Partly,” she repeats.
I sigh. “There’s another layer.”
