“And, if everyone vanishes overnight,” I add, “You’re to hire me to make up for my losses.”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“Deal,” he says. “I’ve got a flat, a child on the way, and an alarming lack of organisational skills. I’ll keep you busy.”
I snort. “You do realise I charge extra for emotional chaos.”
“Worth it.”
I glance back at my screen, the neat columns and bullet points waiting for me. The old flicker of doubt tries to surface, that instinct to pull back before I’ve even stepped forward.
I don’t let it.
Not this time.
30
Denying a Pregnant Woman Cake
Christa
The flat has stoppedfeeling borrowed.
Not mine. Not his. Just… used. Lived in. Slightly rearranged without a meeting about it.
I’m perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of me, tapping away with the kind of focus that only happens when my inbox is behaving and the baby is temporarily not tap-dancing on my bladder. Both feel suspicious.
Geoff is unpacking shopping bags with the quiet seriousness of a man who believes groceries deserve respect. Cold things first. Bread placed gently, like it might bruise.
We’re not talking. We don’t need to. This is the good quiet. The one that doesn’t itch.
I’m halfway through an email when I see it.
A small white box. Innocent-looking. Nestled between a bag of apples and something aggressively green.
I pause.
Tilt my head.
Stare at it like it might scuttle away.
Fairy cakes.
Actual fairy cakes. Iced. Sprinkled. Entirely unmentioned.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. “What’s in the box?”
Geoff doesn’t look up. “Shopping.”
“Are these fairy cakes?”
“They’re for Lucy,” he says, far too casually. “I promised her an afternoon tea when Theo and Ivy drop her off in a minute.”
I swivel on the stool. Slowly. Dangerously.
“Those fairy cakes,” I say, “come in a pack of sixteen.”
“Yes.”
