I jump. He dodges. I grab the corner of the box. He holds on. For a second we’re both frozen, hands gripping cardboard, staring at each other like this is a standoff in a very stupid western.
“You realise,” I say breathlessly, “that if you drop them, Lucy will cry and that will be onyou.”
“You realise,” he shoots back, “that if I let go, you’ll eat three before I can blink.”
“I would never.”
We wrestle gently, bumping into the island. I squeak when he pins the box against the counter with one arm, using the other to block me.
“Geoff,” I hiss. “You are denying a pregnant woman cake.”
“I am protecting a child’s afternoon tea.”
“I am also carrying a child.”
“Different child.”
I glare up at him. He grins back, eyes bright, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
There’s a knock at the door.
We both freeze.
Very slowly, he lowers the box.
I smooth my hair, straighten my top, and step back like I haven’t just tried to mug him for baked goods.
He clears his throat. “Afternoon tea,” he says solemnly. “For Lucy.”
I smile sweetly. “Of course.”
But, as he turns toward the door, he slides one fairy cake across the counter toward me without looking.
I pick it up instantly.
Balance, after all, is important.
A little later, I’m back at the kitchen island, laptop open, pretending I’m working.
Geoff is on the floor wearing a sparkling tiara and a pink cape that definitely came from the dressing-up box anddefinitelydoes not fit him. Lucy is sitting cross-leggedopposite him in a full princess dress, crown slightly askew, presiding over the coffee table like royalty.
Afternoon tea is in full swing.
Mini sandwiches cut into shapes that may once have been triangles. Fairy cakes with bites already missing. Sliced fruit arranged with the seriousness of a state banquet.
“More tea, Your Majesty?” Geoff says in an uber posh voice, tipping the teapot with exaggerated care.
Lucy gasps. “Not too much. I don’t want it to spill again.”
“Understandably,” he says. “That was a regrettable incident.”
“It was a flood,” she tells him. “Atragicflood.”
“I have learned from my mistakes,” he says solemnly. “I am a changed man.”
I glance down at my screen, type a sentence, delete it, then look up again.
He’s fully committed. Knees folded awkwardly. Cape tangled around his arm. Tiara slipping sideways every time he nods seriously at Lucy’s instructions. He listens to her. Really listens. Lets her interrupt. Lets her correct him. Lets her lead.
