When she drops a sandwich, he doesn’t flinch. Just picks it up, asks if it’s still acceptable by royal standards, then replaces it without fuss when she wrinkles her nose.
Something warm blooms in my chest.
Not loud. Not overwhelming. Just steady and unmistakable.
I watch the way he laughs with her, not at her. The way he lets her be dramatic without dampening it. The wayhe’s gentle without making a show of it. Like this isn’t performance. It’s instinct.
My fingers still on the keyboard, I realise I’ve stopped working entirely.
Because I can see it. Too easily.
Him on the floor like this again. Only next time with a smaller body. A softer head tucked under his chin. A little girl who looks suspiciously like both of us, demanding fairy cakes and stories and absolute devotion.
Our daughter.
The thought lands and stays.
Not frightening. Not complicated.
Just… right.
Lucy holds up a fairy cake. “Uncle Geoff, you have to eat this one.”
Geoff peers at it. “That’s a lot of icing.”
“You’re very brave,” she says seriously.
He sighs. “For the kingdom.”
He takes a huge bite. I snort before I can stop myself.
He looks up, catches my eye and grins, icing stuck to his lips.
Lucy follows his grin straight to me.
“Auntie Christa,” she calls, already scrambling to her feet. “You have to come too.”
I lift my hands from the keyboard. “I can’t. I’m working.”
She hops up from the floor and runs over, skidding to a stop by the kitchen island, craning her neck to look up at me on the stool. “You can work later.”
“I really can’t,” I say gently. “I have to finish this.”
She clasps her hands together, eyes enormous. “Please.”
It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s just Lucy, hopeful and entirely confident that persistence is a valid strategy.
I glance at my laptop. Then at her. Then, against my better judgement, at Geoff.
He doesn’t say a word. Just watches, mouth twitching, knowing exactly how this ends.
“I’ll only stay for a minute,” I say.
“Yes!” she exclaims and darts back to the coffee table, rummages in her little backpack, then charges back over with treasures.
“This is for you,” she says solemnly, holding up a plastic pink necklace and another tiara, this one missing at least one jewel. “Because you’re a princess too.”
“I am,” I agree, because I respect the rules of the kingdom.
