I wake to the sound of giggling.
Soft, mischievous, the kind of giggle that usually means someone is up to no good.
I frown, still half-asleep, shifting slightly under the covers. Before I can fully register what’s happening, I turn my head—and nearly jump when I come face-to-face with Lucy, who is grinning at me from the side of the bed, her little chin propped up on her hands.
I blink, my brain struggling to catch up. “Lucy?”
She lets out another giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.
Before I can ask what she’s doing, a whisper-shouted “Lucy!” comes from just outside the door.
My stomach tightens slightly.
Theo.
I barely have a second to process that before the door creaks open, and Theo sneaks into the room, clearly trying to retrieve his daughter before she causes any early-morning chaos.
His focus is completely on her at first, his face set somewhere between amused and exasperated. But then—he looks up.
And his eyes meet mine.
We both freeze.
Because oh God.
Theo is in his pyjamas.
And not like the sensible, respectable kind. No, of course not. The universe wouldn’t be that kind to me.
He’s in a loose, slightly crumpled T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs that leave very little to the imagination.
Boy, oh boy, someone’s packing.
My entire body goes hot.
Theo’s ears go bright red.
I suddenly become painfully aware of my own state—dressed in an oversized T-shirt, but without a bra. My breasts are not meant for public appearances without some very serious structural support. Yet here they are, the outline very clearly visible under the thin fabric, drooping unapologetically toward my belly button.
I cross my arms immediately, locking them in place like a human barricade.
Theo is still standing there, like his brain has momentarily short-circuited, and I know I should be playing it cool, should be saying something, but my mouth is refusing to cooperate because I am so wildly aware of the fact that he’s standing in my borrowed bedroom in his boxer briefs.
Lucy, entirely oblivious to the silent meltdown happening between the adults, claps her hands together and announces, “We should all have breakfast in Ivy’s bed!”
Both Theo and I snap our heads toward her at the same time.
“No,” we say in unison.
Lucy frowns, clearly unimpressed with our lack of enthusiasm. “Why not?”
I shift under the blankets, now clutching the duvet defensively over my chest, because there are already too many things happening that I did not emotionally prepare for this morning. “Because,” I say, grasping at any reason, “breakfast in bed is messy.”
Lucy gasps like I’ve just insulted the very foundation of her beliefs. “No, it’s cosy.”
Theo, finally regaining his ability to function, folds his arms over his chest. “Lucy, we eat at the table.”
“But Ivy is the guest! We have to do special things!” she argues, already burrowing herself further into the duvet like she’s settling in for the long haul.
