Theo clears his throat and says, “Oh… Lucy told me to say hi. She’s having a tea party with Geoff and Jasper. I think Geoff was a fairy princess. Jasper was… unwilling.”
I smile, automatically. “That sounds about right.”
But then the smile doesn’t quite stick.
Because suddenly, my brain’s at it again.
Maybe he brought her up on purpose.
Maybe he thinks that’s why I’m here. Why I’mintohim. Because of Lucy. Because I’ve wormed my way into theirlittle unit and now he feels like he has to give me a proper dinner before letting me down gently.
Maybe I’m not a potential girlfriend. Maybe I’m just the convenient, child-friendly woman upstairs who bakes and helps out with his daughter.
My stomach turns, and not from hunger.
I think about Lucy, all glitter and peanut butter crimes and unsolicited honesty. I think about her curling up beside me on the sofa and saying she sometimes wishes she had a mum. And about the tiny, sticky cardboard medal she gave me, like it was a treasure.
And for a terrifying, vivid second, I let my brain run wild. I imagine what it would be like if she was mine. If bedtime stories were my job. If I picked her up from school. If she looked for me in the audience during assembly. If she called me Mummy and meant it.
My throat tightens.
Is that what this is about?I think, panicking.Have I just been using him as a gateway to a life I can’t have on my own?
What if this whole thing is backwards? What if it’s Lucy I’ve fallen for—that version of life, that dream—and Theo’s just the packaging it came in?
And what if he knows that?
What if he’s sitting across from me thinking she’s sweet, but she doesn’t want me. She wants a family, and I’m the delivery method.
I blink, hard.
And realise the waiter is gone, Theo’s sipping his wine, and there’s a plate of food in front of me—something delicate and green and artistically drizzled with too much olive oil—and I have absolutely no idea how long I’ve been sitting here in total silence.
I glance up.
Theo’s watching me. Not unkindly. Not impatiently. Just... with that same quiet, confused smile.
And all I can think is:Abort mission. Abort mission now.
Dinner lasted approximately six years.
We spent a portion of it discussing beetroot. A solid twenty minutes on whether the warm weather would hold through September. And an inexplicable ten minutes on composting—not in a fun way. In acouncil bin collectionway.
If romance had been invited, it left somewhere around the first course.
By dessert— which was technically a foam—I was actively praying for the fire alarm to go off. Or a blackout. Or a spontaneous sinkhole. Anything with dramatic exit potential.
Now we’re in an Uber again, and I’m pretending to be absorbed in the streetlights.
Theo sits beside me, arms neatly folded, like a man who’s being perfectly polite but would rather be anywhere else. The driver hums along to the radio. I don’t hum. I think about how it’s possible to be so close to someone and still feel like they’re miles away.
When we pull up outside my building, Theo gets out too. He says it’s just to stretch his legs before heading around the corner to his place, but we both know it’s also the proper, gentlemanly thing to do.
Which is very Theo.
I lead us from the curb to my door, and we stop. There’s a soft glow from the stairwell light and the faint smell of someone’s slightly burnt toast from upstairs. It’s a quiet night. The kind of night that might’ve ended with a kiss, if this were a different story.
We both stand there. Not speaking.
