By the time I get to the top of the stairs, I’m slightly out of breath and deeply regretting the extra tub of ice cream. Ivy’s standing in the doorway, arms folded, one brow raised, expression somewhere between curious and mildly unimpressed.
Then I see her properly, and everything slows.
Not in a dramatic film-score kind of way. Just quietly. Naturally. Like someone’s turned the volume down on the world and left me standing here, watching her.
She’s wearing a black skirt that flutters slightly around her knees and a soft blue top that dips just enough to be dangerous. Her hair’s down. There’s the faintest shimmer on her cheeks.
And my brain, usually decent at basic human functions, forgets what to do with that.
“Wow.”
It slips out low and honest, and I instantly wish I’d saved it, bottled it somehow, just so she’d know I meant it in the absolute best way.
Her cheeks flush. “Wow?”
“Yeah.” I shift the bags awkwardly to one arm. “A good wow. Like... a really good wow.”
She squints slightly, not buying it yet. “You’re not just saying that because your brain’s oxygen-starved from carrying forty-seven pounds of groceries up the stairs?”
I grin. “Forty-five, tops. But no. I’d say wow even if I was completely empty-handed.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile. “You’re such a dork.”
“An honest one,” I say, and then because I’m an idiot, I add, “Also, you smell amazing.”
Oh God. Abort.
To my relief, she lets it slide with only the faintest eyebrow raise. “So.. What’s with the bags?”
“Dinner.”
“You brought dinner?”
I walk past her into the flat before she can argue, dropping the bags on the kitchen counter like I do this allthe time. “Lasagna. Homemade. Three-hour sauce. The works.”
There’s a pause. I can feel her looking at me. I keep my back to her while I pretend to be busy emptying the bags.
“You made lasagna?” she asks, voice just a little too even.
I turn around slowly, holding up an oven safe dish like a sacred artefact. “I did. I’m not saying it’ll change your life, but... well. Actually, Iamsaying that.”
She walks over, hands on her hips. “Do I get a menu, or is it just lasagna and promises?”
“Lasagna, salad, bread, and ice cream,” I say smugly. “And not justanyice cream.”
I reach into the bag and dramatically reveal three tubs like they’re a royal flush. “Coffee and walnut, salted caramel, and classic vanilla. Choose wisely.”
She stares at me for a beat, then grabs the salted caramel and clutches it to her chest. “You absolute hero.”
“Glad to be of service,” I say, and try not to look too pleased when she starts digging out two spoons from a drawer.
“Hang on,” she says around a mouthful of ice cream. “Where’s Lucy?”
“Sleepover at Geoff’s.”
Her eyes widen. “Does Geoff know he’s hosting a royal guest?”
“She brought three tiaras and a wand. She called him ‘Your Glittery Majesty’ as I was leaving.”
