Chapter 11
THEO
A week later, and Sadie’s officially got her running bug back.
Every morning, she disappears off in a blur of Lycra and glowing determination, and I set up camp at the kitchen table – half-working, half-wrangling Lottie.
This morning, I’m elbow-deep in the early stages of a multi-million-pound acquisition, reviewing the financials of a failing logistics firm… while across from me, Lottie is glueing sequins to a slice of glitter-sprinkled toast.
Not paper.
Not a craft project.
Actual toast.
She hums as she works with the focused intensity of someone restoring the Sistine Chapel – head tilting side to side, pigtails twitching like antennae, bottom lip caught in her teeth.
Classic concentration face. Just like her mum.
And she keeps eyeing my laptop lid like it’s her next canvas. Not happening.
This is my life now. And I’m not even mad about it.
So long as I remember to peel the glitter stickers off my Tom Ford shirt before today’s virtual meetings, it’ll be an upgrade on last Monday.
‘Look, Uncle Feo! Princess Toast!’
She waves it proudly, then lunges as if she’s going to eat it. I dive across the table, snatching it from her just before she bites down – nearly taking out my coffee in the process.
‘I think that one’s too pretty to eat,’ I say. ‘Try the other slice?’
She picks it up and flashes me that grin – part angel, part evil genius – and I know she’s only humouring me.
Then my phone lights up beside the laptop. Jake. Shit . He’s under strict instruction not to call before nine these Lottie-days unless the company’s actively on fire.
I groan, and Lottie copies me.
It’s enough to make me smile as I hit speakerphone and look for somewhere safe to stash the bedazzled toast. Possibly the bin?
‘Jake, what’s up?’
‘Sorry to call early, boss, but Sterling’s on the warpath.’
I roll my eyes, and Lottie giggles.
‘He wants to speak to you.’
‘I’ll call him later.’
‘He wants to speak to you now .’
Lottie stares at me, wide eyes sparkling and entranced, like I’m performing just for her. And why not? If it keeps her away from glitterfying more toast, I’m all for it.
I cross my eyes and pout. ‘Well, I don’t wanna talk to the big, grumpy man…’
Lottie erupts, collapsing sideways, head straight in the glitter.
‘ Uh … Mr Tanner?’
I waggle my tongue and roll my head. She has tears.
‘ Theo ?’
Jake’s strained use of my first name smacks me upside the head. What am I doing?
I’ve negotiated with oil barons. I’ve outbid competitors for global transport fleets. I’ve closed deals that could make or break empires. And my current challenge? Keeping a jam-and-glitter-stained toddler from eating sequin-glued toast like it’s a Michelin-star dish.
As though to prove my point, Lottie scoops up another handful of sequins and grabs the glue-stick, her eyes flicking pointedly between me and her naked toast. I shake my head – No! – but she’s already sprinkling like it’s salt and pepper.
‘Tell him I’m in serious negotiations with a tiny dictator over sequin tariffs and,’ she picks up the slice, ‘toast jurisdiction.’
I swoop in again, grabbing it before she takes a bite.
‘Is that some kind of metaphor, or?—?’
She pouts up at me. I pout back.
‘Mr Tanner?’
‘I’ll call him.’
‘Now?’
‘Soon. Bye, Jake.’
I end the call, and Lottie applauds.
‘Good work, Mista Tanna!’ she declares, handing me the glitter-encrusted glue-stick like it’s an award.
I blink at it. ‘I always wanted to win an Oscar.’
She grins. ‘More toast!’
‘I think you’ve had enough toast.’
‘But I want toast.’
‘And I want a lot of things I can’t have in life…’
Your mum being one of them.
‘Called growing up, kiddo.’
That cheeky pout makes a return. And heaven help me, I’m already caving…
‘Okay, okay – just one more slice.’
And that’s when it hits me. Like, truly hits me.
Sadie’s not the only one changing. I am.
A month ago, if someone had told me I’d be toddler-talking my way through a Monday morning, juggling a multi-million-pound deal and sequined carbs, I’d have laughed them out of the building.
And don’t even get me started on the mess, the noise, and all the things I couldn’t cope with when Katie was in my space.
But now?
I’m enjoying this. The chaos. The tiny feet thudding through my space.
The way Lottie commandeers the sofa as her pirate ship, squealing with glee whenever she discovers stickers hidden under cushions like long-lost treasure.
I don’t even mind her turning my poor fern into a tiara stand.
It gives the thing a quirky, lived-in kind of charm.
And Sadie…
She’s lighter. Brighter. Still a little wary.
Still carrying something heavy in her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking.
But she’s glowing more each day. Her laugh’s easier.
Her shoulders looser. And when she comes back from her run, hair wild, cheeks flushed and round with her smile, she looks free.
Like she’s finally finding herself again.
And me?
I’m the guy up to his eyes in glitter glue and chaos, finding a side to himself he never thought possible. A side that’s softer, messier, and somehow more alive.
And Axel accused me of living for my work… The man’s got a nerve.
* * *
Sadie
By the time I hit the final stretch of my run, my lungs are burning – a glorious, cleansing burn that reminds me I’m alive. Still here. Still moving. Still free.
It’s a wet summer’s day, the sky heavy and grey, but nothing can touch this mood. Adrenaline hums in my veins. Endorphins fizz. I’m all about the rhythmic beat of my trainers hitting the pavement and the rush of being out in the world… the warm slap of the rain only adding to the sensation.
Life is good.
I slow as I near Theo’s building, weaving through the steady morning rush – suits huddled under umbrellas, dog walkers wrangling their wet-fur monsters, gym types dripping with rain or sweat (who can tell?), and teens slouching towards the bus stop with no coats and even less enthusiasm.
And then I smell it.
Coffee.
Rich. Dark. Comforting.
Every day, I get a whiff of Theo’s local independent coffee shop, Becca’s Brew. And every day, I think maybe…
I know Theo keeps the good stuff at home, but there’s something magical about a coffee-shop brew. A proper barista-crafted, foam-art, soul-warming cup.
Back in the pre-Danny era, it was my daily ritual: coffee and a vlog. Now, just the thought of squeezing into a cramped café sets my anxiety off. But if I can dodge traffic and puddles mid-run like some Lycra-clad ninja, surely I can handle one tiny coffee shop?
I come to a halt outside the hand-painted shop front, a vibrant rainforest scene that never fails to thrill Lottie when we pass. Heart still hammering, I peer through the steamed-up glass. It’s packed. A writhing sea of bodies and a cacophony of noise.
Every instinct screams, Pivot and go home . But wouldn’t it be nice not to return empty-handed for once? To bring Theo a treat and say, Thank you , and, Hey, look what I did!
Before I can talk myself out of it, I push inside. The noise rushes at me with the bell jangling above the door but no one so much as looks my way. Winning.
I slip into the queue behind a brunette woman who’s expertly rocking a buggy with one hand while scrolling through her phone with the other. Her toddler, not much younger than Lottie, peeks out – a gorgeous afro crowning wide, rich-brown eyes that widen into fishbowls the moment they meet mine.
I smile, and he grins back, all goofy and delighted.
Okay. I’ve got this.
‘Hey Char, you seen this?’ Another woman, blonde, just ahead of her in the queue turns and hands her a colourful leaflet from a pile near the counter.
‘It’s a new soft play just down the road.
Finally , we have somewhere we can run to when the weather’s like this.
Joshua’s already climbing the walls after two days of it. ’
She isn’t joking. Joshua is actively trying to mount the pastry display as she speaks.
‘Tell me about it,’ the brunette says as her friend wrestles her kid back to her side.
‘Yesterday, this one managed to spill juice all over Ian’s laptop.
It wasn’t pretty. All this working from home is great but when Parker’s having a mad half-hour or three, it’s a nightmare.
’ She glances down at the leaflet. ‘This might save my sanity as well as Ian’s. ’
From his vantage point in the buggy, Parker starts pointing at my trainers. ‘Pink!’
I glance down, give them a twitch. ‘You’re right, they are.’
Parker nods, mighty pleased, and his mother turns to me.
‘He’s obsessed with colours right now,’ she says with a smile. ‘Everything is either pink, blue, or “not pink”.’
I laugh lightly. ‘That sounds about right.’
‘You’ve got a little one too?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. Lottie. She’s three.’
‘Oo, have you tried this place with her?’ she says, gesturing to the leaflet, and I shake my head. ‘I reckon I might give it a go this afternoon. What do you reckon, Rach?’
Her friend peels her son off the serving counter. ‘Definitely! You and your daughter wouldn’t fancy coming too, would you?’ she suddenly says to me. ‘If you’re free, that is…’
I blink at the invitation, startled by the warmth of it. Freaked at the ease. But maybe this is how it should be. One mum inviting another to find some calm amongst the crazy.
‘My Joshua could do with meeting some girlfriends. It might rein him in a little.’
Parker’s mum laughs. ‘You setting Josh up on dates already, Rach?’
‘ Play dates, Char! Nothing more. No pressure, though,’ she adds for my benefit. ‘But we seem to be inundated with boys. Would be great to have a girl in the mix.’
I laugh again, getting swept up in their easy banter. ‘I worry my Lottie would only lead him further astray.’
‘Ha, I like your honesty. But let’s face it, they’re all a little wild at this age. Better to have them burning off steam in a place like that than destroying the home, right?’