Nora
The rest of the trip was perfect.
Not in the “everything went according to plan” kind of way, because a day and a half on a superyacht definitely came with its own brand of chaos.
But even with the antics, it was still unreal.
There was something about being out on the water that made everything feel softer. Slower. Like the whole world had agreed to quiet down for a minute so we could just exist inside it.
We ate too much.
Laughed too hard.
Let the salty air cling to our skin as we watched the sun sink into the horizon like it was putting on a light show just for us.
And then that night, while fireworks exploded over the water, Theo stood behind me on the deck with his arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth near my ear as he whispered all the ways this weekend with me had been absolutely perfect.
Later that night, when we finally crawled into bed, we didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to. I fell asleep with his arm wrapped around my waist and woke up the same way.
Like our bodies had simply decided this was the new normal and refused to let go.
And when we got back to Eden Falls and slipped into regular life again, it somehow got even better.
The days became routine. Comfortable. Ours.
Three mornings a week, Theo would knock lightly on my door at 5:00 a.m. before pushing it open just enough to slide his head in and ask, “You gonna meet me downstairs or what?” Even though he always looked half-asleep, with his hair messed up, voice rough, like he’d only dragged himself out of bed because he knew I’d be down there.
“I’m coming,” I’d say, sitting up.
Theo’s gaze would drop, taking in my pajamas in a slow, unashamed sweep. Then his mouth would tip like he couldn’t help himself. “Want me to stay and supervise while you get changed?”
“Absolutely not,” I’d say, pretending to be appalled even though I loved that he was so comfortable flirting like that with me now.
Then he’d take another step into the room, like he was planning to stay anyway, and I’d grab a pillow and throw it at him.
Which, of course, he’d catch because he had the reflexes of a cat.
“Go downstairs,” I’d whisper, trying not to wake Charlotte who was still sleeping just next door. “I’ll meet you in the basement.”
Theo would linger in the doorway for a beat longer, then he’d finally back out, grinning. “Fine. But I’m counting.”
“Counting what?” I’d call after him.
“The seconds until you get down there.”
And then he’d be gone, leaving like he hadn’t just made my heart sprint before I’d even brushed my teeth.
A few minutes later, I’d head down, hair pulled up, leggings and sports bra on. And that familiar steady energy would click into place. Because after years of early morning workouts at a facility, getting to work out with Theo in his beautiful home was a treat.
Something I actually looked forward to.
By the time I hit the basement, Theo would already be doing some reps.
He’d glance up the second he heard me on the stairs. His eyes would drag over me in a way that made it hard to remember oxygen was a basic human need. And when I bent over to do my dumbbell rows, he’d stare at me for a long moment before nodding like he was just assessing my form.
Completely professional and totally innocent.
You know, except for the moment his mouth would curve up and he’d say, “Best part of waking up.”
And while I’d try to roll my eyes at being objectified by this man, I couldn’t help but return the grin as I said, “You’re so cheesy,” walking past him to switch out my weights.
Theo would follow, still smiling. “And you love it.”
“I totally do.”
We’d continue working out side by side. Theo would spot me, hands near my waist, his focus locked in like he took the job very seriously.
And every time I caught him watching me in the mirror, my stomach would do its fun little flip that refused to stop happening no matter how many weeks went by.
After the workout, we’d shower, grab a quick breakfast, and then Theo would leave for work and Charlotte would take over the day.
We did the usual things. Library runs. Scooter rides. Parks.
Sometimes we’d meet Lucy for lunch, or take a trip to the pool, or end up in the backyard with sidewalk chalk and an absurdly serious game of “gymnastics teacher” where Charlotte made me do “tricks” and then rated my performance with a clipboard before asking me to help her with a few tricks of her own.
Every day felt full in the best way.
And then at six or six thirty, Theo would come home and Charlotte would yell, “Daddy’s home!” before launching herself at him like he’d been gone for seven years instead of eight hours.
“Hey bug,” he’d say, scooping her up and kissing her cheek before letting her ramble about whatever was on her mind.
And then his gaze would find mine across the room.
Not obvious enough to clue Charlotte in on the recent shift in our dynamic. Just that quiet, steady look that said, I’m so happy to be home.
And my whole body would soften because I’d been secretly waiting for him to walk through the door all day.
After dinner, we’d do something with Charlotte: Movie nights with popcorn and blankets. Game nights with Go Fish or Candyland. Walks around the neighborhood.
And even though things were starting to feel more and more serious between us, Theo and I were also careful to keep our feelings as secret from Charlotte as we could.
We didn’t kiss in front of her. Didn’t curl up together on the couch when she was awake.
We kept our hands to ourselves.
Or at least, we really tried to.
So the tenderness stayed mostly behind closed doors. In passing touches. In looks. In the way Theo would just linger by my side after Charlotte went to bed, like he didn’t want the day to end yet.
Those late nights were my favorite.
Once Charlotte was tucked in, Theo and I would drift into whatever we felt like doing. Sometimes we watched a movie. Sometimes we read books side by side.
But mostly, we just talked.
About nothing. About everything. About the parts of ourselves we didn’t usually hand to other people.
And then, of course, there were the nights when we didn’t talk much at all. Just sat close enough that our knees touched, and Theo’s fingers would find mine, and that quiet spark between us would start humming and we’d inevitably end up in his bedroom upstairs with the door locked.
And then there were the flowers.
The first time Theo brought me a bouquet after work, he handed them to me in the kitchen, winking and saying that a secret admirer of mine must have left them on the porch.
I’d thought it was a fluke. Just a one-time thing.
But then it happened again.
And again.
Once a week, like clockwork, Theo would walk through the door with a beautiful, over-the-top bouquet.
And there would always be a little card tucked in it, always saying something really sweet and romantic and ending with the same discreet signature, T.A.
“Who is T.A.?” Charlotte had asked the first time.
To which I just said, “I don’t know. It must be a secret code name from my secret admirer.”
Which she then, of course, took very seriously.
She’d taken hold of the card like it was evidence in a crime investigation, squinting at the letters even though she still couldn’t read. Then looking up at me with wide eyes, she’d whispered, “You think it’s a prince?”
“A prince?” I’d repeated, like I was really considering it. “Maybe.”
But after a few weeks of this routine, Charlotte had another idea occur to her.
After Theo had disappeared upstairs to change out of his suit, she’d scooted closer to where we’d been working at the counter.
Then after checking to make sure her dad was nowhere in sight, she’d whispered, “What if it’s my daddy? ”
Which, of course, made my heart instantly race as my mind replayed all the interactions Theo and I had had during that week to figure out if we had slipped up and showed a little too much affection in front of his sweet little girl.
But trying to remain as nonchalant as I could, I kept my face neutral as I shrugged and said, “Who knows?”
Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the flowers. Then, in a voice I could barely hear, she whispered, “I hope it is.”
Which completely melted my heart and had me crossing my fingers that it wouldn’t be too much longer before Theo and I felt ready to tell her the truth.
That yes, my secret admirer really was her dad.
And that I had a pretty big crush on him, too.