Chapter 13 #3
Then a strange little sound—half cough, half laugh—escapes her. She turns to look at me, wide-eyed.
I immediately regret everything I’ve ever said, done, or implied in my entire life.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Because now I’m thinking about the last time we saw each other properly. The conversation about tension and my hands on her tense muscles.
Bloody hell, Jasper.
“Right,” she says abruptly, pushing herself upright and brushing her hands off on her leggings. “Tea? I’ll put the kettle on.”
She doesn't wait for an answer, just heads for the counter like it's a lifeboat.
I sit back on my heels and clear my throat. “I should probably take Lucy home soon anyway. Before she starts trying to redecorate your furniture with glitter glue.”
Miranda’s back is to me, kettle in hand. She fumbles with the switch, then says, without turning around, “I… I did think about it, you know.”
I blink. “Think about what?”
She fidgets with a mug, still staring at the cupboard door like it’s safer than looking at me. “Your offer… to—"
“Uncle Jaaaasssper!”
The word rockets down the hall a split second before Lucy herself does, bursting into the room at full speed, cheeks flushed and sticker in her hair. Twinklesocks barrels after her like a small furry missile.
“We played with the castle!” she announces triumphantly. “And I’m queen now because I had the most stickers and SJ said I could make the rules.”
Twinklesocks launches herself onto me and promptly settles on my arm like I’m a deluxe cat tree.
I glance at Miranda. She hasn’t moved. Her knuckles are still tight around the mug.
“Is that so?” I say, keeping my voice light as I adjust the cat’s claws out of my collarbone.
Lucy nods enthusiastically. “But now we need snacks. For the royal banquet. And maybe something fizzy. But not the sharp fizzy. The nice one.”
I give her a smile. “Tell you what, Your Majesty—why don’t we head home and get you some proper dinner first? You can plan your next royal decree on the way.”
She pouts instantly, bottom lip out like a professional. “But I want to stay! It’s more fun here.”
I reach down and gently lift Twinklesocks off my chest. She makes a soft noise of protest and latches on to my trouser leg the second her paws hit the floor.
“You can’t come with me,” I mutter to her.
Miranda, who’s been quietly watching from the counter, says, “You could stay. I’ve got cottage pie in the oven. Plenty to go round.”
I glance at her. She’s casual about it, as if she’s just suggesting a bin day or the weather tomorrow.
Lucy immediately turns to me with the force of someone who’s just had her wildest dreams confirmed. “Cottage pie! That’s my favourite!”
“It’s got carrots in it,” I warn her.
“I’ll survive.”
Twinklesocks is now attempting to scale my shin.
I look back at Miranda, who meets my eyes with a look that’s calm, unreadable, but not closed.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods. “I’m not the world’s best cook but my Cottage pie is legendary.”
I smile. “Sold.”
Lucy fist-pumps the air like a small, victorious knight and runs off to tell SJ, presumably by shouting at full volume from three inches away.
I reach down and detach Twinklesocks from my trousers again.
Miranda watches the scene unfold with faint amusement and says, “She really does like you.”
I straighten up, brushing fur from my jumper. “I’m a likeable guy,” I say lightly. “Semi-decent with plumbing. Pretty solid with cats and five-year-olds.”
She arches an eyebrow, but there’s the tiniest flicker of a smile.
“I’ll go turn the water back on,” I add. “If anything starts spraying again, shout.”
She gives a dry sort of nod. “If it explodes, you’re first to hear about it.”
I head out into the cold again, flick open the stubborn panel, and twist the stopcock back into place. There’s a shudder in the pipe, a faint creak through the wall. No immediate torrent of disaster, which feels like a win.
Back inside, I wait for a moment by the sink, watching. A slow drip… then nothing.
“All good?” I call.
Miranda’s already crouched down, peering into the cupboard. “Dry,” she confirms. “For now.”
We don’t say anything else.
Instead, we move—wordlessly—to the job of mopping up.
Towels are gathered, wrung, swapped out. A basin appears from somewhere. I find the mop and start chasing water into the corners while Miranda folds the least-wet tea towels over the back of a chair.
There’s a quiet between us. Not comfortable, not awkward—just heavy. Like the room knows what was being said before Lucy burst in, and is politely pretending it didn’t hear.
She hands me a dry cloth at one point, fingers brushing mine. Neither of us looks up.
The only sound is the soft squelch of damp towels and the faint rattle of the fan in the oven behind us.
I could say something. Ask her what she’d meant. What she would’ve said, if Lucy hadn’t interrupted.
But I don’t.
And she doesn’t either.
We just keep moving—drying, folding, putting things back where they belong.
But there’s an elephant in the room. Sitting there, right between us. Massive. Pink. Wearing a name badge that reads "So, About That Offer…"
And we’re both pretending it isn’t there.
For now.