Chapter 16
Sixteen
Henry
After abruptly leaving Matilda’s flat this morning, I barely made it two streets before my phone rang. Mr Hamlin. Apparently, there was another email from Gary — the building inspector from Park Lane — who was once again convinced the entire world was out to sabotage him.
Perfect. Just what I needed. More drama that isn’t mine, when mine is already stacked high enough to bury me alive.
Matilda standing in her kitchen in those tiny blue pyjama shorts and a vest top had been enough to knock the breath out of me — let alone the way she looked at me. Soft. Vulnerable. Like she didn’t know if she should thank me or run.
And all I could think about was pulling her into my arms.
Not just to touch her — though God knows I wanted that too — but to protect her. To make her feel safe.
That’s a first for me.
Every other woman in my life has been a temporary distraction. A quick fix for loneliness or boredom. Never more. Never deep. Because I’ve never wanted deep — not until now. And I hate that the thought of her smile makes my chest ache.
Which is why I had to get out of there before I did something stupid. Before I kissed her.
A few minutes into my meeting with Hamlin, things go from bad to worse. Gary is throwing accusations, Hamlin is threatening to walk off-site, and I’m standing in the middle like a mediator at a children’s playground.
I send Matilda a quick email, knowing the signal’s crap out here, and prepare myself for a long day of babysitting grown men who can’t stand each other.
And I’m right.
Hours later, covered in dust and sweat, I finally climb into an Uber headed back to the office. It’s 4:15 p.m. — just enough time to make it before my five o’clock meeting with Matilda.
I need to talk to her.
I need to apologise for the last few days — for the way I’ve acted, the things I’ve said, the lines I’ve blurred. She deserves better than the mess I’ve made of this.
I’ll make it clear that none of this is on her. That I’m the problem. That I let my guard down and mistook… whatever this is… for something it isn’t.
It’s attraction. Lust. Biology and bad timing. That’s all.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Because the truth — the one that creeps in when my chest tightens and my pulse skips at the thought of her — feels much more dangerous.
My phone buzzes as my signal returns, and suddenly notifications flood in. I roll my eyes, expecting another avalanche of emails. But then I see it — five missed calls from Matilda. Two from my dad’s number. And a voicemail.
A sharp pulse of worry hits my chest.
I press play.
Hi Henry, it’s— me. Your dad’s being discharged from hospital. I tried calling a couple times, but I know you said you had no signal. I’m calling an Uber and going to pick him up from the hospital and take him home. I hope that’s okay. Okay, well… bye. Call when you can.
The robotic voice asks if I want to save or delete the message. I just sit there, stunned.
Matilda went to pick up my dad.
I hit call before I’ve even thought it through.
She answers on the first ring. “Henry.” Her voice is soft, uncertain.
“Matilda, I’m so sorry I missed your calls. Where’s my dad now?”
“He’s here with me. At home, I mean — at your dad’s home.”
She sounds flustered, and I can’t stop the stupid smile tugging at my mouth.
“You’re still there? Okay, I’m coming now. Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine. We’re just chatting.” Then I hear his voice in the background.
“Henry! I think we should keep her!”
There’s a sputter from Matilda — tea, by the sound of it — and I can’t help laughing.
“I’ll be there soon,” I say, hanging up before my dad can recruit her into the family.
By the time the Uber pulls up outside the house, I’m more restless than I’ve been in months. I step out and freeze.
Laughter.
Real, full-bellied laughter echoes from the living room — my dad’s laughter — a sound I haven’t heard in years.
It stops me cold.
I follow it into the room and there they are.
My dad sits in his old armchair, his eyes bright, his face alive with joy. Matilda is leaning toward him, showing him something on her phone. They’re both laughing so hard they can barely breathe.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so perfect.
Then she spots me in the doorway, and everything in her stiffens. She jumps up, straightening her blouse like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Henry — sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
My dad grins. “Son! Glad you could make it. What a delight your assistant is.”
“She is indeed,” I reply, smiling despite myself. “Please, sit. Dad, how are you feeling?”
“Better than ever. Glad to be home.” He looks between us, his grin widening. “Everything alright with work?”
“Yes, work’s fine,” I say, ignoring the curious flicker in Matilda’s eyes. “What have you two been up to all day?”
“Oh, just talking. Mostly about you.”
Matilda’s cheeks flush instantly, and I raise a brow. “All good things, I hope.”
“Of course,” my dad chuckles. “Now, tell me you’re staying for dinner. We’ve eaten all the biscuits, and I’m starving.”
I glance at Matilda, then at the clock. “We’ve got that five o’clock meeting.”
“Well, have your meeting here, you fool,” Dad says, waving a hand. “She’s right there. And Matilda, darling, you’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?”
Matilda hesitates, glancing between me and the floor.
“You should stay,” I say quietly.
She looks up and smiles. “Okay. Thanks.”
Dad claps his hands together. “Fantastic! Now, what are we eating?”
We raid the fridge and manage to cobble together pasta with tomatoes, garlic, and dried basil — hardly gourmet, but it’ll do. Matilda helps without being asked, and somehow even that feels intimate.
As I chop tomatoes, I finally speak. “Thank you for helping my dad today. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” she says softly. “He’s pretty amazing.”
So are you, I almost say, but swallow it down.
“It was nice hearing him laugh again,” I admit instead. “It’s been a while.”
She pauses, knife halfway to the board. “What do you mean?”
“At the start of lockdown, he fell. No one knew. He was on the floor for almost a day before I found him. That’s when he lost a part of himself. He hasn’t really… been the same since.”
Her eyes soften. She places a hand on my forearm, and the touch sends a shiver up my arm.
“Henry, that’s awful. I had no idea.”
“Why would you?” I manage a smile. “I don’t talk about it. Or much of anything personal, really.”
“What about friends? Or… girlfriends?” she asks, her hand slipping away. “Do you talk to them about personal stuff?”
“There’s only one person I really talk to — Jas, my oldest friend. She’s known my family forever. Other than that, no. And I don’t have girlfriends.”
“Right.”
Her tone is quiet, unreadable.
“I’m glad you were with him today,” I say after a moment. “He’s been asking about you for weeks.”
“Really?” she beams.
“Yeah. You’re the closest thing to a girlfriend I’ve had in years. We’re practically married in his eyes.”
Her mouth falls open. My brain catches up half a second too late. “Sorry — I meant because we work so closely together. Not—”
She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”
We both chuckle, tension easing as we move on to talk about her project. She’s brilliant — sharp, creative, organised. Everything she’s ever done for me has been faultless, but hearing her ideas out loud makes me realise just how much I’ve been holding her back.
She deserves more.
When dinner’s ready, we join my dad at the table. He insists on sitting next to Matilda, which suits me fine — it means I get to sit opposite her. Not that I spend the whole meal staring at her or anything. Definitely not.
My dad is beaming, utterly taken with her. They share stories, tease me mercilessly, and by dessert, they have their own inside jokes. I should be annoyed, but I’m not.
I’m… happy.
Watching my dad smile like that, seeing the colour in his cheeks — it’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt something close to peace.
When Matilda tells him about Thomas — the idiot from the office who flirted with her — they both laugh so hard I think my dad might actually choke.
“I just think it’s unprofessional to ask someone out at work,” I mutter.
My dad shoots me a look that says you’re full of shit, but lets it go.
The evening blurs pleasantly, filled with warmth and soft laughter. Dad pours wine, Matilda’s cheeks flush pink, and I sit there trying to memorise the sound of her laugh.
She talks about her family, her love of books, her obsession with Baby Yoda — and I can’t stop watching her. She’s funny and clever and so alive it’s infectious. Every word she says makes something inside me unravel.
When I finally call an Uber to drive her home, she sighs happily in the passenger seat.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s been a really nice evening. Thank you.”
She turns toward me, smiling, and I swear my heart stumbles.
“You were quiet tonight,” she says softly.
“I was listening,” I admit.
“God, was I talking too much?” Her blush deepens.
“Not at all. It was nice — hearing you talk about your life. Your family.”
She smiles, eyes soft. “Your dad told me a lot about you growing up, you know. It’s funny — we’ve worked together for years, but we’ve never really talked like this before.”
I glance at her — then back at the road — and something settles heavy and certain in my chest.
No, we haven’t. But I think about you more than I should.
And for the first time in a long time, the silence between us doesn’t feel empty.
It feels like possibility.
The Uber pulls up outside her flat, headlights washing the street in pale gold. Matilda reaches for the door handle but hesitates, glancing back at me.
Our eyes meet — just for a second — but it’s enough to knock the air from my lungs. A soft smile curls her lips, and my gaze falls helplessly to her mouth. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something… or maybe she’s thinking the same thing I am.
The space between us tightens.
I lean forward before I can stop myself, and she mirrors the movement — slow, tentative, magnetic.
For a breath, nothing else exists. Not the city outside, not the mess of the last week — just her, inches away, smelling faintly of wine and something sweet.
And then her phone rings. Loud. Jarring.
We both flinch, snapping back into our seats. The poor Uber driver clears his throat up front, reminding me he’s been an unwilling witness to the world’s most awkward almost-kiss.
Matilda fumbles for her phone, cheeks flushed, and all I can do is stare straight ahead, heart pounding, wondering how the hell this woman keeps undoing me with just a look.