Page 43 of ICED
Maya lifts a brow. “You’re bribing me with pancakes now?”
“Only the fluffiest,” I say, grinning. “And maybe a fresh batch of gingerbread.”
She shakes her head, but her cheeks are pink again. “You’re a menace.”
“Guilty.”
I touch the edge of her hand, just briefly. Testing the waters.
She doesn’t pull away.
And it’s enough for now.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAYA
Sunday morning sunlight spills through the curtains, warming the little flat with that soft, sleepy glow that makes everything feel a bit more manageable. Lila’s curled beside me in bed, one chubby hand tucked under her cheek, the other still gripping the hockey puck she slept with. She insisted it had to stay close in case Mr Bear needed it back.
Correction.Bear.
She tried the shorter version out after the game, testing it with the kind of casual confidence only a three-year-old possesses. And when he smiled at her like she’d just granted him honorary knighthood, that was that. He was Bear now.
I press a kiss to her forehead and slide out of bed. We’re all going for pancakes in less than an hour, and I need time to look less like someone who lost a fight with her duvet.
The mirror in the hallway does not lie. Hair a mess. Sleep lines on my cheek. But there’s something else too, something a little warm, a little settled. I haven’t seen that look in my own face for a long time.
By the time Lila’s dressed and I’ve managed to put on a jumper that doesn’t have stains on it, there’s a knock at the door. She squeals and darts for it before I can even reach the handle.
“Bear!”
He’s standing there with a smile and a reusable coffee cup in each hand.
“Morning,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners as he hands me a coffee.
Lila grabs his hand and immediately starts telling him a story that seems to involve the puck, a dragon, and a unicorn named Cupcake. He listens like it’s the most important tale ever told.
I take the coffee he offers me. It’s exactly the right shade; he remembered. My stomach does a weird little flip.
“You ready for pancakes?” he asks, glancing between us.
“Always,” I say, and we head out.
The café he’s chosen is small and tucked into a side street, all exposed brick and mismatched mugs, the kind of place that smells like a warm hug.
We get a table by the window. Lila slides in next to her Bear without hesitation. She tugs his arm until he lets her lean against his side like she’s known him forever. My protective instincts twitch, but they settle as I watch the way he shifts just slightly to support her without making a fuss.
He’s gentle. Always.
The waitress brings menus, and Lila points at the stack of banana pancakes with whipped cream and eyes wide as saucers. “Can I have those? Please, Mummy? Bear said pancakes were important.”
“Did he now?” I glance at him, arching a brow.
He lifts his hands, in mock innocence. “I may have implied they were the most crucial part of a Sunday morning ritual.”
“Well, he’s not wrong,” I admit, and Lila beams.
The food arrives quickly. He gets a full stack and drowns it in maple syrup. I get something with berries and yogurt to balance the sugar bomb next to me. Lila makes a face at my plate and goes right for the whipped cream.
