Cecilia hadn't planned to stay.
She told herself she'd drop Leo off, make sure he settled in, then leave with her pride—and emotions—intact. But one glance at her son asleep on a pile of luxury pillows in a penthouse bigger than her entire apartment, and her legs betrayed her.
So now she was here. In Samuel Blackwood's kitchen. Watching him commit war crimes against pasta.
"Do you normally boil the spaghetti before or after setting off the smoke alarm?" she asked, arms crossed.
Samuel looked up, holding a wooden spoon like it was a weapon. "I'll have you know, I watched a Gordon Ramsay video just ten minutes ago."
"Did you also watch the part where he says not to incinerate the garlic?"
He glanced at the blackened pan behind him. "That was a… warm-up attempt."
Cecilia laughed despite herself and walked over to take the spoon from his hand. "Move aside, Chef Disaster. Let me handle this before you burn down Manhattan."
---
Twenty Minutes Later
The scent of basil, butter, and garlic filled the air. Cecilia moved gracefully around the kitchen like she belonged there—because once upon a time, she did.
Samuel leaned against the counter, watching her. "You still cook like you're auditioning for a food network show."
She shrugged. "You still cook like you're sabotaging one."
He chuckled. "So, when were you going to tell me he likes race cars?"
Cecilia turned to stir the sauce. "He has posters all over his room. But I never had the money to take him to a track. He's obsessed."
"He should be. He's a Blackwood." Samuel paused. "I've got a car sponsor friend. Maybe we could take him to a race sometime."
She arched an eyebrow. "We?"
He smiled that soft, crooked smile that once made her knees weak. "Unless you think I'm signing permission slips alone."
---
Dinner Time
Leo, now awake and dressed in dinosaur pajamas, stuffed his face with spaghetti like a man who hadn't eaten in a week.
"This is so good!" he declared, slurping a noodle so aggressively it hit his nose.
Samuel raised a hand dramatically. "You hear that? Official culinary praise from a five-year-old. I can retire now."
Cecilia rolled her eyes. "You didn't cook it."
"Details," he waved off. "History is written by the winners."
Leo grinned. "Mommy wins. She cooks and lets me use sprinkles on pancakes."
Samuel's expression turned mock-serious. "Sprinkles? On pancakes? That's... revolutionary."
"Also chocolate chips," Leo added proudly.
Samuel gasped. "Outrageous. Who raised this criminal?"
"I did," Cecilia said with a smirk.
"Well, at least you're consistent," Samuel said, nudging her foot under the table.
She blinked. There it was again—that small, casual touch that made her heart skip.
---
Later – Dishwashing & Confessions
The apartment quieted down. Leo was curled up in the living room watching cartoons, his eyelids drooping with each passing second.
Cecilia dried dishes while Samuel rinsed. It felt oddly… domestic.
"I missed this," he said quietly.
She didn't look up. "What, poorly cooked pasta?"
"No," he said, "You. Us. It wasn't just about you walking away. It was losing everything that felt real."
Cecilia's hands stilled.
"I know I should be angry," he continued. "And I was. But now… I look at him, and I get it. You were protecting him. Even if it meant breaking both of us."
Tears stung her eyes.
"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered. "But I didn't know how to fight a man like your father. I was just a girl on a scholarship and he… he made me feel worthless."
"You were never worthless," Samuel said firmly. "You were everything."
She turned to face him.
His hand reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Their faces were inches apart.
"I still remember the first time you laughed at my terrible lasagna," he murmured. "You spat out your wine."
Cecilia laughed. "That was not wine. That was regret in a glass."
Their smiles faded, the air charged with unspoken words.
But before either of them could move closer—Leo snored from the couch.
The moment shattered.
Cecilia exhaled shakily. "I should get him home."
Samuel nodded, stepping back.
---
At the Door
Cecilia carried Leo, half-asleep, wrapped in one of Samuel's jackets.
Samuel opened the door for her. "I could call a driver."
"No need. We'll grab a cab."
He hesitated, then said, "What if you didn't have to do all this alone anymore?"
She blinked at him.
"I mean it," he said. "Let me be there. Not just for him. For you too."
Her heart squeezed.
She wanted to say yes. So badly. But the wounds were still healing.
"Let's take it one day at a time," she whispered.
He nodded. "Then tomorrow, I'm bringing breakfast. Sprinkles and all."
She laughed softly and walked into the night with her son.