During their call the follwing evening, Helene asked in a careful but hopeful voice.
"Would you like to come for Sunday dinner?" she said. "I usually do a roast. Nothing fancy. Though Robert's roast potatoes are now better than mine. Just don't tell him I said that."
Richard's answer came without hesitation.
"I'd love to."
He meant it more than she knew.
Sunday arrived bright and cold, the kind of winter day where the air felt clean and sharp. Richard dressed with uncharacteristic deliberation, changing his shirt once, then again, before settling on something simple. He did not want to look like he was trying too hard. He wanted to look casual.
Before he headed to the house in Richmond, he stopped at a bakery he knew well and chose something for dessert, Then, without hesitation, he crossed the street and went into a florist's.
The bouquet he chose was generous, but not showy. Soft whites and muted greens, touched with pale blush. He imagined giving it to Helene and felt a quiet swell of anticipation.
He arrived for lunch just before noon.
Robert opened the door, took one look at him with the flowers and box of cakes, and grinned.
"Well," he said, stepping aside. "You're making me blush already."
Richard smirked.
"I haven't missed you at all."
Robert chuckled as Richard stepped inside.
The house smelled warm and familiar, roasted meat and herbs already filled the air. As Richard stepped inside, Isabelle emerged from the family room holding Michael.
"Richard," she said warmly. "I'm so glad you made it."
"Thank you for having me." He leaned in to greet her with a quick kiss to the cheek, then asked her. "How's Becca?"
"Much better, thanks" Isabelle said. "Still resting, but she's perked up."
"That's good to hear." He crouched slightly as Luke appeared at her side.
"Hello, Luke."
"Richard! Look at this car, it turns into a robot!"
From the kitchen came the faint clink of cutlery. Helene had heard his voice. She did not come out.
Instead, she found something to busy herself with. Forks arranged and rearranged. A tea towel folded and unfolded. Her heart had begun to race in that familiar, ridiculous way.
Only when he stood a few steps away from her did she finally look up.
Their eyes met.
She flushed at once, colour rising warmly into her cheeks.
"Oh," she said. "You're here."
He smiled, soft and unmistakably pleased to see her.
"I am."
He held out the flowers.
"These are for you."
Her breath caught, just slightly. She took them with care, her fingers brushing his.
"They're beautiful," she said quietly. "Thank you."
He leaned in and kissed her cheek, gentle and lingering. She closed her eyes for half a second longer than she meant to.
Behind them, Robert cleared his throat loudly and Isabelle declared, "Right. Children. Time to wash your hands. Robert, help Luke. Now."
The family moved with deliberate purpose, giving Richard and Helene a moment alone.
"You look…" he began, then stopped himself, smiling. "You look very lovely."
She laughed softly. "Thank you."
Richard carried the dish of roasted beef from the oven. Robert's roast potatoes were golden and perfect. Helene eyed them with faint irritation and resigned admiration.
They all sat around the table, the conversation was easy and unforced. Richard found himself relaxing in a way he hadn't expected. This was not a performance. This was not an examination. It was simply a family, letting him sit among them.
When the plates were cleared, Helene disappeared briefly and returned with the desserts Richard had brought. The reaction was immediate. There was a soft chorus of delight from the table.
"Oh," Isabelle breathed.
"Wow," Robert added.
Luke clapped his hands.
Helene smiled at Richard, her eyes bright with gratitude.
Inside the box were neat rows of miniature pâtisserie, glossy fruit tarts, small éclairs, delicate choux buns. Luke leaned forward immediately, his eyes wide.
"For us?" he asked, already reaching for a jam filled pastry.
"For you," Helene laughed. "One each."
Beneath the first tray of pastries were several slender slices of opera cake, their layers precise and dark, the coffee glaze catching the light.
Helene stilled when she saw them.
"Oh," she murmured, a small smile touching her lips. "I haven't had opera cake in years."
Richard watched her carefully. "The baker is French," he said quietly. "He assured me they were authentic. Traditional."
Her gaze lifted to him, something soft and surprised flickering there.
"You went to a French baker?"
He shrugged lightly. "It's one of my favourite bakeries."
Her smile deepened, unguarded now. "It sounds like a good bakery."
Isabelle and Robert exchanged a knowing look. The children had already begun negotiating over pastry shapes.
Helene served the slices of cake for the adults. It was rich and smooth, the coffee flavour deep without being heavy. Helene ate slowly, as if savouring more than just the taste.
"This is exactly how I remember it," she said after a moment.
"My father used to bring it home sometimes. It always felt like a treat."
"I'm glad you like it," Richard replied. "I hoped you would."
She glanced at him then, warmth lingering in her eyes, and for a brief moment the table felt very calm. Domestic. Whole.
Afterwards, the children vanished to play, leaving the adults in the gentle aftermath of a shared meal. Richard and Robert began clearing the table, but Isabelle called Richard back.
"I think," she said pointedly, "that you and Mama might like to go for a walk."
Helene hesitated. Just a fraction. Then she nodded.
Outside, the air was sharp and bright. Richard took her hand automatically. She didn't resist.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, their breath clouding faintly.
Helene's steps were slower than usual, thoughtful. He felt the weight of it in her silence.
"What's on your mind?" he asked gently after a few moments.
Helene glanced at him, then back at the path ahead.
"This," she said softly. "You, here like this. It feels… important."
He tightened his fingers around hers, just a little.
"It is," he agreed.
She drew in a breath that seemed to steady her.
"I'm afraid," she said simply.
He did not stop walking, did not tighten his grip. He waited.
"This feels… very good," she continued.
"Being with you. Talking. Laughing. Feeling noticed again."
She glanced down at the pavement.
"And that makes me worry."
"About what?"
"That it might be temporary."
She swallowed.
"A pleasant interlude. Something light. Something that fits between the rest of your life."
He slowed then, just enough to turn toward her. Not to confront her, only to make sure she felt seen.
"It isn't."
She looked up, startled by the certainty in his voice.
"My feelings for you aren't temporary," he said quietly.
"They aren't convenient or passing or something I'm trying on. I know what they are."
Her hand tightened slightly in his.
"I've had a long time to understand what I don't want," he continued.
"And I certainly don't give my time lightly. I wouldn't be here if you didn't matter to me."
Helene's eyes shone, but she blinked and looked away again. "It's complicated," she said softly.
"Isabelle needs me. I've always been there for her. And for the children… I can't just step away. I can't be selfish."
He smiled, not amused but fond. "I know. That's one of the things I admire the most about you."
She shook her head faintly.
"A relationship needs space. Time. I don't know how to give that right now."
He stopped fully this time, turning to face her. His hand came up, warm against her cheek, not urging her closer, just anchoring her there.
"Helene," he said, "I am not in a hurry."
She searched his face, unsure. "You say that now."
"I mean it," he replied.
"I've spent years moving too fast in the wrong direction. I don't need this to be anything other than what it is. Growing. Slowly. Honestly."
Her breath trembled. "And if that takes time?"
"Then it takes time," he said simply. "I would never rush you. I would never ask you to choose between me and your family. I don't want to be someone who pulls you away from the people you love."
She leaned into his touch then, just a little.
"I don't know how you manage to always make me feel… special."
He smiled, soft and steady. "Because you are."
They stood there for a moment longer, the cold forgotten, the quiet wrapping around them like a promise neither of them needed to name aloud.
When they started walking again, her steps were lighter. Her hand remained in his, and this time she did not fall silent.
Something had shifted. Not into certainty, but into trust.