The light streaming through the window caught the curve of her cheek, the sway of her hips, and the tiny frown she wore when she was focused on what was cooking on the stove. She wasn’t doing anything special, just making a simple breakfast, but the scene rooted itself somewhere deep inside him.
He should be exhausted. Emotionally wrung out. It wasn’t that long ago that Sydney had stood in his living room demanding answers that he didn’t know how to give her.
“Why aren’t we engaged? Why don’t you talk about having kids with me? Why won’t you plan a life with me?”
His response—silence. That had apparently told her everything she had needed to know. So she had left. Three years of a relationship evaporated in an hour.
Yet here he was, leaning against the doorway while Tachina made pancakes with his son perched on the counter beside her. They giggled about her methods of flipping the pancakes. She was dramatic and silly with her showmanship of pancake making. Kian’s laughter filled the air.
Three years with Sydney had never felt like this.
Hell, three minutes with Tachina felt more real than most of his relationship with Sydney ever had.
“Dad!” Kian called out. He waved a half-eaten strawberry at him. “Mom says breakfast at her house is funner than your house.”
“Kian!” Tachina gasped. Her gaze flicked to his briefly before going to their son. “I did not say that. I said it’s fun to make breakfast at dad’s because his kitchen is much nicer than ours.”
“Why? Because you don’t burn them here?” Kian asked.
Vic smirked at his son’s question.
“One time. I burned one pancake!” She groaned. “One time!”
“I remember that. Kian told me about a day when the smoke alarm went off.” Vic chuckled. He stepped into the kitchen.
“Not helping,” she said in a singsong voice. She turned back to the griddle and took off the pancakes. She plated them and placed them in the warming oven underneath the stovetop. She tossed him a wink.
There she was, being playful and sweet.
Everything Sydney wasn’t.
Sydney had been polished. Tasteful. The type of woman who knew which fork to use at extravagant galas and never wore shoes that didn’t match her purse. He didn’t doubt she had loved him, but she had loved the image of them even more. Her, the philanthropic consultant and he the wealthy real estate developer, and when paired together they made one dashing couple. She wanted a future of them atfundraisers, high-powered connections, and them presenting themselves as one of the most powerful couples in Cleveland.
But he had wanted more.
Something he didn’t know how to articulate.
Maybe he was seeing that something now. She was barefoot in his kitchen, cutting pancakes into perfect little squares for his son.
Something stirred in his chest. He couldn’t name it, but he felt it.
“We can eat,” Tachina announced. She turned off the stove and motioned for them to head over to the table.
Vic went over and hoisted Kian up who let out a loud squeal. He tossed him onto his shoulder and jogged over to the table in the kitchen. Kian’s giggles were infectious. He lowered him down to the floor and helped him into the chair.
Vic didn’t comment on how well he and Tachina worked together as they gathered everything they would need. He grabbed the cups, juice, coffee, and condiments while she made Kian’s and his plates and brought them over to the table. He sat just as she placed his plate in front of him.
“All of this was in there?” He arched an eyebrow. He hadn’t realized Tony had restocked the pantry. He took in the plate and felt ravenous. After the night they’d had, he wasn’t surprised by how hungry he was.
The woman had outdone herself. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and home fries.
“Yup.” She turned away and sashayed back over to the stove where she piled food upon a plate for herself.
“Mom’s breakfasts are the best,” Kian said. The little guy had already started digging into his.
Tachina soon joined them, and they began eating. For a moment, Vic allowed himself to drink it all in. The smell of sweet syrup. Kian’s nonstop chatter. Tachina laughing as she took a bite of food. His home felt different. Lived-in. It didn’t feel lonely. Or cold and quiet.
And then there was her.