Chapter 168 037
THE car door swung open, and the night air rushed in, cool and scented faintly with jasmine from Amelia’s carefully tended hedge.
Charles stepped out first, smooth and practiced, one hand already reaching back into the car.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “One leg at a time.”
“Pfft,” Amelia scoffed from the passenger seat, her laughter bubbling out before she even moved. “Since when did you become my bodyguard? Huh?”
She shifted forward, dramatically lifting one heel, then the other, stretching her legs out like she was stepping onto a stage instead of onto a driveway. Her purse slipped off her shoulder and landed back on the seat with a soft thud.
“Wait— my bag,” she slurred mildly, blinking at it like it had personally offended her.
Before Charles could reach for it, Amelia hopped down.
Bad idea.
Her heel caught the edge of the pavement, and her balance betrayed her instantly.
“Oh… oh… oh… babe!” Charles exclaimed, dropping everything to catch her just as she tipped forward.
Amelia burst into giggles, gripping the front of his jacket as if she had planned the stumble all along.
“See?” she laughed breathlessly. “I knew you would catch me.”
Charles shook his head, one arm firmly around her waist now, the other reaching into the car to retrieve her purse.
“Jeez, Amelia. You are tipsy.”
She gasped, placing a hand dramatically on her chest.
“Am I?” She leaned back slightly to peer up at him, eyes glassy but playful. “That is a very strong accusation, sir.”
“Mhm,” he hummed, slinging her purse over his shoulder. “And you are proving my point.”
She laughed again, the sound light and unrestrained, her body swaying just a little too much against his.
“You are just jealous,” she said. “I can still walk perfectly fine.”
To prove her point, she attempted to take a confident step forward.
But instead, she zigzagged.
Charles tightened his hold instantly.
“Okay. That is enough walking demonstrations for tonight.”
“Oh, relax,” she said, waving her free hand vaguely. “I’m not ‘that’ tipsy.”
She paused, squinting up at the house.
“…Is my door always that far away?”
Charles chuckled despite himself.
“Come on.”
They started toward the house slowly, Amelia’s heels clicking unevenly against the pavement as she leaned far too comfortably into him.
“You know,” she began suddenly, pointing at absolutely nothing, “this was a really good date.”
“It was,” he agreed.
“No,” she insisted, nodding vigorously. “Like… really good.”
He smiled down at her.
“I’m glad.”
She stopped walking abruptly, causing him to halt with her.
“And you know why it was good?”
“Why?”
“Because I laughed,” she said seriously. “A lot. Like a lot.”
He studied her face for a moment, her mascara still flawless, her lips glossy, her smile unguarded.
“That is a good reason.”
She resumed walking, humming under her breath now, occasionally bumping into him as if magnetized.
By the time they reached the door, she was talking, about everything and about nothing.
“…and then Hazel said— no wait, that was Gaddiel— no, no, Gabriel— ugh, why do they all talk at the same time?” she groaned, pressing her forehead lightly into Charles’s shoulder.
He laughed softly, fishing the keys from her purse.
“Easy, there.”
“I swear,” she continued, her words slightly tangled, “being a mother is a full-time job that nobody warned me about.”
He unlocked the door just as she finished the sentence.
The door clicked open.
Inside, the house was quiet, dimly lit, the calm after a long day. Charles guided her in carefully, locking the door behind them before steering her gently toward the couch.
“Sit,” he instructed.
“Yes, sir,” she said obediently, plopping down with a dramatic sigh. “You are very bossy tonight.”
“And you are very drunk,” he countered, kneeling briefly to remove her heels.
“I am not drunk,” she protested, immediately leaning back into the cushions. “I am… pleasantly altered.”
He snorted.
“Sure.”
He straightened, turning to place her heels neatly by the door.
When he turned back, Amelia was sitting upright.
Perfectly upright.
Her eyes were suddenly clearer. And focused.
Charles paused.
“…Okay. That was fast.”
She smiled calmly.
“Alcohol wears off quickly for me.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Really.”
“Yes,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “And also, I may have been exaggerating.”
“You don’t say.”
She laughed, softer now.
“I had fun.”
He moved to sit beside her.
“So did I.”
There was a comfortable pause.
Then Amelia tilted her head, studying him.
“You know what I would really love?”
“What?”
“I want to come over to your place,” she said lightly. “Cook for you. Properly this time. Again.”
His face brightened instantly.
“Really?”
“Yes. I miss cooking for someone who actually appreciates it.”
“I would love that,” he said quickly. “Anytime.”
Her smile widened.
“Why not now?”
He blinked.
“Now?”
“Yeah,” she said, already reaching for her purse. “Let’s go.”
He laughed nervously.
“Amelia— no.”
“Why not?” she frowned. “It is not even late.”
“My house is a mess.”
She waved him off.
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
She crossed her arms.
“You are being difficult.”
“And you are being impulsive.”
They stared at each other for a beat.
She sighed dramatically.
“Fine.”
He relaxed.
“Thank you.”
“But,” she added, pointing at him, “you owe me.”
“For?”
“Food,” she said simply.
He chuckled.
“Alright.”
He stood.
“Relax, okay? I will make us something.”
She leaned back, watching him like she didn’t quite believe it.
“You cook good this time, right?”
He laughed.
“I will try.”
She smirked.
“Then you really have to.”
With that, Charles headed for the kitchen.
\~~~~
Charles moved easily around the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, apron tied snugly around his waist. The soft clink of utensils and the low hiss from the stove filled the quiet space. He chopped vegetables with steady precision, occasionally tasting, adjusting seasoning, humming under his breath like someone completely at home.
Behind him, Amelia appeared at the doorway.
She didn’t announce herself. She simply leaned against the frame, arms folded loosely, watching him. A slow smile curved her lips, one of those unguarded smiles she rarely let anyone see. For several minutes, she just stood there, observing the way he focused, the way his shoulders moved, the way he seemed… settled.
It felt oddly intimate.
Charles sensed it before he saw it. That familiar prickle between the shoulder blades. He paused mid-motion, turned slightly, and caught her staring.
He smiled.
“Well, look at you,” he said lightly. “You are supposed to be sitting your beautiful ass down and waiting for dinner to get ready, huh?”
She laughed softly, pushing herself off the doorway.
“And miss this view?” she teased. “Absolutely not.”
She walked into the kitchen, heels clicking faintly against the tiles, stopping just behind him. He turned back to the counter, pretending not to notice her closeness, until her arms slipped around his waist.
Her cheek pressed gently against his back.
Charles stilled for a second, then relaxed into her embrace.
“You are distracting the chef,” he murmured.
“That is the point,” she said, smiling against him. “You look… good like this.”
He chuckled.
“Cooking?”
“No,” she corrected. “Trying.”
He shook his head, amused.
“You should be resting.”
“And you should let me help,” she replied, loosening her arms and stepping beside him.
He laughed.
“You said I owe you this. Are you trying to assist me clear off your bill?”
She laughed too, getting the joke
“What are you making by the way?”
“Something simple,” he said. “Sit—”
“Nope.” She reached for another clean apron and tied it around her waist. “Give me something to do,” she insisted.
He eyed her for a moment, then nodded toward the cutting board.
“Fine. You can help me wash the vegetables. Don’t hurt yourself.”
She gasped dramatically.
“I am highly capable.”
“Uh-huh.”
They stood side by side at the counter, Amelia rinsing tomatoes while Charles stirred a pot on the stove. Their arms brushed occasionally, their movements falling into an easy rhythm.
“This feels nice,” she said quietly.
He glanced at her.
“What does?”
“This,” she gestured vaguely between them. “Normal. Calm.”
He smiled, softer this time.
“I like that.”
She looked up at him, eyes warm.
“I like you.”
The words hung there, simple and sincere.
Before he could respond, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Hazel walked in— carelessly, distracted— then stopped dead.
Her school bag slipped slightly on her shoulder as her eyes landed on the scene in front of her: her mother and Charles standing together at the counter, close, domestic, unmistakably comfortable.
Hazel froze.
The kitchen went very, very still.