Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
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Things went back to normal.
Miraculously, two weeks passed without incident: breakfast was made, the chore wheel was spun, and Peppa Pig stories were read. She and Ben spoke only in short sentences. At night, Ben slept on the farthest side of the bed, teetering so close to the edge that it was almost offensive. He never brought up what had passed between them on Boxing Day, and so Louise didn't mention it either.
Louise was relieved, irritated, and then became irritated that she was irritated. Who cared if Ben didn't seem to think about their almost-kiss? Who gave a toss if he acted like he was completely unphased?
She didn't care.
Not at all.
Not even today, Louise thought, when she was so close to a full-scale meltdown that she could scream.
"Is she hungry?" Ben suggested.
He was sitting on a chair in grey trackies, barefoot, his dark hair sticking up in all directions. Moonlightcupped his face with white hands. Louise bounced Vienna on her hip.The toddler let out an ear-shattering shriek, and Louise winced.
"I offered her grapes," Louise said. "She spat them out."
Ben ran a hand through his hair. "What about a book?"
"I tried that, too."
"Should we try taking her for a drive?"
"I don't know." Louise's voice was short. "I'm not an expert."
Ben held up his hands. "I'm just trying to help."
Louise glanced at her phone: two o'clock. In six hours, she'd need to be up and on her way to work. What was it today? Thursday? She closed her eyes. That meant it was Tom and Richard's tenth wedding anniversary, and she'd need to drive out to Sussex tonight to oversee the catering and set-up, and...
Vienna let out a shriek.
"Wait." Ben got to his feet. "I have an idea."
"Langford!"
Louise watched — a swell of anxiety pushing at her chest — as Ben strode from the room. There was the rattle of pots and pans, and then the sound of the fridge door opening. Five minutes later, Ben returned with a bottle. A brown bottle.
"Try this," he said.
Louise rubbed her eyes. "What is that?"
"Chocolate milk."
Louise stared. "You hate giving the kids sugar."
"Do you want the bottle," Ben asked, "or not?"
He held it out to her, the veins in his arms flexing. Shadows pooled under his eyes. Louise took the bottle, offering it to Vienna. The toddler took a sip and then shook her head, kicking the feet of her pink frog pajamas.
