Page 78 of The Perfect Mistake

And I put it directly into my drawer—powered off and unread.

Isabel

The morning after I left my tablet at Alec’s bedside, I’m a nervous wreck. I don’t know why talking about sex is so much harder than doing it, or where my shyness about it lies. I’m not shy in my head. But the idea of speaking the words out loud…

It’s a Saturday, and I’m only scheduled to work half a day. Alec has a meeting of some kind, though I don’t know the specifics. Maybe that’s for the best. I answer texts while I get ready after my shower. Connie wants to meet up for drinks tonight. It’s not as easy anymore, seeing her, when we’re not living in the same building. I miss it.

I miss the camaraderie with my ballet troupe, too. Even if it was often superficial, and sometimes catty. But there’s a bond forged over hurt feet, sweaty brows, and difficult performances.

I text Connie back to say that I’m in. She’s been busier since she married Gabriel. That makes sense, too, but it does mean less time for us.

And maybe that’s good right now. I have no idea what she would think about Alec and me.

If she knew…

But she doesn’t, and I just need to make sure we keep it that way. At least I can count on Alec to never tell a soul. I’ve never met anyone else who keeps his personal life so close to the vest.

I leave my part of the penthouse and walk down the hallway. The scent of pancakes hangs heavy in the air, wafting from the kitchen. I follow the aroma and the high-pitched sounds of the kids’ voices.

They’re standing on either side of Alec as he works his magic with pancakes by the stove.

I pause at the threshold, watching him. He’s in dark jeans and a gray T-shirt, his hair still damp after a shower. And he’s teaching Willa how to flip them, his hand around her much smaller one.

“That’s it. And slide it under… yeah. Perfect.”

She beams. Sam squeals.

It’s the second time now that I’ve observed it. This little ritual when he has a weekend day off. All of the other food is cooked by Katja, prepped meal-ready and neatly stacked in the larger-than-life fridge… but not this.

I didn’t see him involve the kids in the actual making of the pancakes last time.

“Good morning!” Sam says loudly. He looks at me over his shoulder, and there’s a smudge of flour on his chubby left cheek. His glasses have a smattering of batter on them.

I smile at him. “Good morning, guys. Are you making pancakes?”

“Yes,” Willa says. She looks up at Alec. “When are they done?”

“When they’re golden brown.” He takes back the spatula and gazes at me. Did he read the Kindle last night?

But Alec’s face doesn’t give away any clues. “Good morning.”

“Hello,” I say.

Willa tugs on his sleeve. “Isn’t it burning?”

He looks back down and shakes his head. “No, it’s all right. Here, try flipping it again. After breakfast, I was thinking we could do something fun. What are you up for?”

Sam’s busy reaching for the syrup, and I scoop it away, out of his sticky-fingered reach. “I thought you were working today.”

“I made some changes to my schedule.” He glances at me briefly before pouring another round of batter. “Someone told me about the importance of making memories.”

“Oh.”

“I was thinking I’d take the kids out for a picnic,” he says. “It’s early November, but we can just bundle up in our jackets. We can bring a soccer ball, pack some sandwiches, and find a good spot in Central Park. Looks like it’ll be a sunny day.”

“We can buy ice cream after,” Willa says. Her statement makes me smile. She rarely phrases things as questions, because she’s learned that statements have a higher likelihood of getting a yes. She’s a Connovan through and through, and she’s only eight.

“It could be freezing outside, and you’d still want ice cream,” Alec tells her.

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