Page 87 of Broken Deal

When we walk in, she’s wearing an apron and cooking something that smells amazing.

“Why are you cooking?” Sophia scolds. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I wanted to make my famous pot roast for you two,” she says with a warm smile, glancing back at us over her shoulder.

Charlotte is truly wonderful—sweet and kind. Spending time with her has been a joy. Her motherly spirit is something I’ve never really experienced before, and it’s been comforting.

“I thought we were going to cook together,” I say, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. “You betrayed me!”

Charlotte drops her head back with a laugh. “Oh no, I’m sorry! I just really want you to try it and get your professional opinion.”

I had no problem telling Charlotte how much I love cooking when she asked me all sorts of questions about my life and what I do. When I told her I owned many restaurants around the world, she got so excited. We’ve been talking about food nonstop.

“Lord help me, there’s two of them,” Sophia groans dramatically. “I’m going to gain so much weight between the two of you and all the delicious food you guys keep making.”

“You can use some meat on your bones, honey,” Charlotte pipes up.

Sophia gapes at her, and I simply snort a laugh. My body feels light, and my heart feels full around these people. I never knew something so simple would bring so much joy. I have all the money in the world, all the connections, and everything is practically at my fingertips, but I would give it all in a heartbeat for moments like these.

I know, deep down, it wouldn’t be the same without the woman who has become such an important part of my life. The realization I only want these moments as long as she’s around washes over me, leaving me in a daze.

I’m so fucking screwed.

After devouring an absurd amount of pot roast—because, yes, it wasthatgood—I’m scrubbing the kitchen stove. I insisted on taking care of the cleanup so Sophia could get some work done and her mom could rest.

We’ve been so busy, we haven’t even talked more about the article. I know what I showed her in Panamá must not be enough to go on, but at this point, I don’t know what else to show her. The thought of her writing what she has witnessed and what I’ve told her honestly terrifies me.

“Do you want any tea?” Charlotte strides into the kitchen and asks, startling me.

“Sure,” I reply with a smile, dropping the sponge on the sink.

She nods, grabbing two packets of black tea and the tea kettle. She works in silence as I start washing the dishes that are left.

She places the tea kettle on the stove, turning it on. She leans against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms and staring at me. “Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. That roast was delicious, worth washing every single dish,” I quip with a low chuckle.

She shakes her head. “No. I meant thank you for making my daughter smile.”

Her words are like a bucket of water being thrown at me. I stilt my movements for a second, casually shrugging. “It’s easy to make her smile. She’s a naturally happy person.” The lie rolls off my lips without hesitation. I know better now. Sophia can be loud and laugh a lot, but it doesn’talways reach those beautiful eyes of hers. But I have the feeling she wouldn’t want Charlotte finding out.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” she replies, her voice laced with conviction.

She opens a kitchen cabinet, retrieves two mugs, and places the tea bags inside. After grabbing the tea kettle, she pours hot water into the mugs. She then grabs two spoons and a few packets of sugar before tilting her head toward the dinner table.

“I owe a lot to my daughter,” she starts, her gaze drifting to the screen door leading to the porch where Sophia is sitting, absorbed in her writing. “I wasn’t always like this, you know?”

I nod, opting to stay quiet. Sophia has been extremely cryptic about her life—granted, it’s not like I’ve been actively asking her. I’m trying to be supportive and respect the boundaries she sets, because I understand.

“Sophia has shouldered a responsibility I didn’t wish for her to have. Ever since my husband…” Her voice quivers at the wordhusband. “Died, she’s done everything she can to take care of me. Her father was not a kind man. In fact, because of him, I am the way I am now.”

“You don’t have to share this if it’s too painful,” I say softly.

“I want to. I want you to understand why my daughter is the way she is.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “Because to me, your daughter is wonderful. She’s strong. Funny. Resilient. Challenging. She takes care of people and loves doing it.”

Charlotte’s gaze meets mine, and a heavy silence settles between us. “You love her, don’t you?” she asks quietly.

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