Page 83 of Second to None

“He’ll try his very best, love.”

“Good,” she said, satisfied.

I nodded, smiled, and refused to let my thoughts drift westward, across an ocean.

* * *

Something was off.

The house was quiet, but there was a strange resonance to it—something about the air, a shift of movement on the upper floor, so subtle it only just registered on a conscious level.

I straightened slowly, right inside the door with my keys still in hand. Might be that my dad had snuck up to fix whatever he felt needed fixing, never mind that I’d rather pay a professional than see him wobbling on a ladder. But my parents were meant to be out for the afternoon.

Cass, my treacherous mind whispered. Lungs a little tight, hope tangling with fear, wishful thinking running interference that made it hard to think clearly.Cass. Could be. Or it could be a middle-of-the-day break-in.

Phone clutched in hand, I crept up the staircase. Turned left to follow the hallway, my steps silent on the outdated carpet that I kept meaning to strip away. Something shifted—a drawer closing in the kitchen. I held my breath and peered around the corner.

Cass.

God,Cass.

Backlit by pale grey light filtering through the window, he was perched on a chair as he scrolled through his phone with the faintest crease between his eyebrows. He looked a bit tired, a wrinkled white T-shirt gaping at the collar, hair messy in a way that didn’t look intentional. Breathtakingly gorgeous. But to me, he always would be.

“Pivoting from rockstar to lock-picking cat burglar?” I managed, each syllable a counterpoint to the heavy thudding of my pulse.

He jolted to attention, gaze snatching to my face. For a beat, he simply stared at me, his features cracked wide open.Sun slicing through the clouds, I thought, a little nonsensical, and if it were a line in a song, I’d have rolled my eyes. How cliché.Iwas a cliché, my brain on some kind of time lag, slow warmth twisting through my veins.

“Hi.” His voice was low, hushed as though the entire world was holding its breath.Cliché.“Uh, your mum let me in.”

I leaned against the doorframe to steady myself. “Right. Of course she did.”

“Is that okay?” Worry sparked in his eyes—such an open book, and Christ, this was… This was a yes. Right? Surely he wouldn’t have come all this way otherwise. Or, fuck, maybe he would have. Do the decent thing, look me in the eye, prove how much he’d grown.

“Sure, yeah. That’s fine.” I glanced away from his uncertain half-smile, everything about him just a little bit too bright, too much. A plate piled high with muffins sat on the worktop. “What’s that?” I asked even though I had eyes. But it didn’t make sense. Did it?

“Triple chocolate muffins,” Cass said quietly. “They’re Emmy’s favourite, right?”

That… well. Kind of, yeah. Except for how last week, my mum’s brownies had been her favourite, and the week before, it was pizza with extra cheese. When it came to culinary delights, my kid’s preferences changed more frequently than some people’s underwear.

“You…” I cleared my throat. “You brought muffins?”

“Baked them, too.” His smile was soft, a hint nervous—completely different from his polished, toothpaste-ad billboard grin. “Figured I’d start by impressing the most important person in your life and then work my way up from there.”

Impress Emily? Impressme? Something about that snagged in my mind.

“You never had to impress me—you just had to stay.” I met his eyes, the weight of the past week and decade pressing between us. “So. Is this… Will you?”

“Lee.” Cass’s voice was dipped in velvet. He stepped right into my space, trailed gentle fingertips along the curve of my bottom lip. “It was always gonna be a yes. Whatever it takes, I’m here.”

Whatever it took?

It was hard to focus, my thoughts all twisted by how this kitchen, with its old wood beams and terracotta tiles, suddenly felt small, the breath’s width of space between Cass and me too far. But, no.Whatever it takes.That wasn’t right.

“Cass.” I caught his wrist and squeezed. “Babe, that’s not how I meant it. Baking muffins—that’s not you. I don’t need you to reinvent yourself; I don’t need a houseband. I just need… I need to know this can work, and I need you here some of the time.”

“Hey, no. I know.” He was watching me with warm, calm eyes. “It’s more like a symbol, okay? Not a very good one, maybe. If it makes you feel better, it’s more Ellis who baked muffins. I tried, but in the end, I mostly just handed him things when he asked for them. And I made encouraging noises.”

Something in me tugged loose. “Weirdly, yeah—that does make me feel better. Because, Cass, just… I’m not asking you to turn yourself inside out. You know that, right?”

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