Page 64 of ICED
I shake my head. “Was going to do beans on toast or whatever we’ve got in.”
He lifts a brow. “How about dinner out instead?”
I blink at him. “Now?”
“Yeah. Just somewhere easy. Kid-friendly. No pressure.”
Lila’s already halfway to his truck, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can we, Mummy? Please, please?”
I hesitate.
Jacko steps closer, not pushy, just warm and steady. “Let me treat you both.”
I glance at Lila, who’s beaming and hopeful, and then back at him. And I nod.
“Alright,” I say. “Yeah. Okay.”
He grins. Not cocky, not smug. Justglad.And my heart does something I don’t quite have a name for.
He gives me a slow, warm smile, like I’ve handed him something precious.
And somehow, I think I have.
He takes us to a little Italian place I’ve walked past a dozen times but never gone in. It’s a cosy, family-run place with red gingham tablecloths and fairy lights strung around the window frames. Lila gets a kids’ menu with a cartoon bear on it and a pot of crayons, which she immediately starts using to colour in the bear’s jumper blue.
Jacko grins when she shows him.
“Stylish,” he says. “Might have to see if Coach’ll let me wear that on the ice.”
Lila giggles, delighted.
And me? I’m still waiting for the panic to creep in. Stillwaiting for that sense of imbalance, like I’ve done something too much too soon. But instead, itfeels right.
Jacko orders spaghetti and meatballs like a child of habit, and Lila picks the same, naturally. I go for a margherita pizza and tell myself it’s because I’m not hungry enough for pasta, not because I’m watching him.
But Iamwatching him.
He’s good with her. Not just polite.Present.He listens when she talks, even when she goes on about nursery songs and what she’s learning about penguins. He laughs at the right bits. He doesn’t talk down to her, or over her.
And he still manages to keep one eye on me.
“You okay?” he asks at one point, when Lila’s distracted swirling spaghetti around her fork.
I nod. Then, without thinking, “You’re good at this.”
He tilts his head. “This?”
“Her.”
His smile softens. “She’s easy to like.”
“She’s not always.”
“She doesn’thaveto be. She’s a kid. And she’s a great one.”
It’s not the kind of thing most people say. Not the way most people think.
My chest tightens.
