That means no, Thomas translated. Dad, she's doing the thing you do. Adrien glanced at Lena, something knowing in his expression. What thing? The thing where you say you're fine, but actually you're not eating because you're too busy working or stressed or whatever.
Sophieie noticed it last month. Thanks for that observation, Thomas. Just saying. Adrien slid a plate across the island to Lena. Three pancakes, perfectly golden, butter melting in a pool on top.
Eat. And don't argue with me in front of the kids. Sets a bad example. The manipulation was so obvious, it almost made her smile. Almost.
She sat down at the island and picked up a fork. The pancakes were better than they had any right to be. Fluffy and rich with just enough sweetness. She ate mechanically at first, then with actual appetite, finishing all three before she realized what she'd done. When she looked up, Sophieie was watching her with satisfaction.
Told you dad makes good pancakes. The morning passed in a blur of noise and activity. The kids wanted to play in the snow, which meant hunting for boots and gloves and hats, while Adrien insisted everyone layer properly. Lena watched from the sidelines, not sure if she was supposed to participate or disappear. "You coming?"
Adrien asked, pulling on a coat. "I don't have snow gear. There's stuff in the mud room for my wife probably fits." The casual mention of his dead wife made Lena's chest tighten. He said it so matter-of-actly, like grief was just another fact of his life, not something that demanded reverence or careful handling.
I don't want to intrude on your family time. You're not. He tossed her a jacket from the closet. Besides, if I don't have backup out there, the boys are going to gang up on me in the snowball fight. I need all the help I can get.
The jacket fit reasonably well. So did the boots and gloves Sophieie handed her with the authority of someone who'd done this before. Outside the world had transformed into something from a postcard. Everything was white and clean. The storm from last night leaving at least a foot of fresh powder.
The kids were already waist-deep in it, shrieking and throwing snow at each other with abandon. Lena stood on the porch breathing in air so cold it burned and felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest. Not happiness exactly, but not the crushing despair from yesterday either. Something in between. Something like maybe this won't kill me.
You know how to make a snowball? Adrien appeared beside her, already packing snow between his gloves. It's been a while, like riding a bike. He handed her the snowball he'd made. Thomas is the easiest target.
He's too busy trying to build a fort to pay attention. You're encouraging me to attack your kid. I'm encouraging strategic warfare. different thing. Before she could respond, Marcus, young Marcus, nailed Adrien in the back with a snowball. "Sneak attack!" the kid yelled, already running.