“Not really, actually. Mum and me always felt like a complete unit.”

“How is she? You saw her this morning?”

“Yes, and she was surprisingly okay. But I’m still bracing myself for whatever lies ahead... It feels so unknown.” Cue the wretched lump in her throat, the feeling that she was at sea, trying to keep her balance on a ship whose deck kept pitching and rolling with the waves of uncertainty.

“It must be hard,” Simon said quietly, and she was grateful he didn’t try to slap a “look on the bright side” plaster on what felt, at the moment, like a gaping emotional wound.

“Yes, it is, and will be. But at least Mum seems in a good place emotionally.” Olivia thought of how serene her mother had seemed this morning, and then how she’d completely forgotten any mention of Simon. That had jarred Olivia, the obvious lapse, one her mother wasn’t even aware of. How many more would there be? And how had she not seen them before?

“So, dinner,” Olivia said brightly. “Would you like some spaghetti with a jar of sauce? Sorry it’s not more inspired.”

“Your cupcakes are inspired.”

“And yet you haven’t tried one.”

“I will, I promise.” His eyes glinted at her, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “And yes, I’d love pasta and sauce. But why don’t you let me cook? You do enough work in the kitchen as it is.”

“Oh...” Olivia felt jolted. A man cook for her in her own kitchen? It was a strange and yet surprisingly pleasing thought.

“That is, if you don’t mind me moving around your space, using your stuff,” Simon said with a grin.

“No, I don’t. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me.” She took a seat at the tiny kitchen table while Simon began hunting around for pots and pans, finding them with alacrity.

It was wonderfully companionable, to chat about nothing important while Simon put a pot of water on to boil, and found some garlic and mushrooms to add to the sauce, chopping everything with brisk precision.

“You seem like you know your way around a kitchen,” Olivia remarked. He’d also found a bottle of wine and asked if he could open it; now they were both sipping from glasses of red while Simon continued with his preparations.

“I suppose I do, a bit. I’ve lived on my own for most of my adult life, and awhile ago I got tired of takeaways and noodles in a mug.”

“I’m ashamed to admit I cannot say the same.”

“You do enough in the kitchen, with all your baking. I can certainly understand why you’d be reluctant to make a big meal at the end of the day.”

“I suppose I couldn’t see the point, when it was just for me.”

“True. I got over that by having people around for a meal as often as I could. I’m better with people around me.”

“So you’re not an introvert?” Olivia teased.