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It was just after six when Ellie heard the kettle click off.
She blinked up from her phone, still on the sofa, where Fred had fallen asleep halfway through a cartoon. She hadn’t meant to doze, but the day had dragged and the house had been too warm, too quiet.
The soft clatter of mugs followed. Then the familiar pad of footsteps, heavier than Daisy’s, lighter than Fred’s. Hardy appeared in the doorway, holding two cups of tea.
“I thought you’d want one. ” he said, already walking it over.
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “You made it in my kitchen. In my mug.”
He gave a tired shrug. “Still counts.”
Behind him, Daisy stood leaning against the doorframe. Her braid was messy, strands slipping free around her face, but her eyes were sharp. Observing, like always.
“Thought you were leaving today,” Ellie said, taking the tea. “Didn’t think you'd be staying here tonight.”
Daisy shrugged one shoulder. “I was. But Dad’s flat had a burst pipe this morning. Whole bathroom’s out of commission.”
Hardy nodded grimly. “Yeah. Plumber said it’ll take at least a week. We didn’t really have a choice.”
“We’re not in your way, are we?” Daisy added, eyes flicking between them.
“Of course not.” Ellie said quickly. “Fred’ll be thrilled. More people to boss around.”
Daisy stepped further into the room, perching on the arm of the opposite chair. “He’s funny, your youngest. Talks a lot.”
“Runs in the family.” Hardy muttered.
Ellie shot him a look. “You’re one to talk.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender.
Daisy smiled faintly, then glanced towards the window. The light was fading fast. “Feels different here now. Like everything slowed down.”
“Small town life,” Ellie said. “It gets under your skin eventually.”
Hardy was still watching Daisy, his brow furrowed like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. She noticed.
“I can stay somewhere else, if it’s weird,” Daisy offered lightly.
“No,” Hardy said, too quickly. “No, it’s not weird.”
Ellie glanced between them, catching the faint tremor in his voice. “You’re welcome here.” she said, gently but firm.
Daisy glanced at her dad, then Ellie again, her expression unreadable. “Thanks.”
A sound at the door pulled their attention. Tom stepped in, dropping his backpack and shaking off the last of the outside chill. His eyes passed over Daisy, paused on Hardy, then landed on Ellie.
“Hey.” he said.
“Hi, love. Didn’t know you’d be home tonight.”
“Yeah, STEM summer course ended yesterday. Just moved back in properly.”
She nodded. “We’ve got leftovers if you’re hungry.”
Tom looked towards the kitchen, then towards Daisy again. “Hi. I think we met once?”
“I think so?” Daisy said. “I remember being at your place once when your mum was shouting about the bins or something.”
Tom gave a half-smile. “Sounds about right.”
He disappeared towards the fridge. Daisy followed a second later, her voice already asking what kind of leftovers were up for grabs. Tom answered, more animated than he usually was with strangers.
Ellie stayed seated, watching Hardy watching them.
“They’re grown up.” she said quietly.
Hardy nodded. “And still finding their way.”
“They’ll be alright.” Ellie added. “They’ve had to grow up around things they shouldn’t have, but they’re still good kids.”
Hardy made a small noise of agreement. “Daisy’s been different lately. Less tense. I think being older, seeing me outside of work a bit more—it’s changed something between us.”
“She came back because she missed you.” Ellie said simply. “She wouldn’t have if there wasn’t something real here.”
He stayed behind, his shoulder brushing hers as he sat next to her. The closeness wasn’t unusual anymore, but it still made her stomach flip when she noticed it. Familiar, comfortable—dangerous, if she thought too hard.
“You alright?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. Just feels like everyone came home at once.”
Hardy didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quietly: “Is that alright?”
Ellie glanced at him. The steam curled between them, the noise of the kitchen filtering in. Something in his tone had shifted—less about the kids, more about him.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think it is.”
Hardy exhaled through his nose, like he’d been holding something in.
“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t know what it would mean if it wasn’t.”
Ellie tilted her head. “You’re not usually that cryptic unless something’s bothering you.”
He gave a half-shrug. “Just… noticing. The way this feels.”
She looked at him then, really looked. “And how does it feel?”
He didn’t answer straight away. Then: “Like it’s already changed. Like I’ve been here a long time and just didn’t realise it.”
Ellie blinked, and her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
They sat for a little while, listening to the low hum of kitchen conversation. Ellie could hear Fred waking, his small feet padding into the kitchen with a groggy, “Did I miss dinner?”
Tom’s laugh followed. “Not yet. You’re just in time.”
Ellie turned towards the sound, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“You hungry?” she asked Hardy.
He gave her a look, faintly amused. “Are you offering or assigning chores?”
“I’ll let you guess.”
He stood, brushing invisible crumbs off his trousers. “Come on then. Let’s see what kind of dinner chaos they’ve made.”
As they stepped into the light and noise of the kitchen, the smell of garlic and warm pasta hit them. Fred was back on his stool, swinging his legs, and Tom was dramatically poking at the spaghetti like it might bite him. Daisy stood beside the counter, pouring juice into mismatched glasses.
“Sit down,” she told her dad. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Hardy sat. Ellie hovered for a second longer, watching the odd little shape their group had taken—kids from different stories, familiar in the same small kitchen. A pause, an inhale.
Maybe this—this mess of children and old mugs and quiet glances—wasn’t something they were figuring out.
Maybe it had already figured itself out.
And maybe, Ellie thought, as she reached for the tongs and started to serve, that was enough.
~~~
The house had long gone quiet.
Fred was tucked in. Tom had disappeared into his room with headphones on. Daisy had taken over the small guest room, setting up camp with her books, clothes, and an ever-growing nest of chargers and snacks. Only the occasional creak of the house settling or the distant rush of waves reminded Ellie that the world hadn’t stopped. Now, with both Daisy and Hardy under her roof, things felt fuller, more alive—unexpected, but not unwelcome.
She found Hardy in the laundry room, standing in front of the dryer like he expected it to explain something. He’d changed into an old T-shirt and joggers—clearly his overnight clothes, though he still hadn’t said aloud he was staying.
“You doing science in there, or just staring it into submission?” she asked, folding a towel at the edge of the counter.
He glanced over, not startled. “It shrank.”
“What did?”
“My jumper.” He held it up by the sleeves, the wool slightly rumpled. “Used to cover more torso than this.”
Ellie smirked. “It’s Fred’s now. He’s claimed it. Sleeps in it sometimes. Says it smells like the sea.”
Hardy blinked. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“Take it as a compliment. He only adopts things he feels safe around.”
There was a pause. Then, softly, Hardy said, “I think I left a lot of things here.”
Ellie stopped folding. “You did. Most of your dignity too, if I remember right.”
That got a laugh out of him. Real, low, unexpected.
She turned to lean her hip against the counter, watching him. “You alright?”
Hardy hesitated. Then: “Yeah. Just didn’t expect this.”
“This?”
“This... normal. All of us under one roof. The kids laughing. You... here. With me.”
“You’re not used to good things, are you?” she asked, not unkindly.
“No,” he admitted.
They stood there, dryer humming in the background, and the quiet stretched.
Ellie broke it. “You’re staying, right?”
Hardy looked at her, eyes searching. “You mean tonight or longer?”
“Both.”
He didn’t answer with words. Just stepped closer and reached for the edge of the towel she was still holding, his hand brushing hers. He folded the rest of it silently.
Then he said, “I’ve been staying. I think I just needed you to say it.”
Ellie swallowed. “Well... consider it said.”
They stayed like that, hands close, the warm scent of clean laundry curling between them.
“Come on,” she said eventually, voice a little rough. “Let’s finish this and make some tea. I’ve got that shortbread you like.”
Hardy nodded once. “Sounds good.”
As they moved through the hallway, the house dim and hushed, Ellie paused outside the living room. Tom had left a glass in the sink and a note beside it—“Don’t forget to wake me. I’m not missing waffles.”
In the kitchen, Ellie poured boiling water into two mugs and slid the biscuit tin across the table toward Hardy. He sat without question, tearing open the packaging with a reverence that made her snort.
“You know, I bought those for Fred.”
“He doesn’t appreciate them like I do.”
Ellie took a sip of her tea and watched him. The soft light above the sink caught in the curve of his profile—tired but open in a way he rarely let himself be.
“This—this isn’t going to go away, is it?” she asked.
He looked up. “No. I don’t want it to.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let the weight of it settle between them, like steam rising from the tea.
Then: “Alright.”
Hardy tilted his head. “Alright?”
“Yeah. We’ll... see where it goes.”
“I thought we were already going.”
She gave him a small, lopsided smile. “We were. I just wanted to say it.”
Hardy reached across the table and nudged her pinky with his. “Consider it said.”
Ellie rolled her eyes, but her fingers curled around his.
They sat like that a while, until the tea cooled and the shortbread dwindled and the clock ticked into midnight.
When he followed her upstairs later, it wasn’t part of the original plan. He’d insisted he could sleep on the floor, even gone as far as finding an old duvet and grumbling something about back pain being character-building. Daisy had taken over the guest room, and he was halfway through setting up a sad little bedroll beside the radiator when Ellie appeared in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You’ll freeze there,” she said. “And crick your back.”
“I’ll manage.” he muttered.
“No, you won’t.” She sighed. “Just come upstairs. You’re not sleeping on the floor like a Dickens orphan.”
Hardy hesitated. “Where would I—”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a ghost, Alec. You can share a bed. We’re adults.”
He opened his mouth, probably to argue, then shut it again. She watched the faint flush rise on his face, the tug of uncertainty in his jaw.
Later, he lay stiffly on the edge of the bed, arms folded like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to relax. Ellie, warm and drowsy beside him, finally huffed and nudged him. “You’re making it weird.”
“I am weird,” he muttered.
“Shut up and sleep.”
Eventually, he did.
And that, in its own quiet way, was something they hadn’t said out loud but both understood.
It sounded like something you say when the long day’s finally done, and someone’s waiting with the lights still on.
It sounded like home.
~~~
The morning broke with the smell of toasted bread and the unmistakable sound of Tom muttering in the kitchen, accompanied by Fred's excited chatter.
Now, Fred was bouncing nearby with a fork in one hand, “helping” while Tom tried not to burn anything.
“It’s sticking again! Tom, it’s sticking!”
Ellie groaned into her pillow. Hardy, already sitting up beside her, sipped from a mug of tea like this was perfectly normal. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet—just somehow acquired tea like a wizard. She squinted at him.
“You’ve trained him, haven’t you?”
Hardy looked smug. “I told him if he starts the waffles, he gets first pick.”
Downstairs, Tom’s voice joined in. “Fred, you have to wait before opening it! Every time—”
“Amateurs.” Hardy muttered, throwing back the covers.
They found the kitchen smoky but still standing. Fred was dramatically fanning the waffle maker with a cutting board while Tom leaned against the counter, scrolling his phone and pretending not to care. Daisy, perched at the table with a slice of toast, glanced up and grinned.
“Morning,” Daisy said, arching a brow as she looked between them. “Sleep alright?” Her voice was casual, but her eyes were too alert for it to be just a throwaway question.
Hardy blinked. “Fine.”
Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You’re up early.”
Daisy popped a bite of toast in her mouth. “You’re coming out of the same room. Not that early.”
Hardy glanced at Ellie. Ellie glanced at Hardy. Neither of them said anything.
“Not judging,” Daisy added, a small grin tugging at her mouth. “Just... observing. Like always.”
Hardy grunted.
Ellie grabbed a spatula. “Out of the way, Gordon Ramsay. I’m rescuing this breakfast.”
Fred held up sticky fingers. “I think it’s edible!”
“It’s not.” Tom said without looking up.
“Boys,” Ellie warned, but the edge was gone from her voice.
Hardy silently took over pouring juice while Ellie wrangled the last of the waffles onto plates. Tom passed out forks. Fred started to recite a new joke—something about a detective, a chicken, and a ferry crossing—but forgot the punchline halfway through and collapsed into giggles.
“Classic Fred.” Daisy said with a smirk, sliding a plate toward him.
“Oi!” he squeaked, still laughing. “It was gonna be funny!”
Hardy ruffled Fred’s hair on the way past, then topped up Daisy’s tea without comment.
The table was loud, a little messy, too many elbows bumping and too much jam being passed back and forth. And for a moment, Ellie felt a strange stillness under it all—like watching someone else’s family from the outside. But then Hardy caught her eye across the table and offered a tired, contented half-smile.
“You alright?” he asked under his breath, voice almost lost under Fred’s commentary about syrup preferences.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just... soaking it in.”
Daisy leaned towards Tom. “So what’s it like, being back home full-time?”
Tom shrugged, mouth full of waffle. “Loud. Weird. Kinda nice.”
“That’s about right.” Ellie muttered, and everyone laughed.
She looked around at them again—Fred still grinning with syrup on his face, Tom and Daisy in some banter about who was better at maths, Hardy quietly buttering toast for someone who’d forgotten theirs—and thought, maybe this is it . Not something dramatic or romantic or even certain. Just this . Sharing a table. Starting the day together.
And maybe, for now, that was enough.
~~~
After breakfast, the house entered its usual weekend rhythm. The dishes had already been washed and dried between the five of them—Fred proudly managing the drying, Tom stacking with military precision, and Daisy scrubbing like it was a timed task. Hardy, in his usual fashion, had quietly taken over when no one was watching.
Ellie lingered in the kitchen, her hand wrapped around a warm mug. Hardy joined her, brushing past to refill his own cup. They didn’t speak right away, just stood side by side as the kettle hummed on its base.
Finally, Ellie said, “We could walk. Beach is quiet this time of day.”
Hardy nodded. “You need to get out?”
She shrugged. “Just… full house. I’m not used to it.”
They left a note for the kids and took the winding path down to the shoreline. The sky was low and pale, seagulls wheeling above the cliffs in lazy arcs. Salt clung to the breeze, soft and stinging at once. Ellie wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself, and Hardy had his hands in his coat pockets, chin tucked down like always.
They didn’t talk much at first. The quiet between them was companionable, the kind that had taken years to earn.
At the water’s edge, Ellie bent to pick up a piece of driftwood, running her thumb over its smoothed surface.
“It’s weird,” she said finally. “Having them all here. All these kids, now older. Like I blinked and we’re all someone else.”
Hardy gave a low hum of agreement. “I feel it too. Daisy’s taller. Sharper. She sees things I think I meant to hide.”
“She saw us come out of the same room.”
He didn’t look away. “She didn’t seem surprised.”
Ellie tossed the driftwood into the tide. “No. She didn’t.”
A wave crashed, leaving seafoam in its wake. Ellie watched it flatten and drag back across the sand, then said, “Did you ever think we’d get here? This kind of quiet?”
Hardy shook his head. “I used to think I’d ruin anything good that stayed near me long enough.”
“And now?”
“I think... maybe I didn’t ruin this.”
She turned toward him slowly, the sea breeze catching her hair. “That’s about the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
He smiled faintly. “Don’t get used to it.”
Ellie let out a soft laugh, then grew quiet again. “It scares me, sometimes. How normal this feels.”
“Me too.” Hardy looked down at the sand. “But I’d take scary and real over safe and lonely.”
They stood there for a long moment, a gull crying overhead, a dog barking far in the distance.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, steady and quiet. “Even if this stays complicated.”
Ellie looked away, toward the shifting line of the horizon. “Good.”
They walked back slower than they’d come, shoulder to shoulder but not touching. The road wound back toward the house, small and familiar. Neither of them spoke.
By the time they returned, Fred had built a cardboard fortress in the living room, Tom had commandeered the telly for a documentary, and Daisy had fallen asleep with the book open on her chest.
Hardy watched them all from the hallway, then glanced at Ellie.
“Feels like a life,” he said.
Ellie nodded. “Yeah. It does.”
~~~
It was later in the day by the time Ellie found herself alone again in the kitchen. The sunlight was slanting low through the window, catching dust motes in the air. Hardy had dragged her out for a walk after breakfast—just an hour along the cliffs, not saying much but staying close enough their shoulders bumped now and then. When they got back, Fred had retreated upstairs with a Lego kit the size of a small car engine, Daisy had reclaimed her spot by the window with a book, and Tom had disappeared somewhere with his laptop.
Ellie lingered at the sink, rinsing a stray spoon more out of habit than need. The dishes had been done ages ago. Still, the quiet gave her a moment.
Tom stepped into the kitchen, almost hesitantly, and leaned against the doorframe. “You’re always tidying.” he said.
She glanced at him. “Gives me something to do with my hands.”
He nodded, arms folded. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Tom hesitated. “Are you… with him?”
She paused, one hand on the towel draped over the oven handle. “With who?”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “You know who.”
Ellie let out a breath. “Where’s that coming from?”
“I saw you this morning. Coming out of the same room.”
Her face didn’t change, but her posture did—subtle, but noticeable. “He was meant to take the guest room. Floor wasn’t kind to his back.”
Tom gave a small, understanding nod. “Didn’t look weird or anything. Just… different.”
She faced him now, leaning against the counter. “He’s here for Daisy, mostly.”
Tom looked away. “You don’t have to explain it.”
“I’m not sure I can.” she said honestly. “It’s not like we sat down and talked about what this is.”
“But you’re not pushing him away.”
“No,” she admitted. “I’m not.”
Tom shifted, seeming to absorb that. “He makes you less tense.”
Ellie blinked. “You think I’m tense?”
He gave a look. “Mum.”
She laughed. “Fair.”
Tom crossed the room slowly and leaned on the counter next to her. “You seem... different. Lighter.”
“Do I?”
He nodded. “Since he’s been around. You laugh more. You don’t hover as much.”
“I never hovered.”
Tom gave her a skeptical look. “Okay. Sure.”
Ellie shook her head with a quiet chuckle. “Alright, maybe I hovered a bit.”
He smiled and reached for a glass of water. “So you like having him here?”
She didn’t answer immediately. “Yeah. I do. He makes the house feel... steadier. I don’t know how else to put it.”
Tom watched her, then gave a small nod. “I’m glad. I think he’s good for you.”
Ellie blinked at that, something tightening in her chest. “You think so?”
Tom nodded. “Yeah. And he tries, even if he’s a bit awkward about it.”
She smiled, softer now. “That’s the truth.”
Tom picked at a loose thread on his jumper. “You don’t have to tell me everything, you know. I’m not trying to pry. I just wanted to know if you’re okay.”
“I am,” she said. “Or getting there, at least.”
He gave her a small, lopsided smile. “Good.”
He started to walk away, but paused halfway out the door. “Just... tell him to stop using the last of the good teabags.”
Ellie laughed. “I’ll write it on the fridge.”
He disappeared down the hallway, and Ellie stood there for a moment longer, fingers curling loosely around the edge of the counter. The sun had shifted again, pouring amber light across the floor.
The kitchen was quiet again, but the silence felt warmer.
~~~
It was near dusk when Ellie stepped outside to take a break from the low hum of her full house. The porch was quiet, still holding onto the day’s warmth, the faint salt scent of the sea carried on a gentle breeze. She hadn’t expected to find Hardy already there—sitting on the bench, elbows on knees, tea in hand, as if he’d been waiting for her.
She paused in the doorway, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. “You alright?” she asked softly.
Hardy glanced over, his expression guarded, unreadable. “Tom’s a good kid.” he said quietly.
Ellie settled beside him without replying, the familiar comfort of his presence grounding her. After a moment, she said, “You heard that, then.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the silvering horizon. “Didn’t mean to. Was just walking past the kitchen.”
She rubbed her hands together, pulling the sleeves of her cardigan tighter. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice was low, steady. “He asked the questions you’re not asking yourself.”
Ellie glanced sideways at him, curiosity mingled with vulnerability. “And what would that be?”
Hardy took a slow sip of his tea, letting the silence stretch between them. “What this is.”
The porch settled into a quiet lull, broken only by distant gull calls and the faint creak of the wood beneath their feet. The evening light softened their outlines, shadows lengthening across the planks.
“I didn’t know what to say.” Ellie admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You said enough.” Hardy’s tone held no judgment, only a quiet observation that made her heart skip.
He didn’t meet her eyes, instead staring out past the hedgerows to where the sea met the sky in a shimmering line.
“Would it make it easier if I said I wanted to stay?” he asked after a long pause. “Not just because Daisy’s here.”
Ellie’s throat tightened, emotions welling behind her steady gaze. “I don’t think easier’s the point.”
He gave a small nod, as if he understood an unspoken truth she couldn’t voice yet.
They sat quietly for a long while, the world around them fading to just the two of them and the gentle pull of the tide.
Hardy set his empty mug down on the porch rail, the soft clink echoing in the stillness. “I never meant for you to have to explain me.”
“You don’t,” she said firmly, her voice gaining strength. “Not now, not ever.”
They didn’t touch, didn’t move closer, but something inside both of them shifted—a knot loosening, a breath held and finally released.
Hardy then shifted forward slightly, eyes still ahead. “You know... It’s strange. Hearing it said like that. That I’m... good for someone.”
“You are,” Ellie said simply. “Even when you’re a pain in the arse.”
He huffed a laugh. “That’s generous.”
“Tom thinks you are. He’s not wrong.”
They sat in it, the quiet that wasn’t awkward anymore. A gull called overhead, and from inside came a burst of Fred’s laughter.
“I don’t know when it happened,” Hardy murmured. “When this stopped feeling like visiting.”
Ellie didn’t answer. Just tilted her head to rest lightly against his shoulder.
Hardy stilled, then leaned in.
And that was it. Nothing else said. Nothing else needed.
Inside, the kettle clicked off. The wind shifted.
But they stayed where they were.
Together.
~~~
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the kitchen in warm gold and pale blue. Hardy’s coat hung neatly on the back of a chair, a quiet testament to the night just passed.
Ellie stepped into the room with slow, careful footsteps, not wanting to disturb the calm. Hardy was already there, standing by the stove, pouring boiling water into a chipped mug. His movements were steady, measured—as if this small ritual grounded him.
She watched him for a moment, her heart swelling with a feeling she was still learning to name.
Without a word, Hardy handed her a cup. Their fingers brushed lightly, a spark in the quiet space between them.
Ellie took the tea, the warmth seeping into her palms.
The soft creak of the doorframe announced Daisy’s arrival. She stood with a bowl of fruit salad, offering a tentative smile. “Need a hand?”
Ellie returned the smile gratefully. “Yes, please.”
Daisy moved smoothly through the kitchen, laying the bowl on the table and grabbing plates.
From upstairs came the unmistakable sound of Fred’s heavy footsteps. He appeared in the doorway, his hair a mess and eyes still sleepy but bright with mischief.
“Morning, boring grown-ups.” he muttered, dragging himself to the table and flopping into a chair.
Tom followed, headphones around his neck, pouring himself a cup of tea without hesitation or need for permission.
Ellie shook her head with a smile.
The kitchen filled with the soft sounds of breakfast preparations—cutlery clinking, juice pouring, and people's chattering.
Tom teased Daisy about her careful eating habits, eliciting a small laugh that echoed softly around the room.
Ellie took a sip of her tea, her gaze drifting to Hardy. He caught her eye and gave a small, tired smile—the kind that held unspoken promises.
She felt the steady presence of his hand reach across the table, fingers brushing hers gently before settling into a quiet hold.
That simple touch spoke louder than words ever could.
No grand declarations. No rushed confessions. Just the steady, growing certainty of two people building something together.
Ellie glanced around—the messy plates, the scattered crumbs, the warm smiles—and realized that this was the kind of home she’d always wanted.
A place of shared moments, laughter, and quiet understanding.
Where words weren’t always necessary.
And being together was enough.
END
2025.6.4