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Morning arrived slowly in the Bridgerton flat, in the quiet, pale-gold way that only early spring mornings seemed to manage.
Sophie was awake before the sun was properly up.
Not by choice.
Charlie made a small, disgruntled snuffling sound from the bassinet beside the bed, his tiny fists already wriggling free of the blanket as if he’d decided the world had begun and he would very much like breakfast.
“Alright, alright,” Sophie murmured, pushing herself upright carefully. “You win.”
Three weeks into motherhood and she was still surprised by how small he was.
How impossibly tiny his fingers looked when they curled around hers.
Charlie blinked up at her with unfocused newborn eyes while she settled into the chair by the window to feed him.
The flat was quiet.
Warm.
Peaceful.
Charlie finished eating with a dramatic little sigh, but instead of drifting off completely he just blinked up at her, making soft snuffling noises and waving one arm around like he had unfinished business with the world.
Sophie smiled tiredly.
“Not quite done, are you?”
She lifted him onto her shoulder and rubbed slow circles on his back.
The hallway beyond the bedroom door smelled…
Strange.
Sweet.
Like baked things.
Sophie frowned.
“…Ben?”
No answer.
But she could hear something clatter in the distance.
Then a muffled curse and a panicked “Just a minute!”
Sophie opened the bedroom door and stopped.
The hallway was covered in flower petals.
Actual flower petals.
White and pale pink scattered along the floor in a trail that led toward the kitchen.
Sophie blinked slowly.
“…Benedict Bridgerton.”
Charlie made a small squeaky noise against her shoulder.
“Don’t look at me,” she whispered to him. “Your father has clearly lost his mind.”
She followed the trail down the hallway, Charlie tucked against her chest, his little legs kicking sleepily against her arm.
When she pushed open the kitchen door she stopped completely.
The kitchen looked like it had been attacked by a florist.
Flowers everywhere.
Tulips.
Peonies.
Roses.
There were candles on the table and a handmade banner that very clearly read:
HAPPY FIRST MOTHER’S DAY SOPHIE
The table itself was covered in pastries, fruit, pancakes, coffee and juice.
And standing in the middle of the chaos was Benedict.
Barefoot.
Hair sticking up in about twelve directions.
Wearing an apron that said World’s Okayest Chef.
He froze when he saw her.
“…Hello.”
Sophie stared.
Then slowly crossed her arms.
“…It is six thirty in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“You appear to have turned the kitchen into a wedding reception.”
“That was the aesthetic I was going for actually…”
“And why,” Sophie continued calmly, “are there flower petals in the hallway?”
Benedict hesitated.
“…Romance?”
Charlie made a grumpy little noise.
Benedict’s entire attention snapped immediately to the baby.
“Oh! Hello, my little prince.”
He hurried across the kitchen and gently took Charlie from Sophie’s arms.
“Right,” he said softly to the baby. “You and I are going to let your mum sit down.”
Charlie squirmed in Benedict’s arms, blinking slowly up at him.
Benedict looked completely enchanted.
Sophie sank into the chair.
“You realise,” she said, eyeing the table, “I have been a mother for exactly three weeks.”
“Yes.”
“You did not need to do… all this.”
Benedict glanced between her and Charlie.
His expression softened.
“I absolutely did.”
He shifted Charlie higher on his shoulder.
“You grew our son,” he said.
“You went through thirty hours of labour.”
“You haven’t slept properly in three weeks.”
He gestured toward the table.
“So I made breakfast.”
Sophie snorted.
“You did not make breakfast.”
“I supervised breakfast.”
“You ordered pastries.”
“I plated pastries,” he corrected. “That counts.”
Charlie made a small squeaky noise and waved one tiny fist.
Benedict adjusted his hold instantly.
Sophie watched them both for a moment.
Her expression softened.
“You know,” she said dryly, “I’m currently wearing a shirt that is ninety percent breast milk.”
Benedict blinked.
“…That seems unlikely.”
She lifted the fabric slightly.
A suspicious damp patch had very clearly soaked through.
“Ah.”
“Motherhood is extremely glamorous,” Sophie continued.
“I can tell.”
“I haven’t washed my hair in four days.”
“Still extraordinary.”
“I cried yesterday because the kettle was too loud.”
“Still extraordinary.”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
But she was smiling now.
Benedict reached behind him and picked up a small envelope from the table.
“I also got you something.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow.
“If it’s another plant…”
“It is not a plant.”
She took the envelope and opened it.
Inside was a simple card.
Handwritten.
She read it quietly.
Soph, my darling wife, my muse,
Watching you become Charlie’s mum has been the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
He’s only three weeks old and already he’s completely obsessed with you.
Honestly, I am the same.
Happy first Mother’s Day.
Love you always,
Benedict and Charlie
Sophie swallowed.
When she looked up again her eyes were suspiciously bright.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.”
“And this is excessive.”
“Yes.”
“And there are probably eighty pounds worth of flowers in this kitchen.”
“Closer to ninety,” he admitted sheepishly
She shook her head, laughing softly “ridiculous man”
Charlie wriggled again in Benedict’s arms.
Benedict looked down at him.
“What is it, my little prince?”
Charlie blinked.
Hiccupped.
Then, with absolutely no warning he spat up directly down the front of Benedict’s apron.
A slow, unmistakable stream and smell of breast milk.
Benedict froze.
Sophie stared.
Charlie sighed contentedly which caused Sophie to burst out laughing.
Benedict looked down at his now very much not decorative apron.
“…Well,” he said after a moment.
“At least someone enjoyed breakfast.”
Sophie laughed harder, reaching over to wipe a bit of milk from Charlie’s chin.
“Happy first Mother’s Day to me,” she said.
Benedict looked between his son, his ruined apron, and the flower-covered kitchen.
Then he smiled.
“…Worth it.”
Charlie hiccupped again.
And this time Sophie was almost certain he was smiling.