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Phillip had been staring at the card for nearly ten minutes. The small white rectangle rested between his fingers, its edges slightly bent from how many times he had turned it over since Colin handed it to him that morning.
Eloise Bridgerton — Solicitor
Beneath it, a phone number. He could raise two children mostly on his own and endure tense conversations with irritated parents in school corridors without much visible difficulty, yet the idea of sending a simple text message to a stranger felt strangely daunting.
From somewhere outside his office, he could hear muffled laughter drifting in through the open window. Oliver and Amanda. Probably still trying to convince their governess that the frog they had found near the hydrangeas qualified as a pet. Phillip closed his eyes briefly. The meeting at the school that morning still lingered in his mind like smoke.
“Perhaps another environment would be more suitable for these children.”
“Some parents have expressed concerns.”
“Amanda has a very strong personality.”
As though strong personalities were flaws. As though curiosity in children was something to be corrected. His jaw tightened. He had tolerated the condescending comments for months, trying to avoid conflict, trying to be reasonable, trying not to turn every frustration into a battle; but seeing his children sitting silently in that office while adults discussed them like problems to be managed had awakened something dangerous inside him.
It had been Colin who finally interrupted Phillip’s attempt to continue handling everything alone. They had been standing near the greenhouse after dinner a few nights earlier, nursing glasses of Whisky while Oliver and Amanda chased fireflies across the lawn. Phillip had not intended to say anything about the school, but his best friend had always possessed an irritating ability to notice when something was wrong.
“You’ve been distracted all evening,” Colin had said casually. “Which is impressive, considering Oliver nearly set your garden on fire an hour ago.”
Phillip had exhaled quietly into his glass. “Their school has been… difficult lately.”
That had gotten Colin’s attention immediately. Phillip told him more than he had meant to after that. About the meetings. The complaints. The carefully polite language that somehow always felt like an accusation. About Amanda coming home quieter lately. About Oliver pretending not to care. About how exhausting it had become to constantly defend children who had done nothing wrong except occupy space too loudly.
Colin listened without interrupting, his expression darkening more and more with every sentence. When Phillip finally finished, there was a brief silence.
“Right,” Colin said flatly. “You need Eloise.”
Phillip frowned.
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Is she the solicitor?”
Colin snorted into his drink.
“She’s not just a solicitor. Eloise is…” He paused, visibly reconsidering his wording. “Ruthless.”
Phillip raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds vaguely threatening.”
“It is,” Colin replied easily. “Especially to people who are unjust.”
A reluctant smile had tugged at the corner of Phillip’s mouth.
“I’m not looking to start a war.”
“Good thing Eloise enjoys those enough for everyone.”
That earned a quiet laugh from him. Colin reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small card, and handed it over.
“Trust me,” he said. “If someone’s treating your children unfairly, my sister will make them regret it.”
With that memory, before he could reconsider for the hundredth time, he picked up his phone and opened a new message.
Phillip: Hello, Ms. Bridgerton. I'm Phillip Crane. I apologize for contacting you this way; your brother, Colin, gave me your number. He mentioned that you are a solicitor and that perhaps you could advise me on a… delicate matter. I promise to be brief and not take up too much of your time.
Almost immediately, regret began settling in. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Colin clearly adored his sister, but that hardly guaranteed she would appreciate strangers appearing in her messages asking for legal help out of nowhere. He was already considering putting his phone down when the screen lit up.
Unknown Number: That depends. How delicate are we talking?
Phillip: Delicate enough that I’m considering legal assistance. Though I understand if this is a bad time.
Eloise: It’s never a good time. But you already have my attention, so go on.
Something about the bluntness of the message caught him off guard. Before he could overthink it, he typed back.
Phillip: Right. I’m the father of eight-year-old twins. Recently, their school has begun raising… concerns.
Eloise: “Concerns” in the legitimate sense or the deeply irritating sense?
A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Outside his office, he could hear Amanda shouting something incomprehensible followed by Oliver insisting he had done “literally nothing wrong,” which almost certainly meant the opposite.
Phillip: I suspect the second one. There have been complaints from other parents. Comments about my children's behavior. Nothing that feels justified, but enough for the school to begin suggesting measures.
Eloise: Measures how?
Phillip: Transfer recommendations. Discussions about whether another environment might be “more suitable.”
Three dots appeared instantly. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Eloise: Right. I already dislike them.
Phillip leaned back in his chair slightly, something in his chest loosening despite himself.
Phillip: So do I. Though I would prefer to avoid unnecessary conflict if possible.
Eloise: Then you contacted the wrong person.
Phillip: Your brother said something similar.
Eloise: Colin knows me very well.
For reasons he couldn’t entirely explain, Phillip found himself looking forward to each new message.
Eloise: First things first: have your children actually done anything that would justify this reaction?
He glanced toward the office door as another burst of laughter echoed down the hallway.
Phillip: They’re children. They ask questions, talk too much, occasionally refuse to stay quiet when they think something is unfair.
Eloise: So clearly the school is the problem.
Phillip: I’m relieved you think so.
Eloise: What are their names?
The question caught him off guard. Most people asked about the problem first. Not the children themselves. His fingers hesitated briefly over the screen before he answered.
Phillip: Oliver and Amanda.
Eloise: Alright. You can tell Oliver and Amanda I’m their solicitor.
Something warm and strange settled quietly in his chest.
Phillip: They would be pleased to hear that.
Eloise: I'm currently very angry with this school, which means this is actually excellent news for you. I do some of my best work when I’m furious!
Phillip laughed softly under his breath. And for the first time in weeks, the knot of tension between his shoulders eased.
He expected the process to take weeks, at best. Instead, less than forty-eight hours after he sent Eloise the school records, his phone rang at eight-thirty in the morning.
The headmaster sounded nervous.
“Mr. Crane,” the man began carefully, “it seems there may have been… certain misunderstandings regarding Oliver and Amanda.”
Phillip, standing in his kitchen with a half-finished cup of tea in hand, blinked slowly. Misunderstandings. Interesting choice of word. The conversation lasted less than ten minutes. But by the end of it, the transfer “recommendation” had been withdrawn, the complaints would no longer remain in the children’s records, and the school would be reviewing internal conduct moving forward.
Phillip stood there staring at his phone, unable to believe what had just happened.
Eloise: Good morning. I fixed it.
Phillip: I gathered that.
Eloise: Honestly, I’m a little disappointed. They folded much faster than I expected.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, shaking his head.
Phillip: Should I be concerned by how much you seem to enjoy this?
Eloise: Deeply.
In the next room, Oliver ran past the doorway wearing mismatched socks while Amanda chased after him. For the first time in months, Phillip watched them without the familiar knot of dread.
Phillip: I’m not entirely sure what you said to them.
Eloise: Neither are they, probably. I may have implied that continuing to target your children would expose the school to a discrimination case they absolutely do not want attached to their name.
Phillip: You did all of that this morning?
Eloise: Technically, I started last night. I was angry.
Warmth spread unexpectedly through his chest again. As though her anger on behalf of his children meant something far more personal.
Phillip: Thank you.
Eloise: No child should have to earn the right to be treated fairly. Especially not by adults who should know better.
Phillip: Colin was right about you.
Eloise: That’s unfortunate. He’s unbearable when he’s right about things.
Phillip smiled into his coffee and realized, somewhat abruptly, that he was looking forward to speaking to her again.
The flowers arrived two days later.
Eloise almost ignored them.
She had been halfway through reviewing a painfully dull contract when her assistant knocked lightly on the office door holding an arrangement large enough to be mildly concerning.
“These were delivered for you.”
Eloise frowned immediately.
“If this is from that barrister from Manchester again, tell him I’d rather swallow glass.”
Her assistant snorted.
“No card from a desperate man this time, I’m afraid.” That earned a suspicious glance.
The arrangement itself was unusual. Not in a bad way. Just unmistakably unlike the overly polished bouquets sold in expensive flower shops.
It looked alive, wild in places, slightly asymmetrical. Full of color without seeming overly arranged.
A few stems tilted in different directions as though someone had changed their mind halfway through assembling it. And somehow, bizarrely, that only made it prettier.
Nestled carefully between the flowers was a small card.
We can't express the depth of our gratitude, but we hope these flowers represent it enough. Thank you.
Phillip, Oliver & Amanda Crane
Something warm flickered unexpectedly in her chest. Before she could think better of it, she picked up her phone.
Eloise: Your flowers arrived.
Phillip: I hope they survived the delivery process.
Her gaze drifted back toward the arrangement sitting beside her desk.
Bright cosmos, lavender, white roses. A stubborn sunflower leaning dramatically to one side like it had personal opinions.
She smiled despite herself.
Eloise: They’re beautiful. Though I should mention they look remarkably unlike anything from an actual florist.
Phillip: That may be because they aren’t.
The next message came with a photo attached, which Eloise opened immediately and couldn't contain her smile.
The image showed Oliver and Amanda inside what appeared to be an enormous greenhouse, both of them grinning proudly at the camera while holding armfuls of flowers.
Amanda’s curls were escaping wildly from her braid. Oliver had dirt smeared across one cheek. Between them stood a half-finished bouquet spilling across a wooden table.
And behind them, there’s Phillip. Sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark beard, broad shoulders. One large hand steadying a bundle of flowers while the other held garden shears.
Eloise stared at the screen so long her phone dimmed. Because nowhere in the mental image she had constructed over the past several days had there been that.
She had expected someone softer somehow. A thin academic type with wire-frame glasses and permanently ink-stained fingers.
Not a man who looked like he built cabins with his bare hands and then recited poetry afterward.
Her phone buzzed again, startling her.
Phillip: Oliver insisted on the sunflower. Amanda thought the arrangement needed “more drama.”
Eloise let out a laugh, still staring at the photo.
Eloise:Your children have excellent artistic instincts. You failed to mention you own a greenhouse.
Phillip: Was that important?
Eloise looked back at the photograph, the flowers, his rolled sleeves and unfairly attractive forearms, leaning back slowly in her chair.
Eloise: For someone who appreciates flowers, yes.
After the flowers, the messages never really stopped.
At first, Phillip still attempted to maintain some illusion of professionalism.
Phillip: Thank you again for your help with the school situation.
Eloise: You’ve thanked me at least seven times already.
Phillip: I was raised to have manners.
Eloise: That's an understatement.
But slowly, almost without either of them noticing, the conversations drifted elsewhere. Books. Gardening. Children. The strange habits people developed when they lived alone too long.
Eloise: I refuse to trust anyone who claims to enjoy Dickens voluntarily.
Phillip: That feels unnecessarily hostile.
Eloise: And yet correct.
Phillip: Amanda would like you to know she agrees with your opinion on school uniforms being “instruments of oppression.”
Eloise: Finally. Someone in that household with sense.
Phillip: I’m beginning to suspect the two of you would be dangerous together.
Some nights the conversations stretched far later than they should have.
Eloise would glance at the clock, realize it was nearly one in the morning, and still find herself smiling at her phone.
Phillip, meanwhile, developed the increasingly ridiculous habit of checking his messages during meetings simply to see whether her name had appeared on his screen.
And somehow, despite speaking almost daily, they still had not met.
Which was probably why Eloise’s mental image of him remained so disastrously inaccurate.
In her mind, Phillip Crane still existed as some vaguely scholarly, slightly absent-minded man with soft hands and tired eyes.
Not whatever the greenhouse photograph had been.
One evening, Eloise was sitting cross-legged on her sofa with a book she had not actually read a single page of in nearly twenty minutes when her phone buzzed again.
Phillip: Oliver would like to formally inform his solicitor that I make terrible pancakes.
A smile tugged immediately at her mouth.
Eloise: Is this true?
A photo arrived seconds later. Oliver grinned proudly beside a stack of pancakes that looked genuinely catastrophic. Amanda appeared in the background looking deeply judgmental.
Eloise laughed out loud.
Eloise: Those are not pancakes. Those are hate crimes.
Phillip: In my defense, the children insisted on helping.
Eloise: And yet somehow I suspect you were still the primary threat in that kitchen.
The typing bubble appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Phillip: You should come to dinner sometime. We’ll prove we can successfully prepare a meal that isn’t dangerous.
Eloise’s breath caught slightly. Her eyes lingered on the message longer than necessary. Something strange fluttered low in her stomach.
An invitation into his home. Into the small world he had slowly been revealing to her piece by piece over the past several weeks.
Eloise: Is this an attempt to impress me, Mr. Crane?
Phillip: No. If I were trying to impress you, I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned the pancakes first.
That startled a laugh out of her and, somehow, made her blush.
Phillip: The children would like to meet the solicitor they’ve decided belongs to them now.
Eloise: Only the children?
Phillip: I thought my interest was already implied.
Eloise: What can I bring for the children along with our wine?
Phillip: Chewing sweets is their favorite
Eloise spent the entire drive convincing herself she was not nervous. This was just dinner. That was all.
A perfectly normal dinner at the home of a man she had been speaking to almost daily for nearly two months.
A man whose face she had technically already seen.
The fact that she had opened the greenhouse photograph far more times than necessary was irrelevant and, frankly, none of anyone's business.
By the time she pulled into the gravel driveway, she had almost managed to compose herself.
The front door opened immediately, almost as if he were peeking through the window so as not to miss the moment she arrived.
When Phillip Crane stepped outside, she had to hold back a long sigh, because the photograph had not done him justice.
If anything, it had been offensively misleading. He was taller than she expected, broader too, dark hair slightly unruly in the evening breeze. His sleeves were rolled casually to his forearms, which should not have been as distracting as they were, and the warm light spilling from the house behind him softened the sharp edges of his expression the moment he saw her, with his bright smile.
Eloise immediately understood why women in novels made catastrophically poor decisions.
“You made it,” he said warmly, his voice was deeper in person.
“Barely,” Eloise replied. “Your driveway nearly killed me.” A quiet laugh escaped him.
Before either of them could say anything else, two small figures burst through the doorway behind him.
“OUR solicitor!”
Amanda launched herself forward first.
Oliver followed half a second later.
Eloise barely had time to react before both children collided with her at once in an enthusiastic hug that nearly knocked her backward.
Phillip looked mortified.
“Children…”
“No,” Eloise interrupted immediately, laughing despite herself. “I support this level of aggression.”
Amanda pulled back first, studying Eloise seriously.
“You’re taller than I thought.”
“You’re shorter than I expected,” Eloise replied solemnly.
Amanda narrowed her eyes, then grinned.
And just like that, something inside Eloise melted completely.
Dinner turned out to be surprisingly wonderful.
Oliver spent most of the meal telling increasingly exaggerated stories while Amanda corrected him every thirty seconds with devastating precision.
Phillip cooked while simultaneously managing chaos with the ease of a man deeply accustomed to it.
Eloise found herself laughing more than she had in weeks. Maybe months.
At one point, Amanda informed her very seriously that Phillip could not properly braid hair.
“I can braid your hair,” Phillip defended.
“Badly,” Amanda corrected.
“I’m improving.”
“Slowly.” she whispered, as if in a secret only to Eloise, which made her smile.
“There aren't many papas who are good at braiding hair; my older brother has a little daughter who's a bit younger than you, and he's been struggling with it every day.”
“Uncle Colin has a daughter?” the little girl asked, surprised.
“No, my other older brother, Anthony.”
“How many brothers do you have?” Oliver asked, curious.
“I have four brothers” she answered, mischievously. “And three sisters!"
“That’s a lot of siblings! Do you fight a lot too? Manda and I are always fighting, and that's just the two of us driving daddy crazy!”
Eloise laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. And Phillip looked at her like he had never heard a sound he liked better.
By the time the children were finally herded upstairs for bed, the house had settled into quiet warmth.
Eloise stood near the kitchen counter finishing the last of her wine while Phillip returned downstairs a few minutes later, sleeves pushed higher now, hair slightly mussed from Amanda apparently insisting on goodnight hugs “for at least thirty seconds.”
“They adore you already,” Phillip said softly.
Eloise glanced toward the staircase.
“It's truly impossible not to be charmed by them as well.”
Something shifted in his expression then. As though the air between them had suddenly become aware of itself.
Phillip cleared his throat lightly, lifting the wine bottle slightly.
“Would you like to see the greenhouse?”
“Lead the way, Mr. Crane.”
The greenhouse was breathtaking at night. Soft golden lights glowed between climbing vines and overflowing shelves of flowers. The glass ceiling reflected the moonlight overhead while the warm scent of earth, lavender, and blooming roses wrapped around her almost dreamily.
Eloise turned slowly in place.
“This is unfairly beautiful.”
Phillip smiled faintly beside her.
“The flowers are doing most of the work.”
He poured more wine into her glass, and for a while they simply wandered slowly through the greenhouse together.
At some point, Eloise realized she had stopped thinking about leaving. Stopped thinking about anything except him.
The way he looked at her now, steady and thoughtful, like he was trying very hard not to look too long.
“You know,” Phillip said quietly, “you’re very different from what I expected.”
Eloise smiled lightly.
“Disappointed?”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.
“Quite the opposite.”
Eloise set her wine glass down blindly on the nearest table.
“Phillip…”
He stepped closer carefully, giving her every possible chance to pull away, but she didn’t. His hand lifted slowly to her waist and he kissed her.
Tentative only for a second before Eloise leaned into him with a soft sound that seemed to break the last fragile thread of restraint between them.
The kiss deepened immediately. Warm wine, lingering laughter, flower petals crushed beneath their shoes somewhere in the dark.
Eloise slid one hand into his hair and thought, dimly, that this was probably the best kiss she ever had.
Phillip’s hand remained warm against her waist while Eloise kept her fingers tangled lightly in his hair, their foreheads resting together as the quiet hum of the greenhouse settled around them again.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Phillip kissed her once more.
She could feel herself losing the ability to think coherently every time his mouth moved against hers, every slow breath between kisses somehow making the air feel warmer instead of cooler.
Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, then lower, fingertips brushing the firm muscle beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt.
He made a soft sound against her mouth that nearly ruined her on the spot.
And for one reckless second, she genuinely considered dragging him somewhere behind the climbing roses and making several reckless decisions.
Eloise pulled back slightly, still breathless.
Phillip’s eyes searched hers immediately, concern flickering there beneath the obvious desire.
“Did I…”
“No,” she interrupted quickly, laughing softly. “God, no.”
That eased something in his expression instantly, but she still saw the hesitation lingering there.
Phillip rested his forehead briefly against hers before speaking quietly.
“I should probably warn you that my life is complicated.”
Eloise smiled faintly.
“You have twins. I gathered that.”
A soft laugh escaped him, but it faded quickly into something more thoughtful.
“It’s more than that. The children come first.”
“Always.”
There was almost an apology in his words, as though he feared she might eventually resent him for it. Eloise’s chest tightened. Watching him with Oliver and Amanda had only made her want him more.
“Phillip,” she said softly, “I’m not frightened by your children.”
His gaze lifted to hers carefully.
“You say that now.”
“No,” Eloise replied gently. “I say that after meeting them.”
She watched the shift in his expression, the sudden unbearable tenderness in his eyes, the dangerous hope.
This wasn’t only about whether he wanted her. It was about whether he could allow himself to believe she might stay.
Her hand slid gently against his jaw.
“I know this wouldn’t just be you and me,” she admitted quietly. “And maybe I didn’t expect to…” She laughed softly at herself. “Feel any of this so quickly.”
Phillip’s thumb brushed slowly against her waist. Like he was still trying not to ask for too much.
“But I want all of you,” Eloise said. His breath caught softly.
“The greenhouse, the chaos, the children stealing my loyalty. Even the terrible pancakes.” That startled a real laugh out of him.
“Eloise…”
“I come from a family of eight,” she continued softly. “There’s always someone shouting, arguing, crying, laughing, setting something on fire…”
Phillip smiled against her mouth.
“I’m not afraid of noise, Phillip. I’m not afraid of loving people who come with baggage.”
He looked at her then like she had just handed him something infinitely precious.
His hand rose slowly to her face, thumb brushing gently along her cheek. When he kissed her again, it felt different somehow.
“You may actually be the death of me.”
Eloise smiled lazily against his mouth.
“I think you can handle me just fine.”