Surprises come in small packages

[onlytolerable]

Remember, Alexandrie Berthier used to say, you simply must make time for yourself. The fine spring day finds Sophie settled at a table overlooking the green taking her arrière-grand-mère's* advice to heart. She closes her eyes a moment and enjoys the sun warming her cheeks before pushing aside cup and teapot so she can admire her handiwork. That buttery yellow yarn she'd been saving knits rather nice, even if she does say so herself.

She picks up her needles and swiftly casts on stitches for the second tiny baby bootie, all the while humming a lullaby under her breath.


[*great grandmother]

Comments

[denythyfather]

Well, there's no doubt now, is there? He can't help that his knees feel slightly weak at that. "I... is there... do you know... who the father is?"

[onlytolerable]

Sophie opens her mouth and closes it, realizing suddenly he's not thinking of Irene or Zoe or anyone else at all.

Except her.

Several reactions slam into her at once: Amusement over his assumption, outrage that he'd think anyone other than him could be the father, confusion because she shouldn't feel outrage over a natural question in an (albeit one-sided) open relationship, and finally a sharp, sudden pang that the last thing in this world he wants is a child by her.

Fortunately she fumbles her knitting and manages to recover while she bends under the table to scoop it up. Oh, Sophie Not good, not good at all. Free and easy, remember? Just friends. She inhales shakily and manages to smile before she reappears.

"What do you--? Peter, of course. I thought I'd told you." There. Light and easy, the way they're meant to be.

[denythyfather]

There's a sudden surge of anger: real, passionate, burning anger at the idea that someone else has looked at Sophie in that way, because how dare they, and how dare they knock her up, and Peter is going to get--

Finally, the dots connect. Peter. Is married to. Sophie's sister. The anger is gone as quickly as it comes, and is replaced with complete relief. He can't help melodramatically falling to his knees, flopping his head into her lap with a laugh. "Sophie Berthier, love," he pleads, looking up at her adoringly, "you're a terrifying woman."

[onlytolerable]

"Serves you right for not listening." Puppy dog eyes get a puppy dog hair muss. Rules are rules. "I'm sure I told you about Irene. Anyway, terrifying though I may be, I'd never break a surprise to you like that."

She'll just ignore the 'who's the father?' question. He must know there's been no one else, just as she knows he's upheld his promise and kept any flings discrete.

[denythyfather]

"Please don't," he murmurs immediately, then realizes what that implies. It's not like he's taken it for granted that this situation will happen in the future... not quite, at least.

"I... Anyway. Do you need help?"

[onlytolerable]

"Hush, you. I'll play with your hair if I want to," she teases even as she smooths it back into place. Then, because she can't resist, she adds, "Help with what?"

[denythyfather]

"I don't know. Is there any aspect of knitting I could help you with?" He pauses. "Or I could make you dinner."

[onlytolerable]

"I'm fairly certain the chef here might object." They're in more familiar waters now, thank goodness. She's rather proud she managed to steer them there, even if she had to resort to a deliberate misunderstanding to do so.

"You can hold the yarn some evening when I'm winding it if you want. I'm afraid the actual knitting is a one person endeavor." She decides to test the depth of his helpfulness. "You could rub my feet."

[denythyfather]

"I could indeed." He winks at her, then pulls at one leg. "Come on, then. Off with your shoe."