WebNovels

Chapter 4 - Scene 4

Emily had just stepped off the last wooden step of the porch when she felt small arms suddenly cling tightly around her waist.

"Tudor?" she turned, surprised.

There he was, the same little boy whose tears she had wiped not a half of hour ago, now glowing with joy and gripping her like she was something precious he didn't want to let go of.

"I wanted to hug you again," he said, his voice muffled against her shirt. Then he pulled back just enough to kiss her cheek one more time, his small lips pressing gently near her chin.

Emily's heart swelled.

Tudor looked up, his bright green eyes almost shining in the golden afternoon light. "Will you bring your kid tomorrow?" he asked, hopeful, his little face serious.

Before she could respond, Olga had already stepped outside behind them, drying her hands on her apron, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

"Well," Olga said, laughing lightly, "now you have to bring her. Looks like Tudor's made his decision."

Emily looked down at Tudor and found herself momentarily lost in those green eyes—so open, so trusting. Something about them bypassed her defenses completely.

She nodded slowly, mesmerized. "Yes... yes, I'll bring her."

From inside the house, Tom had heard everything. He'd stayed near the doorway, leaning lightly against the inside frame, arms crossed—listening without meaning to.

He stepped out now, his boots heavy on the floorboards, but his tone casual.

"You're welcome to come tomorrow," he said to Emily, his voice even. "Bring your daughter too."

He offered a small smile. "I'll make the lemonade. I'm not even going to attempt the pie—I still don't know how Olga does it, and I'm smart enough not to mess with her recipe."

Emily's lips curled upward in a soft laugh, and though she didn't say it aloud, an image slipped into her mind—Tom, tall and broad-shouldered, struggling to mix batter in a too-small bowl with those big capable arms of his. It was a ridiculous mental picture, but oddly charming. She laughed again, more to herself this time, turning her head so they wouldn't see the blush that crept across her cheeks.

Tom raised an eyebrow, curious. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," Emily replied quickly, shaking her head, still smiling. "Just... happy thoughts."

Tom gave her a look, half amused, half suspicious, but he let it go.

"Well then," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You already know Olga, but officially—this is Olga. She's from a town just east of here, and I swear she makes the best pies in this town, the next three over... maybe in the whole country."

"Oh, stop it," Olga waved her hand, laughing. "He only hired me for my crust."

Emily chuckled, raising a brow. "Only your crust?"

Olga smirked. "Well, and maybe because I needed help. But that's a story I'll save for tomorrow. Over lemonade." She winked. "It's worth hearing."

Emily nodded, genuinely intrigued. "You've got a deal."

Tudor still hadn't let go. He clung tighter as Emily shifted slightly.

"Olga," she said gently, "could you... maybe take Tudor for me? I should head back."

Olga extended her arms with a little sigh, "Come on, sweetheart. Let her go."

But Tudor only hugged tighter.

Tom, now standing nearby, watched the moment—how the little boy buried his face into Emily's side like he never wanted her to leave. His heart tightened without warning.

And then, almost too quickly, the words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them.

"Will your... husband be coming too?"

The question hung awkwardly in the air.

Emily looked at him, her expression neutral—polite, unreadable. She didn't answer.

Olga glanced at Tom, then back at Emily, sensing the tension. She stepped forward and gently pried Tudor from Emily's waist, whispering something soft in the boy's ear that made him nod reluctantly.

As Olga turned to carry him inside, Tom stood still, silent.

But in his head, an entirely different conversation was happening—a chaotic storm of self-criticism.

"Idiot. What kind of question is that? You just asked that a half of hour ago. But no, let's reword it and ask it again, like she didn't notice. Smooth. Real subtle, Tom. What were you expecting? A different answer? She didn't even answer the first time. Of course she didn't."

"You're not smooth. You're a tired guy with callused hands and two kids who don't even know how to tie their shoes right yet. Why are you asking about her husband? You're not ready for that kind of situation anyway..."

He didn't say any of it out loud. He just stood there, eyes down briefly, biting the inside of his cheek to shut himself up.

Meanwhile, Emily adjusted her bag on her shoulder, held the wrapped pie in her hand, and gave Olga a soft smile as she returned.

"Thank you again," she said. "We'll see you tomorrow—maybe at the park. Or here. Same hour."

Olga raised a playful eyebrow. "Oh, it better be here. You promised, remember?"

Emily smiled wider. "Right... the cherry pie."

"Yes! Cherry pie, fresh lemonade, and a story. That's the deal." Olga confirmed.

Tom looked up at that—not speaking, just watching as Emily gave Olga a quick hug, then stepped off the porch and back into the sunlit garden path.

As she disappeared beyond the garden gate, Tudor's little face peeked out from the doorway, watching her leave, still holding tight to Olga's hand.

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