“So Rebecca’s jackass ex—”

“Language,” Ted warns mildly, and Henry wrinkles his nose.

“I’ve heard you call him a jackass lots of times,” he points out, and Rebecca hides her smile as Ted’s cheeks go pink, before he determinedly turns back to the stove where he’s making them all egg white omelets for breakfast.

“That may be,” Ted says, “But there’s no need for you to follow my bad example.”

“So I can follow Alistair’s instead?” Henry asks, cheekily.

Rebecca laughs, but says, “Please don’t, I’ve already had to field two separate phone calls from the PR team this morning.”

“This going to cause any real problems?” Ted asks with concern, plating the first omelet and putting it in front of Henry.

Rebecca shrugs. “It’ll blow over soon enough, at least publicly,” she says. “I’m sure Rupert will try and plot some absurd, baroque revenge but…” She thinks of Bex in the ladies’ room last night, the open frustration on her face, and shakes her head. “Honestly, I refuse to worry any more about Rupert Mannion. Being divorced from the man should at least come with that perk.”

“Hear hear,” Ted says, smiling at her.

Henry says, “I think it was nice what Alistair did. Loud, sure, but nice.”

“That’s a great way of describing the man,” Ted says, heading back to the skillet. “Just don’t let him hear you say that.”

“He went with you that night because Dad couldn’t go, right?” Henry continues, and something about his innocent glance to Rebecca has her suddenly wary. “I mean, Dad’s the one who usually takes you to stuff like this, but because he’s still resting up—”

Rebecca clears her throat. “Yes, well, your father’s been gracious enough to escort me a time or two—”

“It’s more than that though,” Henry says, and Rebecca’s wariness only grows. “I mean, the press call him your “constant mustachioed companion”, and they wouldn’t do that if you two didn’t go everywhere together.”

“Where on earth did you hear that?” Rebecca asks, astonished. Ted, too, is looking over his shoulder at his son in surprise.

“Tatler,” Henry says, nonchalant. “They actually have a lot of articles about you two, which is funny, because everyone else they seem to write about has to have a title.” He pauses, then looks at her with a wary eye. “You don’t have a title, right?”

Rebecca chuckles, her momentary suspicions laid to one side. “No, Henry, I don’t.”

“Because it seems like all you British people secretly have titles. That one guy from Game of Thrones has a whole coat of arms and everything. And Marianne from school, her uncle’s a viscount or something,” Henry continues, watching her with a suspicion that as far as Rebecca’s concerned is totally unjustified—she’s posh, but not that posh.

(Somewhere Keeley Jones has gone into a major coughing fit.)

“So how about it, Rebecca?” Ted asks teasingly, setting her own omelet out in front of her. “You got a title tucked away in your pocket we don’t know about?”

“Yes, I’ve secretly been a duchess all along, you should properly refer to me as Your Grace,” Rebecca deadpans, and immediately regrets it when both Lasso men turn to stare at her. “Oh, for God’s—I’m joking.”

Henry narrows his eyes at her and says, “I’m gonna look up your family tree anyway, just in case.”

“Smart plan,” Ted mutters.

They all sit down to eating soon enough, but Henry, much like a dog with a particularly tasty bone, will not let the Alistair and Ted thing go. “So does Dad go with you to all these fancy events?”

Rebecca tries to take refuge in her glass of orange juice, but Henry’s watching her with a mild (yet strangely relentless) gaze, and so she says, “Not always, but often.”

“I never mind putting on a penguin suit and eating tiny food, you know that,” Ted jokes.

“Is it just so you can have backup with your jac—I mean, your jerk ex-husband?” Henry asks next.

Rebecca can feel her cheeks growing hot, and quickly takes a great interest in buttering her toast. “I invite your father because these sort of events can be a bore, and your father is a lot of things, but he’s not boring.”

“I don’t know why you’re so shocked that someone might enjoy my company on occasion,” Ted says to Henry, raising his eyebrow.

“Well,” Henry says, as though he’s considering it, “—you do make a lot of puns.”

“That’s because a pun is nothing but good fun, honeybun,” Ted says, waggling his eyebrows, and Rebecca feels no guilt about joining Henry in a long groan of disapproval.

Thankfully, the conversation turns away from Rebecca’s habit of dragging Ted to event after event, but she can’t quite shake her unease…probably because Henry keeps looking from her to Ted and then back again, like he’s trying to work out a math equation in his head.

*

It’s a delicious spread that Keeley’s laid out for dinner the following Sunday, but given what’s happened at this morning’s football match against Everton…well, no one has much of an appetite.

“Medical team says we’ll have to wait until the swelling’s gone down before we’ll know how bad Taylor’s injury is,” Beard’s saying now in a low voice.

Henry looks a little pale, and Rebecca wishes once again that he hadn’t been there in the stands to see firsthand what, at the time, looked like a literal leg-breaking tackle that left Taylor Komoh writhing on the ground in agony. “But his ankle isn’t broken, right?”

“No, no,” Ted reassures his son quickly. “We know that nothing’s broken. Chances are it’ll turn out to look a lot worse than it actually is.”

Given that the match had to be paused for nearly ten minutes while their star young midfielder was taken off the field on a stretcher, and Richmond ended up losing 2-1, Rebecca can only hope he’s right, because it looks pretty fucking terrible at the moment.

Roy’s showing the stress of it as well, his face set in even grimmer lines than usual, as he mutters, “Team was just getting into a good rhythm, and now this—”

“Taylor’s injury leaves us rather thin in midfield,” Rebecca murmurs. “And if he’s out for more than a few weeks…”

Both Roy and Beard grimace, but they don’t argue. Colin, looking anxious, says tentatively, “We might want to give some of the academy kids a run, if only as substitutes. Moran’s looked fantastic in training.”

“He has, but there’s a difference between training and a Premier League match,” Roy says. “I’m all for blooding the youth—” Henry looks startled at this, and Keeley leans in to reassure the poor boy that no leeches are involved in the development of football players. Roy goes on next, “But this run of games we’ve got coming up, for fuck’s sake—we’ve got City, Liverpool, and Arsenal next.”

“What do you think, Ted?” Colin asks, turning to Ted, who’s been fairly quiet so far during the whole discussion, aside from reassuring Henry.

“I think we should all take a step back,” Ted says after a moment. “Let’s take it one step at a time. First thing’s making sure Taylor’s supported during all this. Now, I’ll be visiting him tomorrow, and I wanna be clear with him and the physios that regardless of what the scans show, I don’t want him rushing back before he’s ready. This is about his career, not—”

“Not one match, or even one season,” Roy, Beard, and Colin all finish in unison, the three of them all smiling for the first time that evening—and of course they are, it’s a favorite saying of Ted’s.

Ted grins. “Love to hear you boys harmonizing.”

For all of Ted’s reassurances, Rebecca knows that it is about the season as well—Taylor Komoh’s injury is the latest one for Richmond’s squad, only just covered up by the string of unlikely wins the players and coaches have managed to put together. They’re now light in midfield as well as defense, and right in time for a busy run of fixtures. There’s the league, European football, not to mention the League Cup…

“We may have to consider dipping into the transfer market in January,” Rebecca says.

Roy pulls a face. “Fees are always over-inflated in the January transfer window.”

“We’ll manage,” Rebecca says. “We always do.”

“Well, whatever happens,” Keeley says, in a determined way, “It’s not going to be all settled tonight.”

Ted’s answering smile is rueful. “Think that’s Keeley politely asking us to change the subject.”

“That’s Keeley asking you to eat your food before it gets stone cold,” Keeley says, then pulls a face. “And now you’ve got me sounding like my old gran! Start eating before I slip even further and talk about how dishy that old bloke from Midsomer Murders was.”

As a command, it works beautifully—everyone does start to eat, and the conversation moves along, even as Rebecca’s thoughts don’t—she’s thinking of the team, the dent in the budget should they be forced to buy in January, and that’s assuming they’d even be able to make a deal for their preferred target…

I need to talk to Ted about this, she automatically thinks, before checking herself. Ted’s on leave, the last thing she wants is for him to start overworking himself again, no matter that she could use a dose of Lasso reassurance at the moment.

And to give him credit, Ted hasn’t tried to jump right back into the thick of things. He’s been great about giving Roy and the rest of the coaching staff space to manage the team, regardless of the up-and-down quality of the team’s play so far, and that’s continued all the way up to tonight, with Ted not offering up his opinion until Colin asked for it.

It’s good. A little disconcerting still, but good.

Settling back into her seat, Rebecca relaxes and joins in as Keeley tries to explain the strange allure of Midsomer Murders and John Nettles to an increasingly bewildered Ted and Henry.

The only truly odd moment of the evening is when Rebecca returns downstairs from a trip to the restroom only to find Henry in some sort of intense conversation with Beard, exclaiming in outrage, “How? That doesn’t even make sense! They’re always—”

“Hi, Rebecca,” Beard says loudly, his face doing that startled-owl thing.

“Hello,” Rebecca says slowly, pausing on the bottom stair. “Is everything all right?”

“Uh huh,” Henry says. “Uncle Beard and I were just talking about the rumors about the next Fantastic Four movie.”

“Ah.” Rebecca’s not entirely sure she believes it, but if it’s true, she’s going to retreat as quickly as possible, having no interest in getting caught up in yet another discussion about superhero films that she barely remembers watching in the first place. “Well, let me leave you to it.”

But even as she heads back to join the others for coffee and dessert, Rebecca thinks back to Henry’s bright gaze and how quickly he’d replied to her question, and how carefully blank Beard’s face was as Henry spoke.

Ted, however, is shockingly nonchalant about the possibility that Henry’s hiding something from them. “He probably is,” he says with a shrug as they’re getting ready for bed, later that night.

“And you’re…not worried?” Rebecca presses as Ted downs the medication he’s meant to take in the evening, cracking open the childproof bottles with practiced ease.

“Not especially, no,” Ted says. Once he finishes swallowing the pills with water, he says, “Grilling him’s not going to do much good, it’ll just prove we don’t trust him. His grades are great, his moods are steady, and he’s a good kid. Whatever it is, he’ll come to us when he’s ready to talk about it.”

“You’re probably right,” Rebecca concedes, trying to ignore the warm glow she feels at having Ted so easily refer to the two of them as…well, as a unit.

“I tend to be, from time to time,” Ted says cheerfully.

And he’s proven right with this too, although even Ted will admit later that he’s proven right in a way he never saw coming.

*

Henry’s very quiet at dinner a few days later, frowning down at his plate as he pushes his food back and forth.

Glancing at Ted, who nods at her, Rebecca turns to Henry and asks, gently, “Everything all right, Henry?”

“Hm? No, I’m fine,” Henry says quickly.

“Because if there is something wrong, you could tell us,” Rebecca goes on.

Henry glances at her, his face troubled, before looking at his father, and then his jaw sets in a way that suddenly takes Rebecca back to the year that Richmond won the title, and Ted seemed to greet every match with the same stubborn set to his jaw. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“Of course, buddy,” Ted immediately says.

“And you won’t get mad?” Henry pushes.

“Of course we won’t get mad,” Rebecca says reassuringly, even as her mind races with what this could be—trouble at school? Homesickness? Perhaps he regretted not spending Thanksgiving in Kansas after all—

Henry looks between them once more, and then—he just says it. “Are you guys dating or not?”

Rebecca nearly chokes, and Ted’s eyes grow huge. “I’m sorry?” Rebecca finally manages to get out of her throat, the words strangled, feeling as though waves of heat are washing over her.

“Are you guys dating?” Henry asks. “Uncle Beard said that you weren’t, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Good God, that’s what you two were talking about at Keeley’s the other night?” Rebecca bursts out. “I knew it wasn’t really about that superhero movie—”

“Rebecca, maybe a little more focus,” Ted says, and while he’s keeping his composure better than Rebecca is, that doesn’t say very much, as his face and his ears are turning a distinct shade of red. “Henry, buddy—you know that Rebecca and I aren’t, well, you know that we’re friends.”

But Henry is staring at his father as though he’s gone mad. “How could I know that? You sleep in the same bedroom!”

“Oh my God,” Rebecca says blankly. If she could, she’d fling her napkin over her face until this nightmarish conversation was at an end, but she can’t. How, how could they have been so foolish as to think Henry would never notice that Rebecca never spends the night in her own room? Fuck’s sake.

Now Ted’s entire face is turning red and he, too, looks like he longs for a napkin to cover his head. “That…isn’t what it looks like.”

Henry blinks slowly at them. “So, you aren’t dating.”

Ted shakes his head. “No.”

Henry is frowning in earnest now, glancing quickly at Rebecca before scowling down at his plate. After a moment of quiet (and for Rebecca, an eternity of quiet mortification) he looks back up and asks, “So then…what happens when Dad goes back to work?”

Ted blinks at his son, and Rebecca feels a chill growing in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean?”

“What happens when you stop being on medical leave?” Henry asks. “Do we have to move out of Rebecca’s house?”

“Certainly not,” Rebecca says before she can stop herself. As both Ted and Henry look at her, she stammers out, “Well, it, it only makes sense to have Henry finish the school year here. It’s only a brief walk away from the house, and the flat’s much further away.”

“Okay, but after the school year,” Henry pushes. “What if Mom makes me move back to Kansas? Is Dad just going back to live in that apartment again? By himself?”

Oh, hell. Rebecca bites the inside of her cheek before she can say, once again and with even more feeling, certainly not.

But a crease is appearing between Ted’s eyebrows, and he asks, more urgently, “Henry, what’s this really about?”

Henry looks utterly miserable, and he mumbles, “May I be excused, please?”

“Henry,” Ted begins, but Henry doesn’t wait for his father to finish, he just shoves his chair back, legs squeaking loudly against the tile, and quickly rushes off in the direction of the garden.

“Oh, hell,” Ted mutters, and goes after his son.

Rebecca stares after them, and then, as if her body is moving of its own will, she follows, hovering by the screen door to the garden, which in his haste to follow Henry, Ted forgot to shut all the way.

Henry is sitting on the bench, arms wrapped around himself, as Ted kneels in front of his son, his voice barely carrying as he asks Henry what’s going on.

Henry is staring at the ground. Very softly, so softly that Rebecca strains to hear it, he says, “I don’t want you to end up like Grandpa did.”

Rebecca closes her eyes. Jesus.

“Henry,” Ted says, and God only knows what it must be costing him to sound so calm and steady. “Henry, that’s…you know your grandfather didn’t die of a heart attack. We talked about this, buddy, remember?”

“Mom says you’ve been killing yourself for years, because of how much you work,” Henry says. “I heard Roy and Uncle Beard talking once, they said your work schedule was insane and that it’d drive anyone into the grave—”

“Henry—”

“And you don’t listen!” Henry bursts out. “When someone tells you to stop, you just smile and act nice until they leave you alone, and you just keep doing what you want anyway. The only people you listen to are me and Rebecca, and if I’m gone and you don’t live with Rebecca anymore then—”

“Henry, Henry,” Ted says, gently taking his son by the shoulders. “Henry, that ain’t gonna happen.” Henry begins to protest, and Ted says, with emphasis, “That ain’t happening. I promise you it won’t.” Enough light is coming from the house and the streetlamps that Rebecca can see the way that Ted’s throat works as he adds, his voice wavering, “I know I haven’t…I know I haven’t been good about taking care of myself. I know I made you worry, and I’m sorry—”

Henry’s thin shoulders are shaking now, and standing in the open doorway, Rebecca can feel her eyes stinging, her vision growing blurred. It would be easy to lie to herself and say that it’s due to the night wind—it is November, after all—but then, what’s the point of lying to herself now?

“I’m so sorry, buddy, but I’m going to do better now. I promise you, okay?”

Henry is quiet, and then he says softly, sounding so very young, “You promise?”

“Yeah, buddy. I promise you. Cross my heart.” Ted carefully moves up from his knees to sit next to Henry on the bench, wrapping his arm around his son’s shoulders, and Henry just as carefully leans in against his father’s side. Ted’s murmuring something to Henry now, but Rebecca can’t hear what it is.

The wind picks up, causing Rebecca to shiver, and as she shivers she comes back to herself, realizing that she’s still watching them and she has no business watching this. This isn’t her place, Henry isn’t her son and Ted isn’t…Ted isn’t…

She slips away from the door, shutting it behind her as she goes.

*

After a bout of hiding in her study, Rebecca eventually goes out to do what she needs to. She finds Henry in his bedroom, playing a game on his phone. He looks calmer, abashed even, cheeks going pink as she knocks on the door and asks if she can come in. “Sorry for all the drama,” he says quietly, eyes dropped low.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rebecca says, in as crisp a tone as she can manage. “Come back to me when you’re trending on Twitter because your ex-husband’s behaved like a twat—now that was unnecessary drama.”

Henry smiles a little, but still seems down. Hesitating, Rebecca finally opts to sit down on the edge of his bed, saying carefully, “Henry…”

“It’s okay,” Henry says. “I know you and my dad aren’t dating.”

“Well…yes,” Rebecca says. “But, even if we aren’t a couple, that doesn’t mean that I won’t still look out for him. I wouldn’t let, well, what happened before, I wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Henry nods, but still looks troubled. Finally he asks, “Do you believe it? That my dad would be okay on his own?”

“I think we won’t have to find out,” Rebecca says. “Because he’s not going to be alone.” Henry opens his mouth, but Rebecca continues, gentle yet firm. “Even if you go back to the States, Henry, I promise you—nobody’s going to leave your dad to fend for himself.”

Henry looks at her and nods. “Okay.”

Rebecca leaves him not long after, her stomach turning over as she goes up the stairs to her own room, where she knows Ted will be.

And just as she expects, Ted is there in the bedroom they’ve shared for all these weeks, sitting on the bed with a pensive look on his face, a mirror to the one that Henry had on his face just now. He looks up as Rebecca comes in, giving her a smile, and no matter how tired the smile is, it still causes her to flutter. “Checking on Henry?”

Rebecca shrugs, feeling sheepish and off-kilter. “I just wanted to see how he was.”

Ted nods. “Well, I appreciate that, Rebecca, I do. He’s lucky to have you in his corner, we both are.”

The words should make her feel warm—they do make her feel warm—but Ted’s expression is so solemn that her unease only grows. Forcing the words out, Rebecca says, “I know it was my idea for us to share a bedroom. Ted, if I’d realized that Henry would notice—”

“Nah, this is on me,” Ted says, shaking his head. “He’s such a good kid, and he seemed to be settling in so well—I don’t know, somehow I fooled myself into thinking everything was all right. That he wasn’t still worrying over me.”

Rebecca wants nothing more than to curl up against Ted’s side, lean in and wrap her arms across his shoulders and feel the heat of him sinking into her body—not for lust, but for comfort, and the effort of holding herself back from doing so is like a physical ache. Wringing her hands, she asks, helplessly, “Is there anything I can do?”

Ted shoots her a quick, unreadable glance. “Rebecca, you’ve already done enough—more than enough, honestly. This isn’t on you to solve or fix.”

Rebecca immediately retorts, affronted, “Don’t be absurd, of course I should be able to fix it,” and then she flushes as Ted smiles at her, rueful and fond in equal measure. “And,” she continues, feeling as though she’d rather walk on hot coals than keep talking about this, but knowing she has to, “If, I mean, about us sharing a bedroom, I can explain to Henry that—”

A shadow flits across Ted’s face, and he looks away. “Like I said, Rebecca, that’s not your responsibility. If Henry’s got the wrong end of the stick about—about you and me, then that’s my fault. I’ll set him straight, don’t worry.”

“Your fault?” Rebecca repeats dumbly, not understanding. “How? It was my idea to move in here.”

Ted opens his mouth, and then shuts it. To Rebecca’s growing confusion and alarm, he lets out a deep breath and glances away, murmuring to himself, “Gotta put your big-boy pants on, Lasso.”

“Ted?”

Ted exhales deeply, and then says, his voice soft and measured, “I mean that it’s my fault, because I’m pretty sure Henry’s picking up on…on the way I feel about you.”

Rebecca hears the words, and her brain immediately turns into white static. Bzzt. Bzzt.

“And listen, that’s not your problem or your burden to carry, I don’t want you feeling like you need to do or change anything, I just need to get my head right, and then I’ll—”

“Ted,” Rebecca interrupts, her heart pounding. “Ted.”

“—just talk to Henry, make sure we’re all on the same page, and once I get the all-clear from Doc Bhamra I can get out of your hair and—” Ted’s voice is rising with nerves, words tumbling over themselves as he stares down at his feet, and Rebecca reaches out and clamps her hand on Ted’s wrist, gripping it tightly.

Ted falls silent, looking at her with wide eyes, the light from the bedside lamp catching at them so they look like brandy in a glass, and Rebecca grits out, “Ted. Do you honestly mean,” her voice catches for a minute, but she forces herself on, “Do you honestly mean to tell me that you have romantic feelings, for me, and you’ve somehow missed that I’m completely mad about you?”

Ted is gaping at her in a way that would be thoroughly unattractive on anyone else (or to be fair, it would be unattractive to anyone who isn’t as gone on the man as Rebecca is). “You—but I—okay, now hang on. You’re saying—”

“Oh no,” Rebecca insists, her voice admittedly going a little shrill. “You confessed first, therefore you have to explain first, those are the rules!” And if Ted goes first, she might actually be able to let it sink in enough to believe what he’s saying. Maybe. Eventually. She’s still half-convinced this is all some grand hallucination.

A disbelieving smile is starting to appear on Ted’s face, his eyes alight. “There are rules for this?”

“There have to be, otherwise we’ve just been idiots circling around each other like two addled goldfish for ages!” Rebecca retorts. “God, how did you not see it? For weeks now I’ve been a total lunatic about you! I went completely round the bend when you collapsed, I tricked my way into sleeping in your bed, I moved your son across the Atlantic to keep you happy, I—”

“Becca. Sweetheart.” Ted reaches out with his free hand and strokes her hair, and Rebecca feels it like a bolt of lightning moving down her spine. He doesn’t say anything else, just continues to stroke her hair with a soft smile on his face, as though he would be perfectly content to do this, and only this, all night.

But Rebecca…God, she’s always wanted more than what she could get. She’s wanted exactly what she thought she couldn’t have, and tried and failed to be content with what she had, but now, but now—

Hardly daring to breathe, Rebecca reaches out and does all the things she’s wanted to do for all these weeks…let her finger brush along the faint laugh lines at the corner of Ted’s eyes, fit her palm to his cheek and just…just look at him, drinking in the sight of him, alive and healthy and hers, finally all hers at last.

Dazed, Rebecca looks into Ted’s eyes and finds herself murmuring, “So…I’m in love with you. Probably ought to have mentioned that by now.”

It turns out it’s even more fantastic to feel Ted’s dimple deepening in his cheek than to see it happen. “That’s okay,” Ted says, joyously. “I probably should’ve figured it out before now, to be fair.” His smile only deepens, eyes twinkling as he adds, “I mean, after all…you did move us into your house.”

Rebecca could once again make the perfectly valid point that it was a supremely rational decision, but Ted is right there, smiling and happy and hers, and kissing him is a much better use of her time, so she does.

It’s so blissfully easy, that’s the incredible thing. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to do, to lean in and press her mouth to his. Rebecca hadn’t let herself think about a lot of things with Ted, particularly about what it would be like to kiss him, but she’s fairly sure her imagination could have never matched up to the reality of it—how warm he feels, how gently and softly his mouth moves against hers, until it literally feels as though all of her bones have turned to soft wax.

“Holy fuck,” she murmurs when they finally pull apart. “How are you so brilliant at kissing?”

“Well, it helps when you’re doing it with the right person,” Ted says, dimpling at her. His face is flushed, that lock of hair falling over his face.

As if in a dream, Rebecca finds herself smoothing it back, joy fizzing up inside of her. “Yeah. It does, doesn’t it?”

*

They don’t actually sleep with each other that night. Well, of course they sleep together, Rebecca’s hardly going to move to another bedroom now, but as for actual sex, that part is on hold, because as Ted ruefully confesses, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is, uh, kind of on ice so to speak.”

“Oh, of course,” Rebecca says. “If you think I’m not waiting until we at least get the all-clear from Dr. Bhamra, you need to think again. I’m not putting you back in hospital just for the sake of an orgasm or two.”

Ted’s eyebrow flickers up, and he says mildly, “Oh, I think we can do better than one or two.”

“Well,” Rebecca manages after a moment, feeling dizzy with lust. “I…look forward to the effort.”

“Mm,” Ted says, smiling at her in a way that indicates he has somehow gleaned every filthy thought that’s ever run through Rebecca’s mind, and doesn’t mind one bit.

But filthy thoughts and future promises aside, they do settle in for bed eventually, even if the position is new—legs intertwined under the covers, Ted’s arm around her waist and Rebecca’s hand running up and down Ted’s back, both from a desire to be close and from the need to prove to herself, even now, that this is really and truly happening.

Her eyes are growing heavy despite herself—it’s all the emotional conversations she’s been having today, she’s too British to be equipped for them—but Rebecca murmurs, “I still can’t quite believe you didn’t see it. I was always…I always worried that one day you’d just look at me, and you’d know, and you’d be kind about it.”

“Okay, so first off, I cannot believe you thought I’d be enough of a fool to turn you down,” Ted immediately retorts, and Rebecca snickers, moving a little bit closer to him as his arm tightens around her waist. “And honestly…I never let myself think about it. I was just…” He grows quiet, before saying, “Being here with you and Henry, it’s the happiest I’ve been in a long, long time. I didn’t wanna risk losing it.”

“Me too,” Rebecca admits, leaning in to kiss him softly, because she wants to and because she can. They stay like that, tangled up in each other, sleepily trading kisses back and forth until, between one breath and the next, Rebecca falls asleep in Ted’s arms.

*

The next morning starts as so many have, with Rebecca wrapped around Ted’s broad back, her nose pressed to his neck and her arm possessively curled around his waist.

Only this time, Rebecca doesn’t abashedly pull back. Instead she sighs happily, nuzzling Ted’s shoulder as she murmurs, “Good morning.”

She can hear the smile in Ted’s voice as he rumbles, “Morning, sweetheart.”

His t-shirt has ridden up a little, just enough that part of her wrist is brushing against bare skin, and almost before Rebecca can catch herself, she finds that her fingers have slipped entirely beneath the hem to stroke Ted’s stomach, the trail of chest hair underneath his belly button. His skin is hot to the touch, and she can feel the muscles of his abdomen shift and tense beneath her fingertips.

“Are you trying to start something?” Ted asks, his warm voice sending a shiver down Rebecca’s spine.

“Maybe,” Rebecca admits. “Is it working?”

“I’d have to be a dead man for it not to work,” Ted says, and Rebecca snickers. But then Ted’s twisting about to look her in the face, his hair a wreck and a pillow crease on his cheek, looking so lovely that it makes her heart thump in her chest. “But let’s see about taking care of you for a bit.”

“Oh?” Rebecca questions, even as she instinctively follows Ted’s lead, even as that turns into her lying back against the pillows, her breathing going unsteady as Ted settles in between her open legs, an intent look on his face.

“Mm hmm,” Ted confirms, and then his hand is sliding underneath her pajama shirt, his pinky finger just barely slipping beneath the waistband of her silk trousers. Oh fuck. “This all right?”

Rebecca can barely remember how to speak, but manages to nod and squeak out, “Yes. Yes, please.”

Ted’s dimple peeks out for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss her on the cheek, then on the throat, and the combination of his warm lips and the bristle of his morning stubble are just wonderful enough to almost, almost distract Rebecca from how he’s slipping his hand beneath her pajamas to cup her through her underwear.

“Oh holy fuck,” she says blankly at the ceiling, and Ted chuckles—chuckles!—against her throat as he carefully and methodically begins to take her apart, his strong fingers stroking at her clit and cunt until she’s wet and open, and then his fingers are inside of her and Rebecca is letting out a groan that seems even louder in the morning light streaming through the window.

“All right?” Ted presses, and at least he’s starting to sound breathless too now.

“Fuck, don’t you dare stop,” Rebecca groans out, clutching at his arm, the sheets, at anything she can reach just to try and anchor herself, even as she’s pressing her hips up against his fingers. Ted’s thumb presses against her clit just so, and Rebecca makes a desperate noise, only barely muffled by her burying her face in his shoulder.

“God, of course you’re good at this,” Rebecca gasps out. “Months, years, I could have had you doing this to me, I could have had you in my bed—”

Ted’s fingers speed up, and he makes a low, wanting noise against her throat, and she feels the vibrations of it all the way down to her toes, making the heat in her stomach, between her legs, get even hotter and hotter. And so Rebecca keeps going, she keeps talking, every filthy thought she’s ever had about Ted spilling out of her mouth, all repression and restraint gone.

“I could have had you in my office, in my kitchen, in the treatment room at the stadium—”

“Not the treatment room,” Ted protests, half-laughing, but she can hear it in his voice, how he’s picturing it too now.

“Yes, the treatment room,” Rebecca retorts, never mind that she’s never actually considered it before now, she should have had him in the treatment room, a dozen times over— “I should have had you everywhere, I wanted, I want—”

That’s as much as she can get out, as the heat comes over her in a wave, and she’s coming, clenching around Ted’s fingers as she shakes and comes apart entirely.

Little by little, she comes back to the surface, blinking dazedly as she turns to look at Ted, who’s gone still and watchful, his eyes dark and wide in his face. Rebecca exhales, the aftershocks still going through her, and then she pulls him in to kiss her, morning breath be damned.

*

The plan, as Rebecca and Ted work out during a very long and enjoyable shared shower, is to take things slow, to be discreet. It’s the smart decision, taking the time to work out what this is, what it means going forward, and without dragging Henry and all their friends into it. If last night has confirmed anything, it’s that what they do affects more people than just them, and in ways that Rebecca can’t predict.

It’s a good plan, the mature decision, so of course it all falls to pieces before the morning’s done.

No plan survives first contact with the enemy, after all, and in their case the enemy is the two of them and their complete and total inability to have any sort of poker face.

In her defense, Rebecca is the giddiest she’s ever been, incredulous joy bubbling up to the surface every time she thinks about Ted, and she can’t think of anything but Ted—her entire brain is full of him, the weight of his body on hers, his hands on her body, the sound of his voice in her ear, even as he’s standing in front of her in the kitchen, making breakfast for her and an oblivious Henry.

And from the shy smile Ted gives her as he hands her a cup of coffee, their fingers brushing over the handle, he’s in the same boat.

Still, Rebecca thinks they’re doing a reasonable job of keeping things under wraps, but is rudely awakened from this when Henry looks up from his bowl of cereal to ask, suspiciously, “What’s going on? You two are acting weird.”

“Are we?” Ted asks, just as Rebecca reflexively denies, “No, we aren’t.”

They trade embarrassed glances, which Henry doesn’t miss of course. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, Henry says, “Your faces are all red and you’re both jumpy. What’s going on?”

“Nothing at all,” Rebecca tries, but Henry looks unconvinced.

“Why are you holding hands,” he asks next, and Rebecca jumps, realizing too late that her hand is resting on top of Ted’s.

“God, how are we so bad at this,” she says despairingly. She moves to pull her hand away, but Ted catches hold of her fingers.

Startled, Rebecca looks up at Ted, who gives her a crooked half-smile, squeezing her fingers in reassurance. “Think we might need to call an audible on this one,” he says, and it’s a measure of how well and deeply she knows him that she perfectly understands that reference.

Sighing, mostly in relief, Rebecca says, “Well, if you’re sure…”

Ted nods, and turns to Henry, who by this point, looks thoroughly exasperated with them both. “Henry, look—”

“Are we moving out?” Henry blurts out, looking wary.

“Good God, of course not,” Rebecca says.

“No, we aren’t,” Ted confirms. “But, uh…well. Last night, Rebecca and I got to talking, and we realized that, uh, certain assumptions may not have been exactly incorrect.”

Henry looks befuddled, and Rebecca is rather bemused herself. At her questioning look, Ted makes a face and mutters, “Give me a break, I’ve never actually tried to have this conversation with my son before.”

“Yes, that is blindingly obvious,” Rebecca says dryly.

Thankfully, because Henry is a very bright and precocious young man, he quickly puts it all together and puts his father out of his misery. “Are you two dating now?” Henry yelps in shock.

“Well, yes,” Ted says.

Henry stares at them for a long moment. “But…you weren’t dating before last night.”

“No,” Rebecca confirms.

“But you’re dating now,” Henry presses.

“We are,” Ted says. “That okay with you?”

Henry’s astonishment disappears, to be replaced with exasperation. “Of course it’s okay with me, I was the one saying you should—wait. Wait.” A light appears in his eyes, and Henry asks next, “Did this happen because of what I said last night?”

Rebecca sighs, because between Henry and Sassy, she will absolutely never live this down. “That may have played a factor in it, yes.”

“So what you’re saying is, I fixed everything,” Henry says, gleeful.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Rebecca begins, and Henry just grins at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, cheerfully smug, “I would.”

He’s not the only one, of course, as Keeley (apprised of the evening’s events by a furiously blushing Rebecca during a hastily-arranged lunch date) takes a break from shrieking with joy, demanding the details be retold for the fifth time, calling Sassy and Higgins and just about every one of their mutual friends to announce the news, to come over to dinner that evening and immediately pounce on Henry once she’s through the door.

“Henry Lasso, you absolute legend!” Keeley shouts gleefully, swooping in on Henry and hugging him enthusiastically, completing it all with an equally enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.

“We are never living this down, I hope you know this,” Rebecca says to Ted, pretending to be annoyed, but secretly thrilled at the casual way Ted has his arm looped around her waist.

“I can live with that,” Ted says, smiling, right before Keeley pounces on him and demands to know all the details, but from his perspective this time.