I poured the soup into Anne's preferred porcelain bowl—because of course she had a preferred bowl for soup—and wiped the edges clean with a cloth. Presentation was everything.
Balancing the tray like a waitress who had seen too much, I walked back out to the dining room where Anne was now in the dinning, scrolling through her tablet, her posture exaggerated in its elegance, like she was being photographed.
"I made you butternut squash soup," I said, setting the tray in front of her.
She barely looked up. "Finally."
I said nothing. Just turned to walk away, not even waiting for a thank you—because I knew it wouldn't come.
"Wait," she called after me, pausing dramatically like she was on stage in some soap opera.
I stopped, turned slightly, schooling my face into a neutral expression, the kind that said: Yes, your highness?
"I appreciate the effort," she said, not looking at me. "Just… try to read the room next time, okay? If I look nauseous, don't bring eggs."
I blinked once. Twice.
Then I smiled, nodding slowly. "Of course, Anne. I'll be sure to develop psychic powers by next week."
She didn't catch the sarcasm, of course. She never did. It slid off her like water off a plastic doll.
I walked back to the kitchen before the volcano in my chest could erupt. Behind the swinging door, I let out another groan. A deep one. The kind you make when you've been patient for far too long.
Psychic powers. Sure. Maybe I could use them to see when Jim would try something again.
Or when Anne's next tantrum would strike.
I tossed the soiled dishes into the sink with a loud clatter and leaned against the counter again. Only 9 a.m. And already, I felt like I'd lived a whole day.
To distract myself, I pulled out my phone and scrolled aimlessly through social media. Nothing new. Just people pretending their lives were perfect.
Then my thumb froze.
Jake had posted.
My eyes zoomed in on the location tag: Home. I blinked rapidly and checked again. Yep. Home. He was back. After weeks away on a mission trip, he was finally back in town. The last photo he'd posted was in front of some army base in who-knows-where, all desert, sweat, and testosterone.
And now… he was back.
I stared at the photo he'd just shared—nothing dramatic, just his boots kicked up on a coffee table, a cup of coffee in his hand. But it was enough. My stomach did a slow flip. My fingers tingled. I even smiled—genuinely smiled—for the first time that morning.
He was back.
I hugged my phone to my chest like some teen girl in a romance drama and let out a tiny squeal, quickly muffled into my shoulder. Don't judge me. A girl's allowed a little happiness now and then.
I rushed to the stove and cranked up the heat. If Anne wanted soup, she'd get soup. The best damn soup she'd ever tasted. I stirred the pot with newfound enthusiasm, like the broth itself would summon Jake into the house.
My mind wandered as I worked, daydreaming like I hadn't in weeks. Would I see him soon? Would he stop by the house like he used to?
Then I remembered the last time I saw him. It was before the mission. He'd caught me struggling to lift one of Anne's oversized packages into the house. Without a word, he'd stepped in, lifted it like it weighed nothing, and walked it inside.
"You shouldn't be carrying that alone," he'd said, his voice low and firm.
And I, in my very best attempt to sound unbothered, had shrugged and said, "I'm stronger than I look."
He'd smiled at me then. Not a big grin. Just a little pull at the corner of his mouth. But it had sent lightning straight to my chest.
And now he was back.
I was pouring the soup into a thermos to keep warm when Anne's voice floated in from the other room.
"Sidney?"
My shoulders tensed instinctively. "Yes?"
"Can I have more soup?" she said casually.
I stepped back into the dining room, setting the tray down again.
She sniffed the air dramatically. " Smells better than those eggs."
I didn't respond. I didn't have to. My smile said enough: If you say one more ridiculous thing, I might just pour this soup on your head.
She took a spoonful, nodded vaguely, then looked up at me like she was remembering something suddenly important.
"Oh—by the way," she said, licking soup from her lip like it was caviar. "Jake's coming over tomorrow."
My brain short-circuited.
"Jake?" I asked, careful to keep my tone light. "As in… your brother?"
She gave me a side-eye, as if I'd just asked if the sky was blue. "Yes. My brother. He got back last night and said he wants to visit."
"Oh." I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "That's… nice."
It was not just nice. It was Christmas, Valentine's Day, and Chinese New Year all rolled into one.
Anne raised an eyebrow. "You look… flushed."
I cleared my throat. "Just hot. From the kitchen."
The second I left the dining room, I was humming. I practically skipped back to the kitchen. Jake. Here. Tomorrow. My whole body buzzed with nervous excitement.
Anne might've been a handful, but at least she came with certain benefits.
I started cleaning up the kitchen with uncharacteristic joy. Every clatter of a pot felt like music. Every wipe of the counter a dance. If someone had handed me a feather duster, I might've twirled it.
I even found myself rechecking the guest room. Fluffing pillows. Straightening the guest towels. It wasn't my job—Anne hadn't asked—but I wanted everything to be perfect.
And as I worked, I thought about him.
Jake.
His rough hands. His serious face that occasionally broke into soft laughter. The way he smelled of cedar and sweat. The quiet strength he carried like a second skin.
God, I was a sucker.
But I wasn't delusional. I didn't think he'd sweep me off my feet and profess his love. I just wanted to see him. And perhaps, show some flesh like Prisca advised. Seduce him and get him to talk to me.
It was a dangerous hope.
But it was mine.
And after years of cleaning up after the rich, dealing with men like Jim,… a little hope felt like rebellion.
By the time I'd finished everything, it was almost noon. Anne was off taking one of her midday naps—blissfully quiet—and I had a rare moment of peace.
I sat at the kitchen island, cradling a mug of tea, staring at my phone again.
Jake hadn't posted anything new.
But that was okay.
Tomorrow, I'd see him in person.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like something good was coming.