Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Finding Home**

WINTER

The twins didn't stop there. Instead they were very petty to throw their dad under the bus as they had started listing every food disaster their father had committed in the past month, of them Living in this neighborhood complete with dramatic reenactments.

 Derek was trying to catch them, protesting that he wasn't that bad, at all and the boys were exaggerating when he tripped over a toy truck that had been camouflaged by the general chaos.

Time slowed as I watched him fall toward me. Instinctively, I reached out to catch him, but physics was not on our side. His momentum carried us both down, and in a move that would have impressed Olympic gymnasts, Derek somehow managed to twist mid-air so that he landed on the bottom, cushioning my fall with his own body.

We ended up tangled together on the living room floor, my face was mere inches from his, both of us breathing hard from the surprise. His eyes were the most incredible shade of green I'd ever seen, and there were laugh lines around them that spoke of a man who found joy in life despite its chaos. He was definitely someone who found amusement in his daily life.

"Hi," he said softly, his voice slightly breathless.

"Hi," I whispered back, suddenly very aware of how solid and warm he felt beneath me, how his hands had come up instinctively to steady me at my waist. ( fought the urge to blush as this was getting vary intense and people might overthink this seeing us like this.

"Are you two going to kiss now?" Jamal asked Innocently although his eyes were full of gleam like he long expecting it to happen.. 

"Because in the movies, when people fall like that, they always kiss."

"And then they get married," Andre added helpfully which made me turn red despite my best effort. "Which would be perfect because then you'd really be our mummy and Grandmother would let us come home."

The spell broken, I scrambled to get off Derek, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. He sat up more slowly, running a hand through his hair again—apparently a nervous habit.

"Right," he said, his voice slightly rough. "Well. That was... educational."

"I should cook," I said quickly, needing something to do with my hands, something to distract me from how right it had felt to be in his arms, even for those few seconds. "The boys need proper food, and I... I like cooking."

"Really?" Derek's smile was soft, almost wondering. "When was the last time someone cooked for you?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. When was the last time someone had taken care of me? When had I stopped being a person worthy of care and become simply the caregiver?

"I don't remember," I admitted quietly.

Something fierce flashed in Derek's eyes. "Well," he said, standing and offering me his hand up, "I guess it's time to change that."

Derek's hand was warm and steady as he helped me to my feet, and for a moment neither of us let go. There was something in the way that he looked at her that made my heart skip a beat.

"So," I said, clearing my throat and stepping back, as I let go of his hand and smoothened her dress as she continued speaking,

"let me see what we're working with here."

The kitchen was small but functional, which was a mark in his book though it bore the scars of Derek's food adventures. 

Burn marks decorated the stovetop, and I was fairly certain that dark stain on the ceiling had once been which spaghetti sauce. The refrigerator, aside from its pizza box graveyard, contained exactly three items: a carton of milk that was two days past expiration, half a bag of wilted lettuce, and a lonely apple that had seen better days.

"This is tragic," I muttered, opening cabinets to find them equally barren., as I sighed and Shook my head in disappointment.

"How have you three survived this long?"

"Very carefully," Derek said from behind me, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "And with excellent takeout delivery services that seemed to do wonders in taking care of two growing boys."

"Mummy, are you really going to make us real food?" Jamal appeared at my elbow, his green eyes—so like his father's—bright with hope.

"I'm going to try, sweetheart, but we need to go shopping first. You can't make something from nothing."

"Can we come with you?" Andre bounced on his toes. "We know where the good store is! The one with the fish that swim in the big tank!"

"And the cookies shaped like animals," Jamal added. "Though Daddy never lets us get those."

I looked questioningly at Derek, who shrugged. "Sugar makes them... more energetic than usual. If that's even possible."

"Everything in moderation," I said diplomatically finding a way to make sure that everyone got what they needed.. 

"Maybe we can get a few animal cookies as a special treat."

The twins' cheers could probably be heard three blocks away.

An hour later, we were walking through the aisles of Morrison's Market, and I was getting a crash course in shopping with eight-year-old twins. They had opinions about everything—the color of bell peppers ("red ones taste happier"), the size of pasta ("the twisty kind holds more sauce"), and the proper way to select bread ("you have to squeeze it, but gently, like you're petting a cat").

Derek followed behind us with the cart, looking amused and slightly overwhelmed. "Do you always analyze produce this thoroughly?" he asked as Andre explained the difference between good carrots and bad carrots to his brother.

"They're smart boys," I said, watching the twins debate the merits of different types of potatoes with the seriousness of food critics. "They want to understand things. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Their teachers might disagree with you there," Derek said wryly. "I've been called to the school more times this month than I care to count."

"For what?"

"Questioning everything. Correcting the teacher when she got a fact wrong about dinosaurs. Asking why they have to learn cursive writing when everything is typed nowadays. Standard eight-year-old philosopher stuff, but apparently some adults don't appreciate having their authority questioned by children."

I glanced at him sideways. "Sounds like they get that from their father."

"Guilty as charged." His smile was unrepentant. "My mother always said I was too smart for my own good."

"The same mother who kicked you out for being irresponsible?"