Richard woke before his alarm, the pale morning light slipping through the curtains in quiet streaks. His first thought wasn't of work or the meetings he was meant to prepare for. It wasn't even of the children — though they were never far from his mind.
It was of her.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for his phone.
Good morning, Helene. I hope you slept well. Would you like me to pick you up for lunch today?
He stared at the message for a few seconds, wondering if it was too forward, then hit send anyway. The response came quicker than he expected.
Good morning. And no — don't worry. I'll meet you. Just tell me where.
He smiled, warmth blooming low in his chest.
Alright. I'll be waiting for you at London Bridge underground station.
I've booked us atable.
There was a pause — long enough for him to picture her worrying. Then:
Oh. A table?
That sounds lovely. Thank you.
He could almost hear the shy little breath she would take after saying something like that. He could almost see her smile.
I'm looking forward to it. He wrote back.
A tiny bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.
That made his smile widen.
So am I.
And then:
Very much.
He tried to work through the morning. He really did. The documents on his desk were important — agreements, reports, projections. The sort of things he usually absorbed with ease.
But his mind drifted again and again.
To Helene's laugh.
To the sound of her voice saying his name.
To the warmth that had been living quietly inside him since their call the day before.
He checked the time at 10:03. Then again at 10:17.
10:20.
10:21.
It was embarrassing. But he couldn't bring himself to care.
By noon, he finally surrendered. His chest was tight with anticipation — ridiculously so for a man of fifty with a successful company to run.
You're still coming at one? He typed.
He immediately regretted the neediness of it. But he couldn't take it back.
Her reply came two minutes later.
Of course I'm still coming.
I'm just nervous. In a nice way.
You?
He laughed under his breath.
I'm feeling exactly the same way.
By twelve-thirty he couldn't sit still. He grabbed his coat, told Wendy, "I'm off," and left the building before she had time to respond.
He arrived at London Bridge Station early. He waited just outside the exit so he could see her as she got there. His heart was unreasonably alert at every movement.
Then she appeared.
Helene looked around, almost tentative, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear the way she always did when she was nervous. When her eyes found him, something gentle and bright lit her face.
He crossed the space in a few strides, unable to hold back.
"Hello, you made it," he murmured, and wrapped her in a light, warm embrace. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek — nothing bold, nothing that might startle her. Just something honest.
Her breath caught, but she didn't pull away.
He pulled back slightly and offered his hand.
She slipped hers into his without a word.
They walked the short distance to the Shard . The glass tower reached into the sky like a blade of light, and inside, the restaurant he'd booked was quiet, elegant, all soft murmurs and clean lines. They stepped inside the entrance hall, and headed up in the lift.
Up in the restaurant, the waiter sat them at a table set near the window, London sprawling beneath them in a wash of soft autumn light. The city was muted from this height, less frantic, almost peaceful.
Helene took it in slowly.
"I've never been up here before," she said, her voice hushed. "It feels like the whole city has changed. It looks beautiful,"
Richard hadn't taken his eyes off her. "Not as beautiful as you,"
he said quietly, unable to help himself.
She glanced at him.
Her cheeks flushed a rose pink.
"Richard… stop."
"Does it bother you when I say things like that?"
She shook her head slightly.
"I'm just not used to it."
"Well," he murmured, "I'm not used to seeing someone so beautiful."
Her blush deepened; she opened her mouth to respond, but the waiter arrived with their drinks, saving her from having to.
They shared a soft, unhurried lunch, full of quiet smiles and gentle touches — the brush of fingers across the table, a shared look that lingered a heartbeat too long. Conversation flowed easily, sometimes deep, sometimes humorous, always warm.
Afterwards, he took her to the top of the Shard. The air was cool, the view sweeping, and she stood beside him, leaning slightly toward him without realising. He let his hand rest along her back, light and protective, and she didn't move away.
When they stepped back onto the street, she exhaled.
"You probably need to get back to the office," she said.
"I cleared my afternoon."
She blinked at him, shy and startled.
"You did? Richard… you shouldn't neglect your work because of me."
"Helene," he murmured, "I spend most of my days working. Spending a few hours with you isn't going to ruin the company."
She looked away, shy again.
He reached for her hand and she didn't hesitate to give it to him instantly.
They walked along the river, the air cool and crisp, the water shifting in quiet patterns. They stopped by the fountains, watching the shifting arcs of water rise and fall like breath. Helene laughed softly at a spray catching the light — an unguarded, gentle sound that made him feel younger.
Then they wandered through Hay's Galleria, weaving through boutiques and small stalls, picking things up only to set them down again. He watched the way she touched items carefully, thoughtfully, as if everything deserved gentleness.
Helene paused in front of a small jewellery stall, drawn to it without quite realising it. The display was simple and tasteful. Silver and gold, nothing ostentatious. She leaned closer, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, studying a pair of earrings set on a linen stand.
They were delicate, understated. A soft curve of metal with a small transluscent purple crystal that caught the light.
"They're lovely," she murmured, almost to herself.
Richard watched her rather than the earrings. The way her head tilted slightly. The quiet appreciation in her eyes. She did not reach out to touch them, only admired them from a distance.
They continued on, her hand in his. She forgot the earrings almost immediately, pointing out a bookshop, then stopping to watch a street musician tucked into a corner of the walkway.
When they finally made their way back toward the river, Richard lagged behind for just a moment, pretending to examine a postcard stand. When Helene was distracted, he stepped back to the jewellery stall.
"I'll take those," he said quietly, nodding to the earrings she had admired.
The vendor wrapped them carefully, discreetly, and Richard slipped the small parcel into the inside pocket of his coat. It felt absurdly thrilling, like a secret.
They made their way to the Tate Modern, where they enjoyed afternoon tea before wandering the exhibits.
By six-thirty she sighed softly.
"I should probably get home."
He didn't argue. He simply nodded and called his driver.
In the back of the car, she leaned slightly against him. He wrapped his arm around her, feeling her relax into him.
"Helene," he murmured, lowering his head toward her, "will you see me again?"
She didn't hesitate.
"Yes. I'm having… a lovely time with you."
Then, with a shy laugh: "But you really do need to stop skipping work for me."
He smiled.
"Let me worry about that."
Her breath hitched as he cupped her chin gently, tilting her face up toward his. She looked at him with something warm and uncertain and wanting.
He kissed her — slow, unhurried, lingering.
She melted into it, her hand curling lightly against his chest. Their breaths tangled. When they finally parted, both were a little breathless.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek.
"Helene… I want to tell my children about you. And — when it feels right — I want you to meet them."
Her eyes widened, tension flickering through her.
"Richard… I don't want them to think I'm replacing their mother. Or that I'm trying to. I don't want them to be angry."
He shook his head gently.
"You don't have to worry about that. My children are… they're kind. Thoughtful. They'll like you."
She still looked nervous — but she nodded.
"Alright," she whispered. "When you think the time is right."
He held her closer, his heart full in a way it hadn't been in years, as the car carried them quietly through the London dusk.
The city slid past in muted streaks of light. The day had softened them both. He felt unhurried, content in a way that made him almost wary.
As they neared Isabelle and Robert's house, Richard shifted slightly.
"There's something else," he said.
She straightened, looking at him with mild concern. "What is it?"
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small package, placing it carefully into her hands.
Her eyes widened. "Richard… what's this?"
"Open it."
She did, slowly, and when she saw the earrings her breath caught. Her hand flew to her mouth, joy lighting her face so openly it made his heart skip a beat.
"Oh," she breathed. "They're beautiful."
"You liked them," he said simply.
She looked up at him, eyes bright. "You noticed."
"Of course I did."
She laughed softly, overwhelmed, then leaned forward and kissed him again. It was warmer this time. Surer. Her gratitude was written in every gentle press of her lips.
"Thank you," she whispered when she pulled back.
"They're perfect."
He walked her to the door, their fingers interlaced, neither of them in any hurry to let go. The night air was cool, crisp against their warmed faces.
Before either of them could knock, the door opened.
Isabelle stood there, a knowing smile already forming as she took in the sight of them together.
"Richard," she said lightly. "You should come in. We're just about to eat."
He smiled apologetically. "Another time."
He turned to Helene, squeezing her hand. "I'll call you later."
She nodded, still flushed, still glowing.
"I'll look forward to it."
Isabelle's smile widened as she stepped back to let her mother inside.
"Goodnight, Richard."
"Goodnight."
He returned to the car with an ease in his step he hadn't felt in decades. As the driver pulled away, Richard leaned back against the seat, staring out at the passing streetlights, a quiet laugh leaving him before he could stop it.
He felt lighter. Younger. Happier. As if something inside him had shifted back into place.
And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn't feel heavy.
It felt bright.