Night crept slowly over the large house, which now felt too spacious for just two people. Ivy lay in her soft bed, a thin silk blanket covering her body up to her chest, but sleep refused to come even though the clock struck twelve. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the thin curtains, creating slowly shifting silver patterns on the walls of her room. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of David's warm, rough hand on her cheek that afternoon resurfaced, so vivid it made her skin crawl. She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow tightly as if it could replace the embrace she so desperately longed for. Her breath was shallow, her chest rising and falling in an uneasy rhythm. Inside her head, a small voice kept whispering that this was wrong, that she was betraying her deceased mother, but the voice grew fainter and fainter, overwhelmed by the warm throb that spread in her stomach every time she remembered David's masculine scent so close in the kitchen.
Meanwhile, in the study at the end of the second-floor corridor, David sat in a black leather chair behind a wide mahogany desk. The golden desk lamp illuminated the stack of company documents he was supposed to be working on, but his eyes stared blankly at the laptop screen, which had gone dark half an hour ago. His black shirt had been removed, leaving only a tight white T-shirt clinging to his broad chest, revealing the lines of muscle built from years of regular training at the private basement gym. He poured whiskey into a crystal glass, sipping slowly until the bitter taste burned his throat, hoping the alcohol would quell the fire burning in his chest. But the more he drank, the clearer Ivy's image emerged—her faint smile as she cooked, her long hair falling over her slender shoulders, and the curve of her hips faintly visible beneath the loose nightgown from last night. David rubbed his face with his rough palms, letting out a long, heavy sigh. "You're crazy, David," he muttered to himself in a low, hoarse voice. "She's your stepson. The child of the woman you love."
The next morning, soft morning sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, illuminating the neatly arranged white marble dining table. Ivy woke earlier than usual, her body tired from lack of sleep, but she forced herself to go downstairs and prepare breakfast. She wore an oversized, cream-colored t-shirt that had once belonged to her mother, reaching mid-thigh, paired with comfortable house shorts. Her hair was tied haphazardly in a high ponytail, a few loose strands clinging to her slender neck. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the smell of toast and the scrambled eggs she was stirring in the pan. She moved more slowly around the kitchen than usual, her thoughts still caught in the touch of last night and the gaze of David that made her knees weak.
David descended the stairs with a lighter step than the night before. He had showered, his hair still slightly damp and neatly styled, and he was wearing a navy blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark gray chinos. The scent of fresh body wash and light aftershave followed his every move. As he entered the kitchen, his eyes immediately fell on Ivy's back, as she bent slightly to retrieve a plate from the bottom cupboard. The supple line of her back and the subtle curve of her hips made his throat feel dry. He cleared his throat softly to announce his presence.
"Morning, Ivy," he greeted in a low voice, still slightly hoarse from lack of sleep. "You're up this early? You usually don't come down until after eight."
Ivy turned quickly, her cheeks heating up as their eyes met. She smiled slightly, trying to appear casual even as her heart raced. "Morning, David. I didn't sleep well last night, so I thought I'd get busy in the kitchen rather than tossing and turning in bed. Breakfast is almost ready. Scrambled eggs with toast and black coffee, just the way you like it."
David stepped closer, standing across the counter with his hips propped against the edge. He studied Ivy closely, noticing the way her oversized shirt slipped slightly down one shoulder, revealing smooth, fair skin. "You don't have to be this busy every day. You need your rest too. You had a lot of things to deal with at the hospital yesterday."
Ivy shrugged lightly as she poured coffee into two ceramic cups. "Cooking and housekeeping make me feel… useful. Otherwise, I'd just sit there and let my mind wander. Besides, I love watching you eat with gusto. Just like when Mom was still around."
Those words made David pause for a moment. He accepted the cup of coffee that Ivy offered him, Their hands touched briefly as they held the same cup handle. The touch was like a small electric current, making both of them silently hold their breath. David sipped his coffee slowly, the warm bitterness helping to calm the slight turmoil in his chest. "You're so much like your mother, you know? The way you scramble eggs, the way you smile a little when you see someone else happy. But… you have something different, too. Something more… alive."
Ivy felt her face grow hot. She sat on the high chair across from David, poking at her egg with her fork, but her appetite had suddenly vanished. "I don't know whether to feel happy or sad hearing that. Sometimes I'm afraid if I'm too much like her, you'll see me as a replacement. But sometimes… I'm also afraid you'll see me as myself."
David put down his fork, his eyes never leaving Ivy's lowered face. His voice became softer, almost a whisper. "I never saw you as a replacement, Ivy. Your mother is your mother, and you are you. Nothing has changed even though my mother is gone."
The conversation brought Ivy some relief. She thought no one else could comfort her in that regard, but it turned out David was still there. Even so, Ivy couldn't lie about her growing feelings, which were far more forbidden than she'd imagined. "I'm not busy today, just tidying up the yard."
David looked up at Ivy worriedly. "Don't tidy up, Ivy. That's the gardener's job. You don't have to force yourself to do something your mother used to do. Actually, I don't like seeing your mother overly diligent. Diligence is good, but because of her diligence, the workers I hire can't do their jobs well," he explained.
Ivy looked down sadly and then nodded obediently. "Okay, David, forgive me if I'm too monotonous. I don't know what to do."
David chuckled softly, his low, warm voice filling the kitchen, lit by the morning sun. His hand reached out with a natural movement, his rough fingers touching Ivy's soft hair, stroking it gently from the crown of her head to the tip of her haphazardly tied ponytail. The touch was light, as a caring stepfather usually is, but to Ivy it felt like a warm breeze that sent shivers down her spine. She lowered her head further, pretending to be preoccupied with the eggs on her plate, while her cheeks felt even hotter.
"Just be yourself, Ivy. Focus on your goals before your mother passes," David continued in a soft, caring tone, his hand lingering in her hair for a moment before reluctantly withdrawing it. He picked up his fork again and continued eating, though his thoughts had already wandered elsewhere.
Ivy nodded slowly, trying to smile despite her pounding heart. "Okay… I'll try. Maybe later I'll read the book my mother bought me. Or clean out her closet, which is still full of stuff. I don't feel ready to see it all yet, but I have to start someday."
They continued breakfast in comfortable silence, interrupted only by occasional small talk about the warming weather and David's plans for an online meeting later that afternoon. Once the plates were empty, Ivy got up first to wash the dishes. David stood up as well, grabbing a dishcloth to dry the washed dishes. Their movements were in sync as usual, hands occasionally brushing as they passed glasses or plates, but neither of them commented on it. Only slightly deeper breaths and occasional glances lingered longer than necessary.
The morning passed with the usual routine. Ivy went upstairs to tidy her own room, folding the blankets, straightening the desk, and dusting the bookshelves. Occasionally, she would stop in front of the family photo still hanging on the nightstand, seeing her mother's bright smile beside him. Ivy's chest felt tight, but she quickly looked away and continued her work. In his office, David finished some emails and phone calls, his firm voice faintly audible from behind the slightly ajar door. Ivy passed by the hallway several times, carrying a basket of dirty laundry, and involuntarily slowed her pace each time she heard his voice.