In Love with my Stepfather

Chapter 6 — He Was the Outsider, Not Her

May’s POV

Jeff had gone ahead and cooked dinner, even though we’d planned to order takeout. The familiar scent of spaghetti Bolognese drifted through the apartment—and I couldn’t help but smile. It was my favorite.

I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took the first bite. The warmth spread through me instantly. After a long day filled with nerves and the constant hum of new responsibilities, I finally felt a little human again. I’d barely eaten during the meetings. This was the first proper meal I’d had all day.

“Eat it slowly. No one’s going to snatch it from you,” Jeff said with a soft laugh.

I took another bite, practically glowing from satisfaction. “It’s just so delicious,” I said, glancing up at him. “Besides, I don’t know when next I’ll get to eat food made by you again.”

He chuckled, that teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—but then I saw something shift in his expression. He looked up from his plate. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

I hesitated, my gaze dropping to my plate before I met his eyes. “I’m moving out tomorrow. My boss arranged a place for me near the company… It comes with a car too.”

His smile faded. He sat back in his chair, quiet for a second. “That’s fast.”

“I know. But it makes sense. The hours are long, and the commute will wear me out.”

He didn’t reply right away. “Still… I thought I’d have you around longer.”

I gave him a small smile. “I’ll visit. Often.”

He laughed dryly. “You’d better. I don’t cook for just anyone.”

“Deal,” I said, picking up my fork again.

⸻

Morning sunlight spilled into the apartment, casting long streaks of gold across the floor. I stood near the counter, zipping up my small suitcase while Jeff locked the front door behind us.

He offered to carry the bag, and I let him. We didn’t say much on the ride—just the hum of the engine and my occasional directions as we neared the furnished apartment my boss had arranged.

“You sure this is where you want to stay?” Jeff asked as he parked outside the modest, modern building.

“For the hundredth time, yes,” I said with a soft laugh as I opened the door. “It’ll make my life easier.”

He helped me unload my things from the trunk and followed me up to the door. Inside, I glanced around. Clean. Quiet. Stocked with the basics.

“It’s nice,” he admitted.

I nodded. “It is.”

A small silence stretched between us.

“You’ll visit, right?” he asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

I turned to him, my voice softening. “You act like I’m moving to another country.”

“Feels like it,” he muttered with a small smile.

“I’ll visit,” I promised. “A lot.”

He nodded, then stepped back. “Go settle in. I’ll see you later.”

I closed the door after him, exhaled slowly, and glanced around. No time to settle in. Work was waiting.

I freshened up, changed clothes, grabbed my bag, and headed right back out.

⸻

I got to the office a few minutes early, walking through the glass doors with a bit more confidence than the day before. The receptionist greeted me with a cheerful smile, and I returned it politely before stepping into the elevator.

My office was right beside the CEO’s—small, functional, just enough space. I slipped off my coat, shut the door behind me, and dove straight into work.

There were stacks of files on my desk, digital folders screaming for order, and an agenda that needed reworking. I moved efficiently. My hands found a rhythm, and for the first time since I started, the job felt just a little more mine.

By noon, I was too focused to realize how much time had passed. The thought of lunch crossed my mind, but I didn’t move. I was reviewing a board meeting agenda when my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I hesitated, then picked it up. “Hello?”

There was a pause. Then, “May.”

My breath caught. I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear, ready to hang up.

“Don’t hang up, please.” Lauren’s voice—soft, almost hesitant—startled me.

“I… I was wondering if you’d come over for dinner.”

I blinked, thrown off balance. My mother never asked. She ordered. Pulled strings. Called it love. But this—this sounded almost like a plea.

My grip on the phone tightened. “Dinner?”

“Yes,” she said. “I thought… maybe it was time. To talk. To sit down like family.” Another pause. “Please, May.”

She never said please.

And that alone made me pause.

After a long beat, I gave a clipped reply. “I’ll come.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “See you tonight.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone slowly, eyes drifting back to the files on my desk. But my focus had already slipped. I exhaled sharply, squared my shoulders, and turned back to the screen—still trying to process what I’d just agreed to.

Dinner with the very woman I’d resented and cut off for the past three years.

⸻

A few minutes past five. Just one more document to get signed.

I gathered the final file and walked to the CEO’s office. A few minutes later, I stepped out with the signature I needed, slid the file into its folder, and began shutting down for the day.

By the time I pulled out of the company premises, the city was bathed in the mellow hues of early evening. It was still too early for dinner at my mother’s house, so I made a detour to a nearby grocery store.

I grabbed a basket and strolled through the aisles—snacks, four bottles of red wine, cereal, fruit, juice, meat, toiletries, a scented candle I hadn’t planned on buying, and a long internal debate over which ice cream flavor to go home with.

Satisfied with my haul, I paid, packed the bags into my trunk, and drove back to the apartment. The space welcomed me with its silence as I hauled the bags in and began putting everything away.

Then I headed straight to the bathroom.

The hot shower was a relief—melting the tension I hadn’t even known I was carrying. Afterward, I slipped into a sleek black midi dress that hugged my figure perfectly, paired with nude pointed heels. I applied a light layer of foundation, mascara, soft rose gloss, a wore a simple gold bracelet. Done.

I stared at my reflection for a moment.

But as I thought about dinner, a headache began to bloom.

Of course. He was likely to be there too.

Why hadn’t I thought of that?

I shut my eyes in irritation.

Whatever. That was my father’s house. I had no reason to avoid anyone. If anything, he should be the one feeling uncomfortable—not me.

With one final swipe of gloss, I grabbed my keys and purse, squared my shoulders, and stepped out into the night.