Chapter 11 | Pancakes and Promises
1352 Words
Cassie's POV
_He chose nights for us._
Tuesday.
6:03AM.
We were signed authors.
It didn’t feel real until I opened my email for the third time.
`Subject: Contract Offer - The Single Dad Next Door`
`Congratulations Miss E.`
`50% royalties. $50 signing bonus. Daily Bonus eligible.`
I read it again.
And again.
Dante was already in the kitchen.
The smell of butter.
Pancakes.
“Good morning, Contracted Author,” he said.
He didn’t turn around.
“Good morning, Chef,” I said back.
Voice still sleepy.
Mimi ran in. Barefoot. Hair a mess.
“Pancakes! Chapter 11!”
Dante flipped one. Perfect circle. Golden.
“Chapter 11 has pancakes,” he said.
“And promises.”
Mimi tilted her head.
“What promises?”
Dante looked at me over Mimi’s head.
“That we eat,” he said.
“Every day.”
My throat closed.
Because 2 weeks ago, that wasn’t a promise I believed.
---
We ate on the floor. Again.
Pancakes. Maple syrup from 7-Eleven. ₱89.
We could afford it now.
Mimi poured too much syrup on hers.
“I’m rich!”
“We’re not rich, baby,” I said.
“We’re stable.”
Dante didn’t correct me.
He just poured me more coffee.
At 9AM, Mimi asked,
“Daddy, Ate Cass, can we go to the park?”
Dante and I looked at each other.
“No job,” he said.
“No shop orders today,” I said.
“So yes,” Mimi decided.
So we went.
---
The park was hot. 10AM. Manila sun.
Concrete burning your feet.
Mimi ran. Chased pigeons.
Fell on her knees. Got up.
No tears.
Dante sat on the bench.
I sat next to him.
Not touching.
3 inches apart.
“Feels weird,” I said.
“What?”
“Not being scared,” I said.
“Of money. Of tomorrow. Of rent.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he said.
“Life happens.”
“Dante Morales,” I said.
“Can you be happy for 5 minutes?”
He looked at me. Really looked.
“I am,” he said.
I believed him.
His phone buzzed.
Hotel number.
He stared at it.
“Answer it,” I said.
He did.
“Hello?”
I watched his face.
“Yes, I’m available. Part-time. Nights only. 6PM to 12AM.”
He hung up.
“They want me back,” he said.
“Head Chef called. Higher pay. ₱900 a night.”
“Are you going?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
He looked at Mimi.
“I don’t want to miss this.”
He gestured.
At Mimi. At me. At the sun.
At the nothing we were doing.
My chest hurt.
“Dante.”
“What?”
“Take it.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’re a chef,” I said.
“And I’m a florist.
And Mimi needs both of us stable.
Not just here.
Not just now.”
He didn’t answer.
Mimi came running back.
“Daddy, Ate Cass, look!”
She had a sunflower.
Wild. From the park grass.
Half dead.
“For you,” she said.
To both of us.
Dante took it.
Looked at it.
Then he reached up.
Put it in my hair.
It was crooked. Falling.
“Perfect,” he said.
My face went hot.
A mom walked by with a stroller.
“Ang cute niyo naman. Couple?”
Dante didn’t answer.
I didn’t either.
We weren’t.
But we weren’t not.
---
At 12PM, we went home.
Dante’s laptop was open.
Dreame dashboard.
“Reads,” he said.
“1,450.”
“Library adds?”
“102.”
“Almost 100,” I said.
“Daily Bonus unlocks at 100.”
He nodded.
My phone buzzed.
*Dreame:*
`Bonus Unlocked: $10/day for 7 days if you upload 1 chapter daily.`
“10 dollars,” I said.
“₱500.”
“Per day,” Dante said.
Mimi gasped.
“We’re rich!”
We laughed.
For the first time, we laughed together.
Real.
No fear under it.
At 3PM, I went to my shop.
Restock. ₱4,000 worth of sunflowers.
From a wholesaler in Dangwa.
Dante came with me.
“Why are you here?”
“Because you count wrong when you’re tired,” he said.
He was right.
We unloaded boxes. Together.
Sweating. Laughing when we dropped one.
Ate Nene passed by.
“Ay, anak, ang sipag. Couple ba kayo?”
Dante dropped a box.
Sunflowers everywhere.
“No po,” I said fast.
Dante didn’t say anything.
He just picked up the flowers.
One by one.
And handed them to me.
We finished at 6PM.
Dante’s phone rang.
Hotel again.
He answered.
“Yes, I’ll take it. Part-time. Nights. 6PM to 12AM.
Starting tonight.”
He hung up.
“Why nights?” I asked.
“Because days are for you,” he said.
Simple. Like it was obvious.
I couldn’t speak.
“Dante—”
“Don’t,” he said.
“Just… let me.”
So I did.
---
At 7PM, we were in 4B.
Dinner. Adobo.
Mimi’s favorite. Chicken, not pork.
Because Mimi doesn’t like fat.
Dante plated it. Perfect.
Rice shaped in a bowl.
Mimi ate 2 bowls.
“Daddy’s the best chef.”
“Agree,” I said.
Dante didn’t look at me.
But his ears were red.
After dinner, Mimi was in the bath.
Splashing. Singing.
Dante and I cleaned.
Side by side.
Dishes.
“Dante.”
“What?”
“The contract,” I said.
“It says 50K words. We’re at 11,100.”
“I know.”
“We need 39 more chapters.”
“I know.”
“Are you scared?”
He stopped washing.
Looked at me.
Water dripping from his hands.
“Of writing?”
“No. Of this.”
I gestured.
Between us.
The apartment.
The quiet.
He dried his hands.
Slow.
One finger at a time.
“Cassie.”
“What?”
“I’m 32,” he said.
“You’re 26.
I have a kid.
You have nothing.”
“I have this,” I said.
“This apartment.
This… us.”
He stepped closer.
“Cassie.”
“Dante.”
Mimi’s voice from the bathroom:
“Daddy! Ate Cass! Towel!”
We jumped apart.
Dante grabbed a towel.
“Coming, anak.”
He left.
I stood there.
Heart racing.
Hands wet.
He didn’t kiss me.
He didn’t say he loved me.
But he chose nights.
For us.
And that was louder than a kiss.
---
At 9PM, Mimi was asleep.
Dante sat on the couch.
I sat on the floor. Again.
“Chapter 12 tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Same time?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Silence.
“Dante.”
“What?”
“Thank you for the pancakes.”
“Thank you for staying.”
We didn’t touch.
We didn’t need to.
Because for the first time,
we both chose to stay.
At 10PM, my phone buzzed.
*Dreame:*
`Reads: 1,800. Library: 115.`
I showed him.
“Good,” he said.
“Dante.”
“What?”
“Can I ask something?”
“Yes.”
“If the book fails…”
“It won’t.”
“But if it does—”
“Then we open another shop,” he said.
“Together.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not temporary,” he said.
“And I’m done pretending I don’t need you.”
The words hung there.
I nodded.
Because if I talked, I’d cry.
At 11PM, he stood up.
“Bed,” he said.
“You take it.”
“Dante—”
“I’ll sleep here,” he said.
“Floor.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said.
“If I’m on the bed, I’ll want you there too.
And I’m not ready.”
I nodded.
He lay down.
2 feet away.
“Dante.”
“What?”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Cassie.”
We slept.
Not together.
But not apart.
_End of Chapter 11_
- Writer
