Rhys and I are on our way home.

It’s a month since we all went for the adventure weekend in the Brecon Beacons.

"Everything okay?” he asks as we stroll slowly down the flagstone path towards our terraced house.

"Yep."

"You don’t sound it."

I shrug, but I daren’t look at him.

He hooks his arm across my shoulders and pulls me into him.

"No one bullying you at school or anything?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"This isn't boyfriend trouble, is it? You're too young to have a boyfriend."

"You have a girlfriend."

"No, I don't,” he mumbles. "She dumped me, remember?"

I don't know what to say to that, so I wait for Rhys to put his keys in the front door and let us in.

"Hey, Dad. We're home," I shout from the hallway, and dad shouts back that he's in the kitchen.

I toe off my shoes, hang my coat on the hook on the wall, and make my way towards the kitchen.

Dad never cooks, so to see the kitchen table a complete mess with flour and eggs everywhere, causes a giggle to burst free from my lips. He turns to look at me from his place by the oven, and it's quite endearing to see he's even wearing an apron covered in daffodils, and has flour on the end of his nose.

On a cooling rack by the oven is a tray full of shortbread, and a plate of welsh cakes. They look pretty edible, and Rhys steals one, but hisses out a curse when it burns his lips.

"Ouch. That's hot."

"That's what you get for stealing them. You can have as many as you want when they cool down," Dad chuckles, watching as Rhys waves around his shortbread finger in an attempt to cool it quicker.

"What's with the cooking?" I ask while staring at Rhys who has his burnt tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog, trying to cool the sting.

Dad looks uncharacteristically nervous.

"The truth?"

I nod.

He looks sheepish when he says, "I guess they're kind of a peace offering and a sweetener all rolled into one."

I look at Rhys, and he shrugs as if to say, 'I haven't got a clue.'

Dad unhooks the flowered apron from around his neck. It was Mum's apron, but she must have left it here. I stare at the yellow daffodils covering the fabric and have the urge to count them.

With floury hands, he begins pacing back and forth along the cabinets, and my stomach plummets.

He’s going to drop a bombshell on us.

I look to Rhys for support, but he’s wiping his hands on his jeans and eyeing the trays of baked goods. I guess he's not thinking along the same lines as me. He's more worried about how long before the biscuits cool.

"Spit it out, Dad?" Rhys says impatiently while picking up another shortbread finger.

Dad stops pacing a hole in the lino and drags out a chair. He sits and looks at us both for a long moment before admitting, "I'm seeing someone. We've been dating for a few months, and I think it could be getting serious."

What?

I must have misheard him. All he ever does is go to work then come home. He's always here, how could he have met someone?

Then it dawns on me. We spend every other week at Mum's.

Rhys drops his biscuit on the table in shock.

"Her name is Kate. She's a teacher. I met her in the supermarket."

"You met a teacher in the supermarket?"

He chuckles. "There was a long queue at the checkout. We got to talking while we waited and realised there was an attraction between us."

Rhys ignores this admission and asks, "A few months? Why haven't you told us about her before now?"

Dad picks up the biscuit that Rhys discarded but doesn't eat it.

"I didn't want to upset you for no reason. I know you still struggle with sharing your time between here and your mother's place, and I didn't want you to know about Kate until I knew it was something serious."

"If you're telling us, then it's serious?" I ask, trying to work through the million questions in my brain.

Dad has been dating someone for months?

That means someone else is likely to become a part of our lives?

When I get my initial emotions in check, I do feel happy for him. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.

I slip my hand under the table and squeeze Rhys' forearm. Giving him the silent acknowledgment that I'm alright with this, and hoping he is too.

"Kate, huh? So, when do we get to meet the teacher from the supermarket?"

“Whenever you want.”

Rhys leans forward and plucks his biscuit from between Dad's fingers, all the while not looking at his face.

"I need to go and do my homework," he says before stuffing the entire finger biscuit into his mouth and leaving the room.

We both stare at his retreating form.

I don't want there to be awkwardness between us.

"If it's serious, do you love her?" I ask.

He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before admitting almost shyly, "I like her a lot. Maybe I could love her, but I really need you to meet her first because that's the clincher. I need to see how she is with you guys before I take this any further. You and your brother will always be my priority."

He tilts his head towards the remains of the baked treats and then smiles down at the mess on the table.

"Hence my poor attempt at baking. Kate's coming over tonight. But it’s okay if you’re not ready yet. I just wanted to give you the option.”

I choose my words carefully. Dad has tried to put us first in all of this, and I don't want to mess it up and hurt him by saying something wrong.

"If she makes you happy and she doesn't care about our weird family, and even weirder kids," I tilt my head towards the doorway Rhys just exited, and roll my eyes playfully. “Then she’s okay by me.”

I pick up a welsh cake, take a big bite, and grin at him with sugar covering my lips.

He smiles at me, and it's a smile I haven't seen for a long time. It’s a smile from before.

Without taking his eyes off my face, he stands and comes around to my side.

"Come here, Flower. Give your Dad a cwtch. He needs one. It’s tough telling your teenage kids that your dating again."

Flower. He called me Flower.

I swallow the lump of cake in my mouth and drop the chunk still in my hand on the table. My little meek heart, that sometimes feels too small for my body, fills with warmth, and I stand and turn to face him.

His big hands cup both sides of my neck, and he studies my face intently.

His eyes well up as he bends to kiss my forehead.

"You're so beautiful, Flower," he says reverently. "I love you and you're not weird. I don't want you to ever call yourself weird again. You're Fflur, and you're perfect."

He pulls me into his hard chest and hugs me tightly. Here in my father’s arms is home. And this, this right here is more than a hug—it’s a cwtch. The one he asked for.

I inhale the scent of home that clings to the crisp fabric of his shirt and ask, "What time is Kate coming?"

I promise I'll try to accept her into our world.

Rhys' voice comes from behind us, and we both turn to look at him slouching in the doorway. "Yeah, what she said. When is Kate coming? Because I can't wait to eat the rest of the biscuits."

Dad squeezes me tighter at Rhys’ attempt at acceptance and support. “Oh,” my grinning brother adds for good measure.

“You can tell her to come over more often if it means you’ll be baking again.”