"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Are you staying forever?"
The question hits me right in the chest, stealing my breath. "What do you mean?"
"Dad said you're just here for the summer. But I want you to stay forever." His eyes crack open, hazel-green and so earnest it makes my heart hurt. "Can you stay forever?"
I don't know how to answer that. Don't know what I'm allowed to promise, what's safe to hope for. But looking at his sweet face, at the trust written plainly in his expression, I can't bring myself to give him anything but honesty.
"I want to stay," I tell him quietly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "For as long as I'm wanted here, I want to stay."
He smiles, satisfied with that answer, and lets his eyes drift closed. Within minutes his breathing evens out, his small body going slack and heavy with sleep. I sit with him for a while longer, watching the rise and fall of his chest, trying to reconcile the woman I was three weeks ago with the woman I'm becoming.
When I finally ease off his bed and tiptoe out of the room, I find Hunter standing in the hallway. He must have just come home from work because he's still in his suit, his long hair pulled back in a bun that's starting to come loose, his tie hanging undone around his neck.
"Hey," he says quietly, his voice pitched low so we don't wake Isaac. "Didn't know you were up here."
"Just getting Isaac down for his nap," I explain, suddenly hyperaware of everything Wyatt said. About watching Hunter's eyes, about the way he looks at me when I'm not paying attention.
So I look. Really look. And what I see makes my breath catch.
His hazel eyes are soft around the edges, the usual hard lines of his face gentled into something that looks almost tender. He's looking at me like I'm something precious, something worth protecting. Like I matter.
"You're good with them," Hunter says, and there's something in his voice I've never heard before. Something vulnerable and honest. "The kids. They love you."
"I love them too," I admit, because that at least feels safe to say.
Hunter's expression shifts, something complicated flickering across his features. He takes a step closer, and I force myself not to retreat, not to put distance between us even though every instinct is screaming at me to protect myself.
"Wyatt talked to you," he says. It's not a question.
"He... yeah. He did."
Hunter nods slowly, like he expected that. "Good. That's good." He reaches up to loosen his tie completely, pulling it free and draping it over his shoulder. The gesture is casual, domestic, but there's nothing casual about the way he's looking at me. "I know I haven't been... I've kept my distance. But that doesn't mean I don't—" He stops, his jaw working like the words are fighting him. "That doesn't mean I'm not paying attention."
My face flames hot, Wyatt's words echoing in my head.Watch the way his eyes go soft when he focuses on you.
"I don't want to make things complicated," I say, even though things are already complicated, have been complicated for a while now.
"Too late for that." His smile is small but genuine, transforming his whole face. "You walked into this house and turned everything upside down. In the best possible way. The kids are happier. We're eating actual meals. The house feels like a home again instead of just a place we sleep."
"I'm just—"
"Don't say you're just the nanny," he interrupts gently. "You're so much more than that, and I think part of you knows it."
I do know it. That's what terrifies me. I know I've crossed some invisible line from employee to something else, something thatdoesn't have a clear definition or boundaries. Something that could hurt so much worse than anything Vincent did if it all falls apart.
"I'm scared," I whisper, the admission pulled from somewhere deep and honest.
"Me too," Hunter admits, and the vulnerability in those two words cracks something open inside me. "Terrified, actually. But I'm trying to remember that Evie would want us to be happy. That she'd want the kids to have someone who loves them the way you do. That hiding from happiness because I'm scared of losing it again is just another way of letting grief win."
He's quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is rougher. "I think about her every day. Miss her every day. But I'm starting to realize that letting you in doesn't mean pushing her out. There's room for both. For missing what we lost and reaching for what we might have."
My throat is tight, eyes stinging with tears I'm trying desperately not to shed. "I don't want to replace her."
"You couldn't if you tried," Hunter says, but there's no cruelty in it. Just honesty. "She was the kids' mother. My baby sister. Silas and Wyatt's Omega. Nothing changes that. But that doesn't mean there's no room for you. For what you could be to us."
The weight of what he's saying, what he's offering, settles over me like a blanket. Heavy and warm and terrifying.
