I strum my fingers lazily along the strings of the guitar across my lap, not really playing—just giving my hands something to do that isn’t reaching for her hair to see if it’s as soft as it looks.
She licks a smudge of glaze off her thumb and wipes her hand on a napkin like she’s pretending she’s not being watched.
I am absolutely watching her.
She catches me staring and lifts an eyebrow. “Do you stare at all your friends’ sisters, or just the ones who accidentally flash you?”
I grin. “Only the ones who wear powdered sugar like it’s a fashion statement.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see the curve at the corner of her mouth.
“Seriously,” I ask, shifting the guitar off my lap and setting it aside, “how long are you staying at Liam’s?”
She hesitates just a second. “A while. I’m in between places.”
“Voluntarily, or…?”
“Depends how you define ‘voluntarily.’” She picks at the edge of the donut. “My old apartment was too expensive without my grandma. Rent’s a joke in this city. A cruel, cosmically sanctioned joke.”
I nod slowly. “That can’t be easy… And hey, I’m sorry about your grandma—Liam said you were close.”
Her shoulders ease—just a little, but enough. “Thanks.”
She shifts to face me more fully. “Okay, your turn. How did you and Liam meet?”
I lean back, draping an arm across the top of the couch. “Tour. Years ago. We were having a nightmare of a soundcheck—mic problems, feedback, a monitor that kept cutting out. Total chaos.”
She arches a brow but stays quiet, waiting for more.
“The show was about to start late, and then this guy with a man bun and a screwdriver shows up, fiddles with the board, and fixes everything in under three minutes.”
Her eyes widen. “That was Liam?”
“Yup. He wasn’t even on the crew—just filling in for someone. I liked him on sight, and we’ve been stuck with each other ever since.”
She smiles, clearly picturing it.
I take a sip of my drink, glance over at her, and ask—because I genuinely want to know,“So, I heard from Liam you’re a kindergarten teacher? Do you like it?”
She blinks, caught off guard. “Yeah. I mean… I do. ”She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, eyes flicking sideways like she’s bracing for a joke. “It’s kind of chaos, honestly. Tiny chaos. Sticky, emotional chaos. But yeah. I love it.”
I grin. “Sticky, emotional chaos. Sounds like most people’s nightmare.”
She chuckles.
“What made you choose it?” I ask. “Teaching, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” she says, thoughtful now. “It wasn’t a big calling or anything. I just always liked kids. I babysat, tutored. I like seeing the world the way they see it—everything’s big and possible and weird and magical. It was either that or becoming a writer.”
We fall into an easy quiet. I watch her over the rim of my glass. She’s not just good at what she does—shecares. You can hear it in her voice, see it in the way she talks.
“Liam said the kids adore you,” I say.
Her head tilts. “He did?”
I nod. “Told me you once built an entire cardboard castle for the reading corner… and then turned it into a fire-breathing dragon during story hour.”
She groans. “That got wildly out of hand.”
