He’s so smug. So calm. So him. And he knows exactly what he’s doing—playing my paranoia like a piano.
I hate how well it works.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too hard,” he says, brushing a strand of hair off my face with maddening gentleness. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
I slap his hand away.
He just laughs.
At home, Ben won’t shut up about Jav.
“Mr. K is so cool, Mom. He said we could run a mini-economy and I’m gonna be the snack baron and?—”
I zone out somewhere around “intergalactic juice trade.”
He’s glowing. Lit up like a nova. And I should be happy. I should be thrilled my kid is finally connecting with a teacher. But all I can think about is how much of Jav I see in him when he smiles like that.
Same mischief. Same spark.
Same damn dimple.
I close my eyes.
I’m in so much trouble.
By midnight, the permission slip’s still on my counter.
Unsigned.
But I’ve packed a bag.
Just in case.
CHAPTER 8
JAV
Dismissal is the worst part of the school day.
Not because of the kids—those tiny terrors I can handle. No, it’s the moms.
Specifically, the *Haven-7 Parent Syndicate*, which sounds like a polite social club but operates more like a black-market intelligence agency with bake sales. They’re gathered like a wall of scented judgment outside the classroom, eyeing me like I’ve tracked mud over their precious star silk rugs.
One of them, a sharp-eyed woman in a mauve suit with precision-braided hair, steps forward as I open the door.
“Mr. Kuraken,” she says with a smile so tight it could be used for strangulation. “We’ve been meaning to schedule a meeting.”
I smile back, every tooth on display. “Lucky for you, I’m here now.”
She blinks. “It’s about your… credentials.”
Of course it is.
“Ah, yes,” I say, clasping my hands behind my back. “My dissertation on interspecies peace-building through early childhood education did raise a few eyebrows.”
She narrows hers. “You have a doctorate?”
