My heart warmed watching them. It was chaotic and loud and honestly kind of magical. The kind of magic I’d forgotten could exist outside of carefully crafted press releases.
But even with all that going on—even with Derek’s Broadway-worthy whistle twirls and Adam’s absurd backflips over cones—my eyes kept drifting back to Kieren.
He was quieter, less flashy. But that didn’t make him any less magnetic.
He moved through the gym with this grounded, focused energy. Encouraging. Steady. Present. He crouched beside a nervous little girl who wouldn’t leave the wall and talked to her for a solid minute before she finally agreed to try. When she did, he walked alongside her, matching her slow pace as the others ran laps around them. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t push.
Just stayed.
I didn’t even realize I was smiling until one of the teachers walked past and gave me a knowing look.
“You’ve got a good one there,” she said with a wink.
I blinked. “I?—”
She just laughed and kept walking.
I watched as the little girl tugged on Kieren’s sleeve, beaming, and he offered her a high five so gently it nearly cracked something open in my chest.
Yeah. Maybe he wasn’t mine.
But in that moment, I wanted him to be.
He didn’t even notice me watching him.
Kieren was crouched down in the middle of the gym, surrounded by the shyest group of kids in the building—tiny, nervous little ones who barely let go of their teachers’ hands when we got here. One girl was practically hiding behind him, her face pressed into the back of his jersey like she thought the fabric might shield her from the chaos. Another stood off to the side with one shoe untied, glancing down like it was a problem too big to solve.
Without fanfare, Kieren knelt in front of her and tied it.
No big declaration. No look-at-me smile. Just… kindness. Quiet, uncomplicated, not meant to be seen.
I should’ve looked away, maybe. But I couldn’t.
He was patient with them. Listening intently. Nodding. Giving high fives that were slow and deliberate, like each one meant something. Like these kids weren’t just a PR stop—they were people who mattered.
And then he laughed.
Not the cocky laugh he used with the press, or the teasing one he’d given me in that kitchen when I said I didn’t believe in forever. This laugh was low and warm, the kind you don’t even realize you’re letting out.
It made something twist deep in my chest.
One of the kids tugged on his sleeve. “Are you famous?”
I saw his mouth curve into a grin. “I don’t know. You think I am?”
That got a round of giggles. Another girl tilted her head and asked, “Are you married?”
He hesitated, just for a beat.
Then his eyes lifted.
And found mine.
His voice was casual when he answered—too casual. “Nope. But who knows?”
But the way he held my gaze told me it wasn’t just a joke.
Something fluttered under my ribs.
