Sandra shoots me a look I can’t read. “Loud, huh?”
Teddy nods once, serious. “But… sort of funny.”
The shock ripples through me harder than I can hide. Because that’s the most I’ve heard him say in front of anyone. And it’s about her. Mum clasps her hands together, delighted. “Well, she sounds wonderful. You’ll have to bring her next Sunday.”
“No.” The word is out before I can stop it.
Sandra smirks. “What, scared we’ll like her more than you?”
Andrew chuckles into his beer. Even Dad’s mouth quirks. Mum waves me off like I’m still fifteen. “Don’t be ridiculous. Bring her. It’ll be nice for her to feel included. Especially if she’s going to be spending a lot of time with you and our little Teddy.”
“It’s not happening,” I insist, sharper than I mean to.
Sandra leans back, eyes dancing with the kind of sibling satisfaction I know too well. “You can’t hide her forever.” My jaw clenches. Because she’s not mine to hide. She’s a Mitchell. A line I have no business crossing, and yet, my son’s words echo in my head long after the conversation shifts to something else.Loud.Funny.
For him to notice, for him to say it out loud, that’s notnothing. That’s everything.
Two weeks. That’s how long Olivia Mitchell’s been in my house. Babysitting. Long enough to settle into a rhythm. Long enough for me to see that she’s not flaking yet.
Which, honestly, is a first.
Things are… fine. Rocky sometimes. Awkward as hell when she’s chirping away, and Teddy shuts down completely. But fine. Better than fine on the good days when Teddy lets her close enough to sit in the same room, when he hums along while she chatters like she’s talking to herself. She doesn’t know it, but that’s his version of comfort.
I know what comes next, though. It always starts out okay. Then the hard days roll in. The days when Teddy’s world feels too loud, too sharp, too much. When he refuses to leave his room, or his shoes have to be lined up just right, or the whole day derails. Or when the weight of change crushes him so hard, it sends him into a spiral I can’t always pull him out of.
That’s usually when people bail.
The office buzzes louder than the coffee machine in the corner. Woody’s already up on his desk, re-enacting some weekend footy tackle. Stokes is tossing in his trademark “stoked, mate” every thirty seconds, and Reynolds is laughing so hard, he nearly spits coffee across the files stacked high between us. It’s chaos, but it’s productive chaos. Our mornings always start like this. Banter layered over the grind of casework that’s got us swamped. Half are rural jobs that land right in our lap, the other half arecloser to Sydney than we have any right to cover. Small town, big workload. Which is why the pile of files on my desk doesn’t faze me. What does faze me is Reynolds leaning over, a pen tapping against his lip.
“So, Daniels. How’s the new nanny?”
I groan, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. “She’s not a nanny.”
He grins, that shit-eating one that tells me he’s been waiting all morning to bring this up. “What’s the fucking difference?”
“A nanny’s live-in. Long-term. This is temporary.” I level him with a look. “She’s a babysitter.”
His mouth tips down like he’s pretending to consider the distinction. “Uh-huh. And how’d the big boss in there take the news?” Of course he knows. Hell, they all do. The second Olivia Mitchell walked through my front door, the gossip train left the damn station.
“Oh, he was thrilled,” I mutter. “We toasted to it over coffee and bagels. Real bonding moment.”
Stokes barks out a laugh. “Well, good luck, mate.”
I frown. “Why would I need luck?”
He shrugs. “Because if you fall for your best mate’s sister, he’ll bury you in the paddock behind his dad’s farm and claim plausible deniability.”
“I’m not gonna fall for her,” I snap, sharper than intended. “Now piss off and get back to work.”
Stokes raises his hands in surrender. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I open my mouth to reply, but the familiar sound of footsteps grows closer. Bradley strides past, files under his arm, his scowl dialled to eleven. He doesn’t even slow as he passes, just tosses a single word over his shoulder. “Daniels.” It’s not a greeting. It’s a warning. A one-word threat wrapped in sibling loyalty and the kind of silent judgement only a lifelong friend could pull off. Theroom erupts behind me. Laughter bouncing off the walls, Woody wheezing somewhere near the printer.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly through my nose. “Glad to know everyone’s deeply invested in my childcare arrangements.”
“Not your childcare, mate,” Woody calls. “Your survival.” I flip him the bird without turning around. Because the truth is, I don’t have the energy to argue. Olivia’s in my house. She’s taking care of Teddy. She’s loud, persistent, and has already wormed her way into routines she has no business belonging in. But this? This is fine. It’s fine. Everything’s still professional. For now.
10
