She’s right. Teddy’s somehow managed to nestle himself into a part of my heart I didn’t even know was still open. And Sebastian… He’s not what I expected. He’s quieter. Kinder. Frustrating, absolutely, but safe in a way that both unsettles and calms me.
“Hm.”
“‘Hm’ is code for yes,” she says smugly. “Just… be careful. He’s not exactly uncomplicated.”
“I’m being good,” I promise.
Mostly.
But the memory of his mouth on mine has a way of blurring the lines betweengoodanddon’t-give-a-damn.By the time we hang up, my tea’s gone cold, and my brain is a messy knot of her voice, her warnings, and the ghost of a kiss I keep trying to forget.
Or pretend to forget.
Whichever one makes me sound less pathetic.
I rinse the mug, place it upside down on the rack, and shove my phone into my back pocket. There’s laundry waiting, a grocery list half-written on the fridge, and a whole day ahead of me where I’m supposed to act like a functioning adult.
Except my phone rings again. And here’s the thing, I know it sounds strange, but sometimes I can justfeelit. When a call isn’t casual. When something’s not right. It’s like this low hum in my chest, a twist in my gut I’ve never been wrong about. That feeling hits now.
And it’s right.
Wattle Creek Primary School.
My stomach plummets.
“Hi, Olivia Mitchell? It’s Miss Harper, Teddy’s teacher. He’s okay, but he’s had a bit of a tough day. Would you be able to come pick him up?”
I’m already grabbing my keys. “On my way.”
Ten minutes later, I’m standing in the school office, heart punching hard against my ribs. The fluorescent lights hum too loud, too bright. Behind the office desk, looking small, and curled tight on the bench is Teddy—backpack clutched to his chest, eyes red and glassy. The second our eyes meet, he bolts. Arms thrown around my waist, face buried in my jumper. His body trembles against mine, and it guts me. I’ve seen scrapes and tired tantrums. But not this. Nothimlike this.
“Hey,” I murmur, crouching down to his level. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He tucks into my shoulder like he never wants to leave it.
Miss Harper offers a gentle smile. “Just one of those days. He was quiet all morning, then got a bit overwhelmed.”
“Thanks for calling,” I say, rubbing slow circles on his back. “Did you reach his dad?”
“We tried. No answer, so we left a message. You were listed as the next important contact.”
Her words settle somewhere deep.Important.I shouldn’t read into it, but I do. Even knowing it’s just protocol, that it’s how the form works, something about hearing it aloud hits different. Like I matter. Like I’m not just a name on a line butsomeone real in his world. Still, I shove the feeling aside. I’m his babysitter. His safe option when plans go sideways. That’s all.
“I’ll try him again,” I say, steadier now.
Teddy sniffles, squeezing tighter. I press a kiss to his hair. “C’mon, champ. Let’s go home.”
As I grab his bag, Miss Harper adds softly, almost offhand, “You know… I’ve never seen him run that fast to anyone before.”
Her words hang there. I don’t ask the question that forms in my throat. Not even to his dad? I just hold him closer and carry him out into the sun.
In the car, he doesn’t say much—just fiddles with the strap on his booster seat, his little fingers tracing the frayed stitching. I handed him his water bottle when I buckled him in, and now he sips it quietly while I hum under my breath. It’s the same tune Isla uses on Callie when she’s overtired and grizzly. I don’t even think about it. It just slips out, and slowly, Teddy’s breathing starts to match the rhythm. By the time I pull into the driveway, his head is tilted against the window, mouth parted slightly, eyes fluttering closed.
I carry him inside, his arms looped around my neck like it’s second nature. He’s heavier than he looks, all limbs and sleepy weight, but I don’t care. I lay him gently on the couch, tug a blanket over his legs, and smooth the hair off his forehead. He stirs, barely, but doesn’t wake.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.Sebastian.
My stomach clenches. I’d called him right after we left the school. Relayed what happened, that Teddy had a meltdown and that I’d picked him up. He’d sounded so gutted over the phone because he’d been in a case meeting and couldn’t answer at the time. His voice had turned gravelly with concern the moment he spoke. Now, it’s a text.
