"She's right."
Liam's voice was steady, quiet, but it carried weight. We both looked at him. He'd set down his fork, his full attention on Mia.
"I know you don't know me very well yet. And I know this whole situation is strange. But I want you to know something."
Mia watched him, wary—but listening.
“This is your home now,” he spoke without rushing, like he was giving her room to follow. “Yours and Riley’s. And as long as you’re here, no one is going to hurt either of you. Not Todd. Not anyone.” He held her gaze, not flinching, not looking away. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. So when I tell you that you’re safe here, I mean it.”
The kitchen fell quiet.
Mia studied him with the same careful scrutiny she gave everything that mattered—eyes narrowed just enough, breathingheld, like she was testing the space for hidden traps. I recognized that look. I’d worn it myself for years.
She searched his face for the crack, the hesitation, the place the promise would unravel.
She didn’t find it.
“Okay.” The word came out small, tentative. Barely more than a breath. But it was something.
Liam nodded, then cleared his throat. “Now. Who wants ice cream? I’ve got rocky road in the freezer.”
Mia blinked at the sudden shift. “You have ice cream?”
“I have a lot of things. The pantry’s basically a survivalist bunker. My grandmother was convinced the apocalypse was coming and we’d need to live off canned goods and frozen desserts.”
“That’s weird.”
“She was a weird lady. Very lovable, but weird.” He stood, heading for the freezer. “Three bowls?”
Mia looked at me.
I nodded.
“Okay.” Mia’s eyes flicked between us. Then she nodded too. “Three bowls.”
It wasn’t much. A small moment of normalcy in a day that had been anything but. But watching Liam scoop ice cream into a bowl—watching the corners of Mia’s mouth twitch, those almost-smiles she reserved for moments that felt safe enough not to cost her later—I felt something loosen in my chest.
He’d meant what he said. I could see it in the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d spoken without hesitation. This wasn’t part of the arrangement. This wasn’t for the court or the caseworker or anyone else.
He’d promised to keep us safe because he wanted to.
I didn’t fully understand that. Had never learned to. Most people who’d claimed they cared had only ever taught me how much it hurt to believe them.
I didn’t know what to do with that anymore. Didn’t know how to fit it into the careful boxes I’d built for this relationship. Business arrangement. Temporary solution. Nothing more.
The labels still existed. They just didn’t hold the way they used to. What sat between us now wasn’t cold or distant. And that unsettled me more than if it had been.
But watching him hand Mia a bowl of ice cream, I felt it shift.
She took it from him without hesitation. No flinch. No calculation. Just acceptance—quiet, tentative, and startling in its simplicity. Something close to trust. Something she’d never really been given. Her childhood hadn’t left room for it. Innocence had been taken early, replaced by vigilance and loss.
The careful categories I’d built began to blur at the edges.
Business arrangement. Temporary solution. Nothing more.
Maybe we could do this. Maybe we could make it work.
If nothing else, we could play the part well enough.
