I ignore him and gesture toward the rear of the cabin. “Down that way,” I say gruffly, hoping the kid will just figure it out.
But Maksim isn’t done. “You realize he is four years old?” he points out, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And good luck getting him to work the latch on the toilet. You might as well just—oh, I don’t know—help him.”
“I’m not doing that,” I snap, but Elijah’s wide, watery eyes cut through my resolve like a knife. He’s staring at me like I’m his last hope, and damn it, I’ve faced down men twice my size without blinking, but this? This is different.
“Fine,” I mutter under my breath, standing and crossing the cabin in a few long strides. “Come on.”
Elijah brightens immediately, holding out his hand, which I don’t take. Instead, I scoop him up under the arms like he’s a bag of groceries, ignoring the way his little feet kick in surprise. He giggles, the sound bubbling out unexpectedly, and for a second, I’m too thrown off to react.
“Whoa! I’m flying!” he announces, holding his Pikachu aloft like it’s some kind of flag. Maksim snorts behind me, but I don’t turn around. If I look at him now, I’ll throw him out the nearest emergency exit.
I carry Elijah toward the lavatory, his weight surprisingly light in my arms. “This is the toilet,” I say, setting him down in front of the door.
He stares at it like it’s some kind of puzzle box, his head tilted to one side. “How do I open it?”
Maksim’s laugh echoes through the cabin. “This is gold. Pure gold.”
I shoot him a glare over my shoulder before leaning down to push the latch. The door swings open, revealing the compact, marble-lined bathroom. Elijah steps inside, clutching Pikachu to his chest, and turns to me with a serious expression.
“Do I close the door?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “And don’t touch anything you don’t have to.”
He nods solemnly, like I’ve handed him life-or-death instructions, and shuts the door. A few moments of rustling follow, then a flush. The door creaks open again, and Elijah steps out, his chest puffed out like he’s just conquered the world.
“I did it!” he announces proudly.
“Great,” I say, reaching out to ruffle his messy hair despite myself. He beams at me, his face glowing with triumph, and for a moment, the weight of everything waiting for me in Switzerland fades.
“Did you wash your hands?”
His expression falters for a second, twisting into something mischievous. “Nope!” he says, sticking his tongue out at me. Before I can stop him, he shoves Pikachu into my hands like it’s a time bomb. “Hold this!”
“Wait—what?” I fumble with the stuffed toy, holding it awkwardly as though it might combust. “You’re not serious.”
He dashes back into the bathroom, and the door swings shut with a bang. A pause. Then, slowly, it creaks open again, and Elijah’s head pops out.
“I… can’t reach the sink,” he says, his voice small but not even remotely embarrassed.
I roll my eyes hard enough to strain something. “Fine.”
Setting Pikachu on the nearest seat, I stride toward the bathroom, muttering under my breath. The door opens wider as Elijah steps aside, looking up at me with wide-eyed expectation.
Inside, it’s exactly what I feared—water on the counter, soap smears everywhere. The stool is pushed to the side, useless.
Without a word, I grab him under the arms and hoist him up. “Hold still,” I grumble, angling him toward the faucet. He squirms just enough to make it difficult.
“You’re heavy,” I add, pressing the soap dispenser and lathering his hands for him.
“I’m not heavy,” he retorts indignantly, wriggling in my grip.
“Then stop moving,” I snap, rinsing his hands under the running water.
He falls still for a moment, long enough for me to finally focus. Through the mirror, his reflection catches mine. It’s just a glance, but it’s enough to make my chest tighten unexpectedly.
My heart stutters. His wide, brown eyes—curious, trusting, and far too familiar—meet mine. Something about the way they catch the light makes my grip falter slightly.
He looks way too…
