“Yeah, that tracks.” Her sigh is heavy with something like regret. “We weren’t close growing up. He was the golden boy, I was the black sheep. Then Mum jettisoned our arsehole father, and suddenly we’re on the same team.” She gives me a look. “Jacob was Dad’s favorite. I didn’t get it at the time, but I think that came with… burdens, and expectations. And a fuckton of pressure.”
“So your pops made him uptight?” I say. Useful data point.
“To an extent. But… confidentially?” I nod. “I’ve often wondered if he’s on the spectrum.”
Relief loosens something in my chest. “I’m glad you said that, ’cos I was wondering the same. I take it he’s never been assessed?”
Sadie lets out a bitter little laugh. “In the Stewart household? Not a chance. That would be ‘admitting weakness’. As if there’s anything weak about being neurodivergent in a world built for neurotypicals.”
“Preach.” As someone with ADHD, I know all about being a square peg in a world made up of round holes. I manage because it was caught early and accommodated. Jacob didn’t get that luxury.
I replay him in my mind: the rigid posture, the way eye contact sometimes seemed like a second language with which he is barely conversational, the subtle breathing exercises I recognized from my own meltdowns, and how small talk clearly drained him. I’d bet good money he prepared questions before our date. Even his premature orgasm fits things I’ve read about autistic men: sensory overwhelm, nerves, trouble voicing what they need.
Square peg energy, a different shape to mine, but from the same toolbox.
Sadie studies me, cautious. “Are you sure you want to… go there with Jacob? There’s nothing casual about him. He’s not a hit-it-and-quit-it guy. He doesn’t do casual aboutanything.” It’s both warning and plea.
Guilt twinges as I think of Thursday night. Maybe I did push him too hard. Maybe he isn’t a good candidate for what I’m offering, which is very much short term fun, not forever.
But then I remember the way he asked me to leave when he’d hit his limit. Clear, polite, firm. Hecanadvocate for himself. He’s not a drowning kitten; he’s a fully functional adult who built himself a damn good life while masking like a pro.
Maybe the grown-up thing is totalk to him. Do him the respectful courtesy of askinghimwhat he wants, not decide for him.
And honestly? Iwantto see him again. It’s not just the height and the silky dark hair and that carved-from-marble jaw. Or the deep, soft voice that makes my toes curl in my boots. Or the really,reallynice cock. Long, thick, veiny, and gorgeous in that frantic moment of release.
It’s the way he holds himself together like he’s always half-braced. The banked fires. The quiet mind ticking under the silence. The restraint that makes every tiny crack in it feel like a hard won jackpot.
God, restraints. There’s a fun thought.
“I’ll talk to him,” I tell Sadie, and myself. “I’ll swing by later and see if he wants to discuss next steps.Ifhe’s interested.”
If he’s not, then easy come, easy go. No pun intended. But God, I hope he is. That fifteen seconds or so of him inside me? Potential. Seriouspotential.
“That’s probably a good idea.” Sadie shrugs gently so she doesn’t dislodge either twin. “He’s genuinely a very nice man. I spent so long assuming he was Team Dad, that it took me too long to see that. But he…” She sighs. “No offence, darling, but you’d eat him for breakfast and he wouldn’t know what hit him.”
“Who are you eating for breakfast?” a small voice asks.
Rhiannon wanders in, all jungle-print dungarees and black T-shirt. I French-braided her hair this morning and she’s absolutely rocking it.
“Your Uncle Jacob,” I say, hauling her onto my lap and kissing her soft little cheek. “I’m gonna whisk him up with flour and sugar until he’s your Uncle Cake-ob.”
Her peals of giddy laughter never get old. “Youcan’tdo that!” she squeals. “He makes the best lemon and sugar pancakes ever. They’re better than Mummy’s or Daddy’s.”
“Ouch, Princess,” Leo says as he appears, grabbing his wallet and keys.
“I can’t help it if it’s true.” She shrugs reasonably, then brightens. “Can we make pancakes now?”
“You’ve had your breakfast,” Sadie reminds her.
“And you wanted to come with Daddy to the parlor, remember?” Leo leans down to kiss his wife far too thoroughly for a family room, then kisses both sons’ foreheads. He lifts Rhiannon onto his shoulders, holding on to her shins. “Now, Sugarpop, steer me. Grab my ears.”
She does, tugging the one closest to the door. “Hey, yo, don’t rip my ear off,” he groans, grinning, and fist bumps me on the wayout.
“You not going to Wishbone today?” I ask Sadie once they’re gone.
“God, no.” She looks tired but happy. “I have milk pumping to do and I would kill for a nap.” She bats her lashes at me. “Any chance you could watch them for a couple of hours? Pretty please?”
“You don’t even have to ask.” I have zero interest in motherhood for myself, but my Fun Aunt Era? Thriving.
