The way he says it, like we’re a team already, makes my pulse trip. Zosia clings to my hip, Kacper clutches my shirt, and suddenly there’s no escape hatch left. I’m doubly trapped.
Piotr beams like he’s won the lottery. “See? Perfect. We’ll only be a couple of hours. Don’t text unless the house is on fire.”
The front door barely clicks shut behind Aga and Piotr before Zosia tugs at my sleeve with all the force of a hurricane in a tutu.
“Auntie Kasia, read me a story!” She already has a book in hand—some fairytale with a dragon on the cover and she’s bouncing like I promised her candy.
“Let me sit down first,” I protest weakly, juggling tote bag, shoes, and the very solid baby currently drooling on my shoulder.
Kacper chooses that exact moment to let out a wail, tiny body stiffening in my arms. My heart leaps. I can do surgeries, laser procedures, handle panicked adults, but one squalling infant can undo me.
Before I can even panic, Dominik heads to the kitchen, does whatever magical warming ritualis needed and is right there. He takes the bottle, testing it against his wrist like he was born doing this. When Kacper keeps fussing, he doesn’t hesitate, just lifts him gently out of my arms and settles him against his chest, big hand cupping the baby’s head. He starts pacing the room, low murmurs in Polish under his breath, nudging the bottle into his mouth until he takes it. Kacper stops almost instantly, hiccupping from greed after a minute, into the fabric of his shirt. He chuckles. “Not so fast, huh?”
“Show-off,” I mutter, sinking onto the couch.
He glances up, grinning, the kind of grin that knows it’s earned. “It’s not a contest, doktorka. But if it was…” He bounces Kacper lightly, smug as hell. “…I win.”
I roll my eyes with an unimpressed sigh. Zosia doesn’t care about either of us, shoving the book into my lap like a drill sergeant. “Now, Auntie. You promised.”
“I did no such thing.” But I open it anyway, curling her into my side as she nestles down, head on my shoulder. Her hair smells like baby shampoo and crayons. My voice falls into the rhythm of the story almost automatically, years of babysitting my cousins dusted off.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Dominik pacing slow circles, Kacper’s tiny hand gripping his shirt, the rise and fall of his chest steady as a metronome. He looks like he belongs that way. Like the chaos doesn’t bother him, like he’s lived in it long enough to turn it into calm.
When I finally glance up from the book, our eyes meet across the room. For a second, the whole world is just this: me reading, himrocking, kids tucked against us like some impossible family portrait. My stomach flips.
Zosia jabs my ribs. “You missed a page.”
“I did not,” I protest.
She narrows her eyes with all the authority of a Supreme Court judge. “You skipped the dragon roar.”
“Ah, you’re right. How could I?” I lift my chin, and bellow a roar so over-the-top it almost rattles the lampshade. Zosia shrieks with laughter, nearly tipping off the couch.
Kacper stirs at the noise, whimpering, but Dominik just chuckles low, bouncing him back into calm. “You’re scaring him, doktorka.”
“Dragons are supposed to be scary,” I shoot back, cheeks warm.
“Mm. Maybe stick to medicine. Acting’s not your calling.”
I gasp in mock offense. “That was award-winning.”
He shakes his head, smiling down at the baby like I’m ridiculous and he’s enjoying every second of it. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Zosia claps her hands. “Again!”
“Your aunt’s going to lose her voice,” Dominik says, finally easing onto the opposite end of the couch with Kacper still snug against him. “Then who will read your story?”
“You can.” Zosia smirks, devious. “You’re good at it.”
He shoots me a look over her head, half-challenging, half-playful. I fold the book closed, pretending I’m off duty. “Well? Don’t keep the audience waiting.”
So there we are—him rumbling through dragon lines in an absurdly deep growl, me correcting his pronunciation of the princess’s name, Zosia cackling at every misstep. Kacper sleeps through all of it, dead to the world against his chest.
It shouldn’t feel like anything. Just babysitting, just family and the neighborhood boy I've known all my life. My annoying brother'sfriend. But the ease of it, the laughter, the domestic little brushes, they hit deeper than I expect. I can’t look at him without seeing how natural he is in this space, how warm his voice gets with a baby in his arms. Worse, I can’t quite look away.
Zosia’s eyelids droop halfway through the second dragon story. By the time Dominik growls out his final roar, she’s slumped against me, thumb tucked in her mouth.
“Come on, ksiezniczka,” I whisper, sliding her off my lap. “Time to make you a fort.”
