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“Ten take away five is five, times by four is … twenty. Then add thirteen is thirty-three. Hey, that’s how old you are!”

“Sure is. And look at you—you finished the whole sheet.” He holds up his hand for a high five, but Caitlin hugs him instead, and his whole face lights up. “Good job, Kit-cat.”

Oh god. This is too much. They’re so sweet.

It’s a happy moment, but it makes my heart ache. When she was a baby, I used to imagine Caitlin growing up and doing her homework with Dom exactly like this. Now, I can’t imagine Dom ever being interested enough to even offer her a high five.

I knock on the doorframe and they both look over. Caitlin jumps up, brandishing her worksheet.

“Look, Mama! Killian helped me finish my math homework. Can I go watch TV with James now?”

“Sure. Do you want to say something to Killian first?”

She spins on her heel and practically tackles him in another hug. “Thanks, Killian. You’re the best.” And then, like the whirlwind she is, she races down the stairs.

I shake my head. “I think you might be replacing me as favorite,” I say, but I smile so he knows I’m not upset.

“I could never. I’m just glad I finally got to use the math skills all of my teachers swore I’d need one day,” he answers, chuckling. “I’ve never been a big numbers person, but it’s good to know I retained the basics.”

Not a big numbers person. I file it away—every little scrap of information I learn about him builds a bigger picture of Killian Michaelson.

“Thank you for the groceries. You didn’t have to do that—I was going to go in a couple of days, but it’s a huge help.”

“Happy to help,” he replies with a smile that makes my stomach flip. “I’ve always loved grocery shopping. I lived in a shared flat in uni and used to do the shopping.”

“What did you study at college— uni?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Killian looks momentarily surprised, but he still obliges me as I perch on the end of Caitlin’s bed. “Law.”

“Seriously?” I don’t mean to sound as disbelieving as I do. Thankfully, he laughs.

“Aye. My favorite uncle is a lawyer. When I was a kid, I used to wish he was my dad instead, and I always said I was going to follow in his footsteps.” He says it matter-of-factly, like it isn’t absolutely devastating that he grew up wishing his dad was someone else. “But law wasn’t for me. I dropped out in my third year.”

I don’t know what’s more surprising—him studying law in the first place, him dropping out, or Piper not finding out about either when she cyberstalked him. “Why didn’t you like it?”

“I know there’s more to it, but it felt like being a lawyer just meant being charming enough to convince people to do what you want, and I’m not nearly as charming as my uncle is. I probably could’ve stuck it out, but I was tired of school by that point.”

“I think you’re charming,” I say and immediately regret it. “But I’m glad you ended up in a job you enjoy.”

“Thanks, Scar.” His eyes crinkle as a warm smile takes over his face. “What did you study before you left to have Caitlin?”

“Computer science. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I like puzzles and problem-solving, so my high school teachers recommended something I could use to go into data analysis. It was fun.” I wasn’t particularly passionate about it, but I’ve always liked learning.

“Do you think you’ll go back one day, when the kids are older?” There’s no judgment or expectation in his expression. It’s a question I’ve been asked a lot, and it’s usually loaded, because that’s what people think I should do. I usually say I don’t know. But it’s easier to be honest with Killian.

“I doubt it. Honestly, I love working at the diner. I know I’m supposed to aspire to bigger things or whatever, but I feel like I’m helping to take care of my community and that’s pretty big.”

“It is big. And you’re so good at it. Not just the work part, but the people part. You really connect with people. It’s nice to see.”

I had no idea he’d been paying such close attention, but he’s picked out my favorite part of my job.

“Thanks, Kill. When James starts school, I’ll do more hours, and once they’re old enough to stay home on their own, I’ll probably go full-time, but I don’t want to think about my babies as teenagers,” I say with a shudder.

He laughs. “You’ve got a while to go. Speaking of—”

I don’t hear anything else he says, because he pushes up the sleeves of his sweater, and I’m confronted with the most beautiful forearms I’ve ever seen. Surely, it’s not normal for a pair of arms to look like they’re sculpted from marble? He looks so fucking strong. Has he looked like this the whole time he’s been here?

I mean, there was the whole bare-chest situation. A situation I, admittedly, haven’t stopped thinking about since it happened. Between the arms, the chest, and how fucking nice and funny, and good he is …