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“You’ve got muscles too. You’d be all floppy if you didn’t.” She giggles again. “Boys tend to be stronger, though,” I add, shaving, then rinsing, “and they can often run faster.”

“Not faster than me,” she says. “I can beat all the boys at daycare when we race.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Millie, what are you—oh!” Vix appears in the doorway and stares in shock. “Goodness,” she says to her daughter, “what are you doing? You can’t just go into the bathroom when someone’s in there!”

“It’s okay,” I tell her, “I opened the door. I don’t mind. I’m only shaving.” I return my gaze to the mirror and draw the razor up my neck and rinse it. The two of them watch, mesmerised—Millie with open fascination, Vix as if she wants to tear her gaze away but can’t.

Of course, they’ve not seen a guy do this in a long time; maybe ever, as Jayden had a beard the last time I saw him, and Rudolph has one, too. Vix’s gaze flicks across my bare chest before she seems to realise what she’s doing. She meets my eyes in the mirror, and I hold her gaze for a moment. Her face slowly flushes red.

Lips curving up, I rinse the razor, then start on the other side of my face.

“Mitch says I have muscles,” Millie states, looking at her slender arms. “But boys’ muscles are stronger.”

“That’s right,” Vix says.

“Why do boys have willies though?”

“Good lord.” Vix lifts her down as I laugh. “Breakfast, go on. Mitch will be down in a minute.”

Millie sighs and runs out, and Vix goes to the door. “I’m so sorry,” she apologises.

“I’ve heard worse,” I say wryly, removing the last strip of foam.

“Of course… I keep forgetting you’re a primary school teacher.”

“You’d be amazed what kids come out with.”

She chuckles. “Anyway, just wanted to say breakfast is ready if you want some.”

I start emptying the sink, rinsing around to get rid of the foam and hair. “If that’s bacon I smell, then absolutely.”

“You still eat like a horse,” she says, somewhat enviously. “I don’t know how you’re not two hundred kilos.”

“Ten thousand steps is a slow day,” I joke. “We’re always getting the kids moving. Jump Jam, running, kapa haka…” I grab the towel and dry my face.

“You teach kapa haka?” It’s a traditional Māori performing art involving singing and dancing.

“Yeah. And Mau Rākau.” That’s the traditional Māori martial art of weapon combat. “My grandmother’s dad was Māori, and when I was very little, he used to show me some moves.”

“That’s so cool.” She moves aside as I approach the door.

“Keeps me fit.” I stop in front of her and flex my arm. “Want to feel my strong boy muscles?”

I wait for her to tut and walk away, but she lifts a hand and squeezes my biceps. “Very impressive,” she says, looking up at me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Our gazes lock, and for a moment I can’t breathe. It would be so easy to dip my head and kiss her.

Her breath catches, and her lips part.

“Mitch!” Millie appears at the top of the stairs. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Vix drops her gaze and walks over to her. “He’ll just be a minute.”

“I want him to sit next to me.”

“Well, he might be nice and do that if you stop nagging him.” She leads the little girl down the stairs, not looking back.