Chapter 2 Eli
TWO
ELI
The school grounds are still and quiet, just the way I like them.
I lean on my rake, sipping from a Thermos of lukewarm coffee and watching the early sun stretch long across the oval.
The grass is fresh-cut and dewy underfoot, the morning light catching in the blades like someone glitter-bombed the place.
Birds are full of themselves in the paperbarks along the fence line, all chattering and dive-bombing ants.
Somewhere behind the admin block, a kookaburra starts laughing like it’s in on a joke no one else gets.
It’s peaceful. Predictable.
For the next five minutes, anyway.
Once that bell rings and the school comes alive, it’ll be chaos. Controlled chaos, mostly, but chaos all the same.
I stretch my shoulder and feel the catch in my elbow.
Right where the scab is starting to form from yesterday’s impressive stack off the bike.
I roll my sleeve up, inspect it—clean, a bit raised, no sign of infection.
Still sore. And still annoying the hell out of me every time I bend my arm too far.
Thanks, mystery dad.
No, Ant.
I try the name out silently. It suits him.
Steady, warm. A bit cheeky, but not in a trying-too-hard way.
That quick grin and easy banter stuck with me longer than I care to admit.
And okay, yes, he’s hot—rugged, tired, a little scruffy in that very exhausted-dad-who-still-has-it kind of way.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he was with his son.
Alert. Tuned in. The kind of dad who’d wear grass stains and responsibility like a second skin if it meant his kid smiled.
Did I check out his ring finger? Admittedly, I did. Not that that means he’s single.
And the way he said sorry? Actual sincerity is rare these days.
I move down towards the Year 1 garden bed, still thinking about that moment when he caught my eye as I rode off, like neither of us really wanted to leave it at that.
The rake slips a bit in my hand as I shift it. I should focus. It’s Monday. And not just any Monday.
It’s the first Monday.
First day of the school year. The proper one.
The whole herd comes back today, not just the preppies and Year 6s who were in for that soft launch on Friday.
The entire school will be buzzing soon enough—parents in a rush, kids forgetting where their classrooms are, at least three missing lunchboxes by nine thirty.
I give the garden bed a final once-over, fluffing up the mulch around the lavender and marigolds, then pack away the tools into the little green maintenance shed tucked behind the staffroom. It still smells faintly of turps and lawnmower fuel, no matter how many air fresheners I hang.
Not that I mind.
It’s all a long way from the worksite dust and constant tinnitus of my carpentry days.
I don’t miss the clients, chasing deadlines, or the stress of who underquoted what.
I don’t miss the fourteen-hour days or the busted knees or the constant pressure to keep climbing.
When I quit and downsized to this job—three days a week and some voluntary stuff on the side—my mates thought I’d lost it.
But here, I sleep better. Breathe easier.
I get to walk barefoot on grass and know every kid by name.
I don’t care that I earn half as much. It’s enough.
And besides, my sister needed me here.
“Eli!”
I glance up to see Amanda—Year 2 teacher, professional sweetheart, and serial matchmaker—heading my way with her usual energy and a massive coffee in hand.
“You’re in early,” I say.
“So are you.”
“I’m always in early. You’re usually juggling a travel mug and sporting a wet bun.”
“Excuse me, my hair is not wet, it’s dewy, and I am a vision of calm readiness today.” She beams at me, then immediately narrows her eyes. “Wait. You’re limping.”
“Am not.”
“Are so. What happened?”
“An ambitious soccer ball and a short-lived bike ride.”
She gasps. “What? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a scrape.” I wave it off. “Got ambushed at the park yesterday. Little soccer enthusiast took me out. Barely in double figures and already deadly.”
She grins. “Please tell me it was a single dad. A hot one.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not feeding your romcom fantasies.”
“You never do. But one day, you’ll slip up and fall in love, and I’ll be here with a smug little I-told-you-so and a wedding Pinterest board.”
“I don’t even like cake.”
“Lies.” She sips her coffee. “Also, you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The look you get when you’re pretending not to think about someone.”
I snort and walk past her. “I’m going to set up the sandpit shade. If I hear any wedding bells, I’m blaming you.”
She follows, undeterred. “Fine. But when you meet the love of your life, don’t come crying to me because you’ve got no playlist for your first dance.”
Just as I’m escaping her meddling, I spot two familiar blurs hurtling across the quad.
“Uncle Eli!”
My niece, Ava, wraps herself around my waist like a koala on a tree, and a second later, Noah—her older brother by two years—gives me a high five so enthusiastic, I nearly drop my Thermos.
“Hey, you two! What, didn’t miss me yesterday?”
“We had to do half a day with just Mum,” Ava says solemnly. “It was boring.”
“She made us eat fruit,” Noah adds, shuddering.
I laugh, ruffling their hair. “Poor things. The horror.”
“Did you bring the footy for after school?” Ava asks, eyes shining.
“’Course I did. It’s in the shed, ready to go.”
“Legend!” Noah says.
Their mum—my sister, Mel—appears behind them, already in her work uniform and looking like she barely slept, which is probably true. She works mornings at the hospital and evenings at the bottle shop to make ends meet. She kisses both kids, then gives me a grateful look over their heads.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“I try,” I say, keeping it light.
“Thanks for taking them this arvo. I’ve got the late shift again.”
“No worries. We’ll do pizza and a movie. Keep it chill.”
She smiles. “You’re the best.”
“Nah. Just uncle of the year.”
The bell rings once—five-minute warning. I give Mel a nod, shepherd the kids towards their classrooms, and just as I’m turning back to the admin block, I see him.
Ant.
And Henry, trailing beside him in a too-big backpack, holding on to the strap like it’s a lifeline.
Ant’s wearing a slight frown, like he’s trying to decode the school map even though there’s a massive YOU ARE HERE sign right behind him.
He’s wearing a navy polo and cargo shorts, one of those canvas caps that dads wear when they’re trying to be sun smart and still vaguely cool.
His forearms are tanned, his calves solid.
He looks like he hasn’t had coffee yet. Or maybe he has, but it wasn’t enough.
And when he spots me, his expression flickers—recognition, a touch of surprise, maybe even relief.
There’s a lift in my chest I struggle to supress.
Henry spots the Year 5 group sign and bolts towards them without waiting, and Ant’s left standing a little awkwardly alone.
I head his way, slow and easy.
“Hey,” I call out.
He smiles. It’s softer than yesterday’s, but no less genuine.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says.
“You’re not here to ambush me with sporting equipment, right?”
He snorts. “You’ll be happy to know the soccer ball’s been grounded.”
I nod towards the playground. “Welcome to chaos. First week’s a mess, but it sorts itself out.”
He glances around, clearly a little overwhelmed. “Yeah. Henry’s pumped, but I’m flying blind.”
“You’ll be fine.” I gesture towards the admin block. “Want a quick rundown of how things work? I’ve got time before the bins need wrangling.”
He gives me a look that’s half grateful, half amused. “You’re either incredibly helpful or stalking me.”
“I live for the drama.”
He laughs, and the sound sends a flutter through my stomach.
His eyes flick to the rake leaning against the wall near the path, then back to me, one brow raised. “So, do you work here or just like hanging out near schools with landscaping tools?”
Fair question, honestly.
I grab the rake, set it properly against the wall, then brush off my hands. “Groundskeeper. Three days a week. Maintenance, gardens, anything that squeaks, leaks, or looks like a kid might trip over it.”
“Ah,” he says, nodding slowly. “So you’re basically the backbone of the operation.”
“Don’t tell the principal. She still thinks she is.”
That earns another soft laugh from him.
I jerk my chin towards the admin block. “So, there first? Get the first-day paperwork done?”
“Yeah, if I need to,” he says. “Henry’s enrolled, but we only just moved here, and I wasn’t sure if I needed to… check in? Report to someone? Hand over my parenting credentials?”
“You’re not the only one winging it this morning,” I say as we fall into step. “New parents always look like deer in headlights. You’re doing fine.”
“I feel like I should be wearing a visitor lanyard and a name tag. Or a helmet with so many kids with balls around.”
I smirk at the reference. “You wouldn’t be the first bloke I’ve seen take a hit here.”
He groans. “Please tell me my kid isn’t already infamous.”
“Nah, just the ball. I didn’t report it.” I waggle my eyebrows, so he knows I’m taking the piss. “Figured I’d give you both a clean slate.”
“Well,” he says, glancing over, “you’ve already done more for our public image than I have.”
We walk up the small ramp to the admin entrance, where a couple of other parents are milling around, scanning clipboards and muttering about enrolment letters.
Ant slows, taking in the scene like he’s preparing for battle. “This the part where I sign over my soul in triplicate?”
“Just your signature and proof of address, I think.”
He fumbles in his back pocket and pulls out a slightly crumpled envelope. “I come prepared. Mostly.”
A woman walks past with a clipboard and a phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, talking fast. A little boy clings to her hand like he’s being led to his doom.
Ant watches them go and exhales slowly. “Honestly, Henry’s got this. It’s me who’s flailing.”
I tilt my head. “He seemed pretty solid yesterday. Confident kid.”
“He is,” Ant says, and the pride in his voice is so matter-of-fact, it kind of hits me sideways. “He’s resilient. Stronger than I ever give him credit for.”
We reach the front doors. I pull one open and gesture him through.
“Thanks,” he says, then adds, “for this, by the way. The info. The not reporting us to the department of public safety.”
“No problem,” I say with a chuckle. “Always happy to help a fellow victim of rogue sporting equipment. You know, just in case you get targeted.”
That gets another smile. It’s brighter this time. Then he nods and heads inside, envelope in hand.
I watch him go for just a second too long before turning back towards the quad.
I’ve got bins to haul and a leaky tap behind the prep block to fix, but I already know that won’t be the last time Ant crosses my path.
And if I’m being honest?
I don’t mind one bit.