Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
JACKO
Lila’s laugh echoes through the park like a song I didn’t know I’d been waiting to hear. She kicks her legs wildly, hair flying behind her as I steady the swing. She’s fearless. Wild. Full of sunshine and whipped cream.
Maya stands a few feet away, hands in her coat pockets, eyes soft in the Sunday light. She looks tired in that way mums always seem to, like she’s been holding up the entire world with one hand, but there’s something lighter around her edges today. Something less braced for impact.
And I’d move mountains to keep it that way.
“All right, Lila,” I say as the swing slows, catching it gently with one hand. “That pigeon war wore you out yet?”
“Nope!” she grins. “But I want the pink slide now.”
She hops off and bolts toward the brightly coloured monstrosity on the far end of the playground. Maya starts to follow, but I catch her wrist.
“Let her go first,” I murmur. “She’s scoping it out. You can tell by the stance. Full toddler recon mode.”
Maya tilts her head, amused. “You have an entire classification system for playground surveillance?”
“Absolutely,” I say solemnly. “It’s the same one we use in penalty kills.”
That earns me a laugh, one of those low, rich ones that catches me square in the chest.
She glances down where my fingers are still lightly around her wrist. “Are you flirting with me via playground tactics?”
“I don’t know,” I say, cocking my head. “Is it working?”
Her smile curves sideways, but she doesn’t pull away. “I plead the fifth.”
“That’s American.”
“I’m adaptable.”
God help me, I like her so much it’s starting to hurt.
We walk side by side toward the slide, boots crunching over a patch of frost in the shadow of the climbing frame. I let my hand drift until the backs of our fingers are touching again. Testing. Inviting.
She doesn’t move away.
“You’re good with her,” she says, watching Lila attempt to bribe another kid into giving her a turn with a pink shovel.
“She’s easy to be good with,” I murmur. “She’s got your stubbornness and charm.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
I shoot her a look.
Maya raises her brows. “I am principled.”
“And allergic to asking for help.”
“I ask for help.”
“Do you?”
She looks up at me, chin tilted. “Did I not let you buy me pancakes and push my child on a swing?”
I lift my hands. “Point taken. I’ll update the scouting report.”
Her lips twitch, but there’s a glint of something serious behind her eyes. Not closed off, just cautious.
I get that. I respect it.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to peel back the layers a bit more.
We stay at the park until Lila’s fingers start to go pink. I drape my scarf over her tiny neck and she calls it a “Bear Wrap,” which makes Maya roll her eyes and mutter something about me being a terrible influence.
When we get back to their flat, Maya hesitates at the door. Lila’s already scampered inside, dragging her stuffed unicorn by the horn.
“You want to come in?” she asks. Casual. But her voice has that edge again, the one that says she’s not sure if it’s safe to want things.
I smile. “Only if you’ve got emergency glitter for those cupcakes I was promised.”
Her laugh slips out before she can stop it. “We’ll see.”
Inside, the place is warm. Smells like toast and something sweeter underneath it all. Maya disappears into the kitchen to turn on the kettle while Lila rifles through a drawer full of baking supplies.
I crouch beside her. “All right, Chef. What’s the plan?”
She hands me a whisk with great ceremony. “You stir while I make the sparkles.”
“Division of labour. I like it.”
We bake cupcakes, or more accurately, we launch into glitter chaos. At some point I end up with a unicorn sticker on my forehead, and Lila declares me her assistant forever.
Maya leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching us. There’s a smile playing on her lips, but she’s still scanning. Still guarding.
Still braver than anyone I know.
“Does it always look like this after you bake?” I ask her as I wipe flour off my hoodie.
“No,” she says, deadpan. “Usually it’s worse.”
We drink tea while the cupcakes cool, sitting shoulder to shoulder on her worn sofa. Lila drapes herself across our laps, half-asleep, cupcake frosting in her hair. I brush a sticky curl off her forehead and catch Maya watching me again, like she’s trying to make sense of me. Or of herself.
“I’ve got training in the morning,” I say quietly.
“Early?”
“Early enough. But I can come by after. If you want.”
She’s silent for a beat. Then she says, “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Maya looks at me then. As though she’s weighing everything she’s seen, heard, felt. Her voice is soft when it comes.
“You make it easy to want things again.”
My chest tightens. I don’t know what to say to that, except for, “Same.”
I want to kiss her.
The thought hits me so hard I have to grip my own mug to keep from acting on it.
Not yet.
She’s letting me in. Carefully. Slowly. And if I rush this, if I mess it up, I’ll lose not just her, but the way she trusts me with Lila. The way her laugh finds me in quiet moments. The way her hand lingers when I touch her wrist.
So, I just smile.
And let it be enough. For now.
Eventually, I help clean up the glitter massacre. Maya insists she can finish the rest, but I stay until the kitchen looks less like a crime scene. Lila’s busy watching a movie about a singing penguin, and I’m standing by the front door, boots on, scarf around my neck, trying not to make it weird.
“You’re good at this,” she says softly, hands folded in front of her.
“At what?”
“This. Being in someone else’s world without taking it over.”
I shrug. “Not my world to take.”
Her eyes flick to mine, warm and searching. “Thanks for today.”
“Thanks for letting me have it.”
There’s a pause. A long, quiet one.
And then she steps forward.
Not far. Just close enough that I can feel the brush of her shoulder against my chest. Close enough that if I leaned down, just a little I could kiss her.
But I don’t.
Instead, I take her hand.
Fingers laced. Palms warm.
“See you soon, Maya.”
“See you soon, Owen.”
I let go first. Because if I don’t, I might never leave.