Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MAYA
The quiet after the Sunday pancake ritual feels different now. Not lonely. Not tense. Softer. Familiar in a way that unsettles me more than I want to admit.
Owen, Bear, left a couple of hours ago, after Lila settled down on the rug to watch her favourite movie. He’d helped me clean my tiny kitchen before he left, it was one of those moments where his size should’ve felt jarring in our tiny flat. But it didn’t. He fit.
I’m still thinking about the way he looked at me as he left, like he didn’t want to go. As if he’d stay if I asked.
I didn’t ask.
But I’d wanted to.
Lila’s been in bed for an hour, so now I’m sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea cooling beside me, Lila’s drawing pad in my lap.
She drew him. It’s unmistakably Owen, all broad shoulders and smiling eyes and legs that taper into cartoonishly tiny feet.
She’s drawn herself too, in a sparkly pink dress, holding his hand.
She’s also drawn little love hearts all around them both.
My throat tightens.
I want to protect her. From disappointment. From too much hope. From everything I couldn’t shield her from before.
But what if this is okay?
The knock on the door comes just as I’m working up the courage to text him. Three short raps. Familiar rhythm.
I open it to find Owen standing there again, this time with a brown paper bag in one hand and a sheepish grin.
“Left my hat,” he says, lifting the bag. “Figured I’d swing by. Also, brought carrot cake, homemade. Thought you might need reinforcements.”
I step back to let him in, heart stupidly buoyant at the sight of him. “You left your hat on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” he says. “I like having a reason to come back.”
That shouldn’t make my stomach flip the way it does.
Lila’s door creaks open, her sleepy face peeking around it.
“Bear?”
His voice softens immediately. “Hey, Lila. Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
She trots over, curls messy and one sock half off. “Did you bring the sparkly cakes?”
He lifts the bag. “Close. Carrot cake. Emergency stash.”
She beams and holds up her arms. “Up?”
He lifts her like she weighs nothing, settling her on his hip. I watch them, heart thudding against my ribs. She’s never taken to someone this fast. Never let herself. She’s always held back, like me.
I lead them to the sofa, grabbing napkins from the kitchen. Lila snuggles in against him, content and already halfway through her slice. He glances at me over her head.
“You look tired,” he says gently.
I nod, sitting beside them. “Just catching my breath, I think. It’s been a full-on few weeks.”
He doesn’t push. Just offers me the cake.
I take it.
We eat in silence, save for Lila’s sugar-fuelled ramblings about sparkles and skating and how she wants a pony with glitter wheels.
Then, after she’s wiped sticky fingers on his hoodie and wandered back to bed, Owen turns toward me slightly.
“Can I ask you something?” he says, tone cautious but warm.
“Of course.”
“I was thinking…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Lila liked watching the players on the ice. She got so excited when she saw the kids skating during intermissions.”
“She did,” I say slowly, already sensing where this is going.
He meets my eyes. “I’d really like to teach her. If you’re okay with it. Nothing serious, just messing around on the rink when it’s quiet. I can get access. We’d go slow. Real slow. Just to let her try it out.”
My chest tightens. Not because I don’t trust him. But because I do.
And that’s scarier.
“She’s never even worn skates,” I say, stalling. “She’s clumsy like me. She might hate it. Or break something.”
He smiles, patient. “Then we stop. But if she loves it… I’d be honoured to be the one who shows her.”
The silence stretches. He doesn’t rush me. He never does.
“She’s never had a…” I trail off, then start again. “There haven’t been many people in her life who stick around. I’ve made sure of that.”
“I know.”
“I’ve had to be careful.”
“I know,” he repeats, softer this time. “And I’ll still be here whether she skates or not. Whether you say yes or not.”
The tears threaten before I can stop them.
I swipe at them with the back of my hand. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
He grins. “So I’ve heard.”
“She already loves you,” I whisper. “She called you Bear like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you were ours.”
He shifts a little closer. “I’m not trying to take anything, Maya. I’m just hoping I can be part of what you’ve already built. If you’ll let me.”
His words settle into the cracks I pretend don’t exist. The hollow places I’ve kept empty on purpose.
“Okay,” I say finally. “You can teach her.”
His smile is quiet. Earnest. “Thank you.”
“She’ll need tiny skates. She’s got tiny everything.”
“I’ll sort it,” he says. “I’ve got connections.”
“Oh yeah? With the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus?”
He leans back, smug. “Exactly. And the Easter Bunny owes me a favour.”
I laugh, the tension slipping from my shoulders.
He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t press. Just sits with me, close enough that I feel his warmth, but not so close that I feel cornered.
It’s the safest I’ve felt in a long time.
After a while, I speak again, surprising myself with the honesty in my voice.
“Do you ever get scared?” I ask.
He looks over. “All the time.”
“Of what?”
“Letting people down,” he says immediately. “Of not being enough.”
I study him. “You’re a literal tank on the ice. People move when you so much as glance their way.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t worry I’ll mess things up. Especially this. You.”
My breath catches. “You won’t.”
His gaze sharpens, but his voice stays low. “Yeah?”
“I’ve been through things,” I say, the words sticking in my throat. “Things I don’t know how to talk about yet. But I see the way you are with her. With me. You’re not forcing your way in.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I know. That’s why I’m still here. Letting you in. Slowly.”
The emotion that flickers in his eyes is so unguarded it knocks the air out of me.
“You can take all the time you need,” he says.
“You might regret saying that when Lila decides she wants a full glitter skate outfit and a unicorn helmet.”
He grins. “Sounds like a challenge.”
We sit like that for a long while. No pressure. No rushing.
Eventually, he gathers his things and stands, lingering by the door.
“I’ll text you,” he says. “About skate sizes. We’ll go slow.”
“Slow’s good,” I say.
He opens the door, but before he leaves, he glances back.
“Maya?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said earlier. I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time, that doesn’t terrify me. It makes me hope.