Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MAYA
The shutters rattle down with a satisfying clang behind me as I lock up the bakery for the night. The air outside is crisp, and Lila skips ahead on the pavement, arms spread like airplane wings, cheeks pink from sugar and laughter.
Jacko falls into step beside me, carrying the empty muffin tin under one arm like it weighs nothing. “They were good muffins,” he says, glancing sideways at me. “Decent consistency. Solid chocolate chip distribution. Five stars.”
I snort. “You are ridiculous, you know that, right.”
“I’m a simple soul,” he says, completely unbothered. “Flour’s a love language.”
Lila glances back at us. “Bear, you are messy when you bake!”
“Am not.”
“Yep you are!”
“Oi,” he says, mock stern. “You saying I can’t be trusted with a muffin tin?”
She giggles so hard she almost trips over her own feet. I reach for her hand without thinking, steadying her, and when I glance up, Owen’s already there, slightly angled toward us, like his whole instinct is protection. Quiet. Automatic.
I feel the warmth of it down to my bones.
We pause at the kerb outside. His truck’s parked just ahead, its windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. Jacko swings his bag into the back seat like he’s done it a hundred times before, then leans against the open door, casual and sure.
His voice drops a little, soft just for me. “You two eaten yet?”
I shake my head. “Was going to do beans on toast or whatever we’ve got in.”
He lifts a brow. “How about dinner out instead?”
I blink at him. “Now?”
“Yeah. Just somewhere easy. Kid-friendly. No pressure.”
Lila’s already halfway to his truck, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can we, Mummy? Please, please?”
I hesitate.
Jacko steps closer, not pushy, just warm and steady. “Let me treat you both.”
I glance at Lila, who’s beaming and hopeful, and then back at him. And I nod.
“Alright,” I say. “Yeah. Okay.”
He grins. Not cocky, not smug. Just glad. And my heart does something I don’t quite have a name for.
He gives me a slow, warm smile, like I’ve handed him something precious.
And somehow, I think I have.
He takes us to a little Italian place I’ve walked past a dozen times but never gone in.
It’s a cosy, family-run place with red gingham tablecloths and fairy lights strung around the window frames.
Lila gets a kids’ menu with a cartoon bear on it and a pot of crayons, which she immediately starts using to colour in the bear’s jumper blue.
Jacko grins when she shows him.
“Stylish,” he says. “Might have to see if Coach’ll let me wear that on the ice.”
Lila giggles, delighted.
And me? I’m still waiting for the panic to creep in. Still waiting for that sense of imbalance, like I’ve done something too much too soon. But instead, it feels right.
Jacko orders spaghetti and meatballs like a child of habit, and Lila picks the same, naturally. I go for a margherita pizza and tell myself it’s because I’m not hungry enough for pasta, not because I’m watching him.
But I am watching him.
He’s good with her. Not just polite. Present. He listens when she talks, even when she goes on about nursery songs and what she’s learning about penguins. He laughs at the right bits. He doesn’t talk down to her, or over her.
And he still manages to keep one eye on me.
“You okay?” he asks at one point, when Lila’s distracted swirling spaghetti around her fork.
I nod. Then, without thinking, “You’re good at this.”
He tilts his head. “This?”
“Her.”
His smile softens. “She’s easy to like.”
“She’s not always.”
“She doesn’t have to be. She’s a kid. And she’s a great one.”
It’s not the kind of thing most people say. Not the way most people think.
My chest tightens.
“You always this confident around kids?” I ask, trying to tease the mood lighter.
He shrugs. “I’ve got three younger sisters. Changed a lot of nappies. Spent a lot of weekends building sofa forts. You learn.”
I grin. “Let me guess, you were the dragon they had to slay?”
He chuckles. “Nah. I was the cuddly giant guarding the treasure. Which was usually biscuits.”
“Oh, obviously.”
“Still is, if we’re being honest.”
I laugh, and he grins at the sound.
Lila interrupts to ask if he knows any penguin facts. He does. He knows loads.
By the time we’ve worked through a shared tiramisu and two cappuccinos, plus one strawberry milkshake that Jacko insisted on ordering for Lila just because she blinked at the picture on the dessert menu, it’s well past her bedtime.
She fights sleep all the way back to the truck, humming half-asleep from the back seat and chattering through yawns.
Jacko keeps glancing at her in the mirror as he drives, his big hand resting on the steering wheel like it was made for it.
“You’re knackered too,” he murmurs when we pull up outside the flat. “Want me to carry her in?”
I blink. “You don’t have to,”
“I know. Let me.”
He gets out and opens the back door, careful not to jostle her too much as he unbuckles her and lifts her into his arms. She curls into his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like she trusts him.
And watching him carry her inside, careful as anything, I realise I do too.
He doesn’t even blink at the narrow stairwell. Just adjusts her weight in his arms and waits patiently while I unlock the door.
Inside, the flat is warm and dim, the hall light buzzing faintly. Jacko carries her straight to her room like he’s done it before. Like he knows where everything is.
He doesn’t, of course. But he moves like he wants to. Like he wants to learn.
He lays her down on her bed and steps back as I pull off her coat and boots. She doesn’t wake.
“She’s out cold,” I whisper.
“She’s heavier than she looks,” he whispers back, smiling.
I walk him back to the door, heart thudding in my chest for reasons that have nothing to do with stairs or bedtime.
He lingers in the doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say. “For… all of it.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Thanks for saying yes.”
There’s a moment, quiet and crackling, where I could just say goodnight.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lean against the doorframe and ask, “Would you… want to do it again?”
His smile breaks slow and bright. “Every night if you let me.”
I arch a brow. “Careful, Bear. That almost sounded like a line.”
“Wasn’t,” he says. “Lines are for people who don’t mean it.”
I study him. The soft mess of hair under his hoodie. The flecks of chocolate still on his jumper from Lila’s dessert spoon. The open, honest way he’s looking at me like I’m something valuable. Something worth waiting for.
My heart thuds once, hard.
“Goodnight, Owen.”
He doesn’t correct me. Just ducks his head, eyes crinkling. “Night, Maya.”
And then he’s gone.
But the warmth he leaves behind stays with me long after I close the door.