Chapter Four
Emma
I flip the pancake with a practiced flick of my wrist, watching the edges crisp up in the pan. The kitchen is warm with the smell of fresh pancakes and the soft laughter of the boys, who are already deep into their Saturday night routine. Sam is at the table, syrup on his cheek as he grins up at me, while Charlie is zooming around the living room, his little feet pounding against the hardwood floor as he chases after his toy car with his favorite dinosaur.
I chuckle softly, leaning over to pour more batter onto the griddle. “Easy there, Charlie,” I call, but I can’t help but smile. This chaos—this beautiful, loud chaos—feels normal now. It feels like home.
“Emma, pancake!” Sam calls again, his voice high and eager.
I quickly flip another pancake, the sizzle filling the quiet evening. “Coming right up, buddy.”
The door creaks open just as I’m sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate. I glance over my shoulder and see Spike standing in the doorway. He’s back. I feel a flutter in my chest. It’s just Spike. There’s nothing unusual about it. Nothing at all.
“Hey,” he greets, his voice deeper than usual. He’s back from a series of road games, still carrying that exhaustion with him, but there’s also something else in his eyes that I can’t quite place. The air shifts when he steps into the room.
“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual. I turn back to the stove, focusing on flipping the pancake in front of me, but I can feel his gaze on me, lingering.
“Smells good in here,” Spike says, his voice warm, and I glance over my shoulder. “Pancakes for dinner?” He’s leaning against the doorframe, his duffel bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He’s a little rough around the edges— sporting a few new bruises, his hair tousled, stubble peppering his jaw. My stomach does a little flip when he looks at me.
“Yeah, it’s a Saturday tradition,” I reply, trying to shake off the strange fluttering in my chest. “Pancakes and PJs. Keeps the weekend feeling like, well, the weekend.”
I hand him a plate of pancakes, and his fingers brush mine as he takes it. It’s a brief touch—just a moment—but it sends a jolt of heat up my arm. I pull my hand back quickly, trying to pretend I didn’t notice, but it’s hard. His touch lingers.
“You’ve got enough for an army,” he jokes, settling at the table, his tired eyes crinkling at the corners as he glances at Sam, who is already halfway through his stack, syrup dripping from his chin.
I laugh. “I made extra, just in case.”
Spike takes a bite of the pancakes, a moan escaping from his lips. “Man, I’ve been living off hotel food. This is heaven.”
I sit down across from him, watching the boys while I nibble at my own pancake.
The house feels peaceful for once. The kids are content and will soon quiet down for the night. I can hear the sound of their little voices drifting off as I clean up the table, putting dishes away. They’re telling Spike what we’ve done while he’s been gone. Then, just like that, he’s back, and it’s just us in the kitchen, the quiet stretching between us.
Spike stretches in his chair, his back cracking as he raises his arms above his head. I try not to notice how his muscles shift under his shirt, or the small slice of stomach revealed when his shirt lifts.
“Man, I’m so tired, but don’t think I could actually go to sleep yet,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
I look over at him, amusement tugging at my lips. “Don’t you usually crash after a road trip?”
He shrugs, glancing over at me as he leans back in his chair. “I should, but I guess the adrenaline still has a hold on me. I’ve been on the go for days.”
“Must be exhausting,” I say, my eyes on the way his hands run through his hair, trying to shake off the weariness. I want to reach out and, I don’t know, ease it. But I don’t.
He catches my gaze, his eyes lingering just a second too long. “Yeah, it is. What about you? How have the boys been?”
I hesitate for a moment. I know he’s been busy, and he’s been checking in, but hearing him ask about the boys like that makes something warm unfurl in my chest. I have a sudden vision of this being our nightly routine and not because I’m the nanny, but because this is our family. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly aware of the closeness between us.
“They’ve been good,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Sam’s got this new obsession with superheroes, so he’s been running around in a cape half the time. Charlie’s still on a dinosaur kick, though. That dinosaur is helping him feel secure right now. We would be in a lot of trouble if Charlie couldn’t find it.” I chuckle softly, remembering how Charlie insisted on bringing his stuffed dinosaur everywhere, even to the table for breakfast.
Spike smiles, nodding. “That’s good. I’m glad they’re doing all right.”
I then tell him about the not-so-great parts of our week. I tell him about the late-night tantrums Sam had and Charlie’s nightmares. He needs to know the whole picture, not just the bright, shiny parts.
“It’s been hard,” I admit, my voice softer now. “They miss their parents more than they know. Sam’s been acting out a bit, and Charlie has been extra clingy.”
Spike doesn’t say anything at first, and I glance up, catching his gaze. His expression is full of grief. He shifts closer in his seat, his body language more open now.”
“I get it,” he says quietly, his voice low and steady. “It’s not easy. You’re doing better than I was. They trust you.”
The words catch me off guard, and I blink, feeling a lump form in my throat. I look away quickly, pretending to wipe something off the table, but I can’t shake the warmth that spreads through me at his words. It’s not just the compliment; it’s the sincerity in his voice. It makes me feel like, for just a second, we’re more than just boss and employee. Like maybe, just maybe, he sees me—sees us —differently.
Before I can say anything else, he stretches again, letting out a soft groan. “I don’t know about you, but I’m way too keyed up to sleep. You wanna watch a movie? Something to wind down a bit?”
“Yeah, that sounds nice,” I reply, trying to keep my voice casual as I get up to set up the TV. But as I walk past him, I feel the heat of his gaze on me. I try to brush it off, but I can’t.
Spike follows me into the living room and we both settle onto the couch. I press play on a movie, but I don’t pay any attention. The space between us seems to shrink, and as I shift on the couch, his knee brushes against mine.
I tell myself it’s an accident, but the heat that flares between us says otherwise. The touch lingers in the air, silent and electric.