Chapter 17 Austin
SEVENTEEN
AUSTIN
Another week had gone by since our trip to the nursery. I was sitting on the front porch when their door opened.
The rusted screen let out a familiar creak as Selene stepped outside with Winnie, both wrapped in the golden spill of late-afternoon light.
Winnie was mid-story about something that had happened in art class—there’d been glitter, maybe glue, and a very dramatic betrayal involving someone named Harper.
Selene’s eyes met mine as she closed the door behind them. She looked tired, but that warm, distant kind of tired—the kind that had less to do with sleep and more to do with holding too many pieces of yourself together at once.
I stood slowly, one hand braced on the porch rail, and offered a half smile. “Big Friday-night plans?”
“We’re waiting for her dad,” she said, tugging Winnie’s hoodie sleeve down over her wrist. “He’s supposed to pick her up for the weekend.”
The words felt neutral on her tongue, but the way her shoulders tensed betrayed the truth.
Winnie twirled on the sidewalk, her backpack bouncing against her small frame. “We made cinnamon muffins for the drive.”
“I supervised,” Selene clarified with a smile. “Which mostly meant saying ‘Please stop eating the batter’ at thirty-second intervals.”
I chuckled and slipped my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I should probably head out. Give you some space.”
She looked at me, something unreadable passing through her eyes. Then she shook her head. “No. You’re fine.”
Sick curiosity was eating at me, so I stayed.
At least ten minutes passed, long enough for the sun to fall behind the rooftops. Shadows stretched across the lawn. Winnie sat cross-legged near the steps, chattering to herself as she arranged leaves by color.
When the black sedan finally pulled up to the curb, I watched Selene brace herself like a wave was coming.
The car door opened and a man stepped out, dressed in a crisp button-down and dark jeans. His phone was in hand, sunglasses still on even though the light was beginning to fade.
He looked like a man who used words like “pedagogy” in casual conversation and expected everyone around him to nod thoughtfully.
Winnie stood tall as he walked, unhurried, toward his little girl.
His eyes swept over the porch, pausing when they landed on me.
His gaze flicked from me to the front of the house, then back to me before asking Selene, “New neighbor?” He held a hand out to me. “Hi, I’m Brian.”
I didn’t answer right away, because the prick hadn’t even greeted Winnie.
“Brian, I—” Emotion flickered across Selene’s face, though I couldn’t quite place it—exhaustion or frustration maybe.
I stood and placed my hand in his. Before I could open my mouth, Winnie darted up the porch steps to stand beside me and said with all the confidence in the world, “He’s not a neighbor—he’s my nanny!”
I bit down on a laugh. Not because it wasn’t funny—though it was—but because of the way Brian’s jaw ticced. He looked at Selene, who had just stepped off the last porch step, arms crossed over her chest, eyes unreadable.
Brian didn’t look pleased. “Didn’t know you were hiring live-ins, Sel,” he said, voice light but not casual.
There was a moment—just a sliver of it—where I wondered whether I should say something, whether I should just let his dig slide, but I couldn’t.
“Nice to meet you, Brian. I’m Austin.” I stepped forward, calm and steady, my voice even. “She’s in good hands. That’s what matters, right?”
I hadn’t mentioned which she I was referring to, but I’d let that be open for his interpretation. Brian’s head tilted like he might say something else, but he must have had an ounce of self-preservation, because he held back.
Selene didn’t flinch. “Winnie’s backpack has everything she needs. I expect her home by six thirty Sunday night. Please do not be late again.”
Brian looked at Winnie and smiled. “Let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”
She glanced up at Selene. “Can we do movie night on Sunday when I’m back?”
Selene knelt, her arms around her daughter before she’d even finished asking. “Of course, my love. I will miss you every minute.”
They hugged again, and there was something about the way her hand lingered on her daughter’s shoulder that got to me, like if she let go too fast, something might unravel.
The car door slammed, the engine turned, and they disappeared down the street.
Selene stayed on the sidewalk, staring down the roadway, as they drove away. Her arms were wrapped around herself, like she was trying to stay inside her skin. Her eyes tracked the red taillights until they vanished behind the bend in the road.
I stepped up beside her, not touching. Just there.
“You okay?” I asked.
She let out a breath like she’d been holding it all day. “I hate it,” she said. “Watching her go. It sucks every time.”
I didn’t say anything, but just waited. The truth was still building behind her eyes.
“But”—she exhaled slowly—“it’s also a bit of a relief to just breathe for a second. Isn’t that awful of me?”
“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “That’s real. You work hard and it’s not wrong to take a break sometimes.”
Selene turned and looked at me. Really looked.
Her eyes were tired, but there was something behind them—like the part of her that had been locked up for a long time was stirring and shifting beneath the surface.
It wasn’t quite ready to come out, but a part of her was close to breaking free from the walls she’d built.
I took a step back, wanting to give her space to feel whatever she needed to feel. I cleared my throat. “How do you feel about someone else making dinner for a change?”
Her brow arched, suspicious. “Are you offering?”
“I’m not just pretty,” I said with a grin. “I can cook too.”
A smile bloomed on her face as her arms crossed. “Is that so?”
My chest tightened. “Yep. You can sit and I’ll feed you. There might even be wine involved.”
“Hmm . . .” Selene nodded and walked up the porch steps. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either.
She just turned and opened the door to her side of the duplex, and I followed her inside.
Selene moved through the house like she was still half waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She hadn’t taken off her shoes. Her arms stayed crossed, like some part of her was holding herself together with invisible thread. The thunk of the door closing behind us echoed louder than it should have, like it marked some line neither of us wanted to acknowledge just yet.
I didn’t say anything. Just toed off my boots, washed my hands at the sink, and started pulling open cabinets like I’d done it a hundred times.
Because, in reality, I had. I had navigated her kitchen enough times that I knew where the olive oil was, where she kept her sharpest knife, and how she labeled her spice jars in neat, looping script.
Behind me, she hovered. I could feel the weight of her gaze—low, lingering, and curious in a way that made the skin at the back of my neck tighten.
“I don’t have much,” she said after a beat. “A few vegetables. Maybe some pasta.”
“I’m a bachelor. I’ve worked with less,” I said, turning to flash her a grin. “You’ve never seen what I can do with a sad zucchini and half a box of spaghetti.”
A breath of laughter escaped her. She leaned against the kitchen doorway, finally uncrossing her arms. “Is this your seduction technique? Feeding exhausted single mothers until they forget their morals?”
I smirked as I sliced into an onion. “Only the ones who smell like cinnamon muffins and temptation.”
That earned me a full smile. I filed it away like a win.
The radio was still tuned to some local station, playing a soft indie track with scratchy vocals and melancholy guitar that made the room feel smaller in the best way. I turned the volume up just a little. The music was enough to fill the silence without trying to erase it.
I moved around her kitchen with practiced ease—boiling water, tossing vegetables in a hot pan, coaxing flavor out of garlic and butter.
Selene watched from the stool by the island, a glass of red wine cradled in her hands. I hadn’t asked. I’d just poured it and handed it to her, fingers brushing hers in the exchange, reveling in the fact that she didn’t pull away.
I swallowed hard as something tugged in my brain. “Can I ask you something . . . about Winnie?”
Selene blinked at me, but nodded.
“You and Brian were married, right? But Winnie has your last name. How did that come about?”
A smile twitched on her lips. “About a year ago I decided I wanted to go back to my maiden name, Darling. Winnie liked it too. Brian didn’t fight me on it . . . and that was part of the problem. He never fought for anything, including me.”
My throat was thick even though Selene scoffed like what she’d shared wasn’t a huge fucking deal. I couldn’t imagine a world where a man wouldn’t claw his way to the ends of the earth for those two.
“So,” Selene continued, “when we changed our last names, she talked me into a new middle name too. Winifred Elizabeth Amaryllis Darling because—”
“Amaryllis means sparkle,” I finished with a laugh. “I know, she told me.” I shook my head as I continued to pull ingredients for dinner. “That kid is something else.”
“That she is.” Selene’s laugh was soft and melodic. Then she hummed along to the radio and watched me work. “Do you do this often?” she finally asked, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
“Cook for beautiful women in their kitchens?” I glanced over my shoulder, just in time to catch the flush rising in her cheeks. “Not nearly as often as I’d like.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m a delight,” I corrected, grabbing two plates from the cupboard. “Please, tell your friends.”
She scoffed. “I don’t have time for friends. My friends are my sisters—and they have to love me.”
“You’ve got time for dinner,” I said. “That’s a start.”