Chapter 9
Sebastian
Family dinners are supposed to feel easy. Familiar. Safe.
But every time I walk into Mum and Dad’s house, I’m reminded that even in my thirties, with a badge, a mortgage, and a five-year-old, I’ll always be the baby of the family.
Mum’s at the door first, hair pulled back in her signature bun, cardigan buttoned to the top despite the warm evening.
She pulls me into a hug that smells like lavender and roast lamb.
“Sebastian, love.” Her eyes flick straight to Teddy, clinging to my side. “And you, sweetheart. Come here to Nana.”
Teddy hesitates, then lets her scoop him into her arms, his small body stiff at first before he melts just enough for her to press a kiss to his hair.
Dad’s in the lounge, remote in hand, pretending he’s not waiting for us even though he absolutely is.
His health’s not what it used to be, but he still sits tall, voice firm when he greets me.
“You’re late.”
“Traffic,” I lie, kissing his head anyway. He grunts, but his hand claps my shoulder with weight behind it. That’s his version of a hug.
My sister, Sandra, breezes in next. Eleven years older, married with two kids of her own. She hugs Teddy first, and as expected, he stiffens again, but doesn’t bolt.
“About time,” she says with a smirk. “I thought the police ran on punctuality.”
“Not when you’re off-duty.”
Her husband, Andrew, nods at me from the dining room doorway.
Their kids, Lily, twelve, and Timothy, nine, tear past us in a blur of bare feet and shrieks, straight into the backyard.
And just like that, dinner is underway. The table groans under roast lamb, potatoes, pumpkin, and gravy in Mum’s old China boat.
Teddy sits beside me, picking at his plate.
He eats better here, surrounded by family, though he still lines his carrots in a perfect row before touching them.
Mum tops up my glass with a mischievous look. “So. Tell us about this new babysitter.”
My fork pauses mid-air. “Who said anything about a babysitter?”
Her grin only widens. “Oh, Sandra told me she put up an ad for you.”
“Oh, yes. That.” I shoot her a glare, knowing it won’t come across that way to her. “How do you know I have a new babysitter?”
“Uh, because we haven’t heard a peep about how your weeks have been tough, or that you haven’t been managing—”
“Hold on,” I cut off her words. “What if I was doing fine? What if it was because I am actually managing it all well?”
Even as I say the words, I know they sound like complete bullshit. And the look they both share says exactly that. I scoff. “Whatever, then. Yes, I have hired a new babysitter.”
“And we’re extremely glad,” she smiles sincerely. “So, tell us.”
“She’s… fine.” I downplay everything there is to Olivia Mitchell.
Sandra squints. “Don’t lie to us, Sebastian. What’s she like? Anything like the others?”
Before I can deflect, Teddy’s quiet voice breaks through. “She’s loud.”
The whole table stills. Everyone turns to him. He doesn’t usually volunteer much outside his routines, outside me. My chest tightens.
Mum’s eyes go glassy. “Oh, darling,” she says softly, reaching for his hand.
Sandra shoots me a look I can’t read. “Loud, huh?”
Teddy nods once, serious. “But… sort of funny.”
The shock ripples through me harder than I can hide. Because that’s the most I’ve heard him say in front of anyone. And it’s about her. Mum clasps her hands together, delighted. “Well, she sounds wonderful. You’ll have to bring her next Sunday.”
“No.” The word is out before I can stop it.
Sandra smirks. “What, scared we’ll like her more than you?”
Andrew chuckles into his beer. Even Dad’s mouth quirks. Mum waves me off like I’m still fifteen. “Don’t be ridiculous. Bring her. It’ll be nice for her to feel included. Especially if she’s going to be spending a lot of time with you and our little Teddy.”
“It’s not happening,” I insist, sharper than I mean to.
Sandra leans back, eyes dancing with the kind of sibling satisfaction I know too well.
“You can’t hide her forever.” My jaw clenches.
Because she’s not mine to hide. She’s a Mitchell.
A line I have no business crossing, and yet, my son’s words echo in my head long after the conversation shifts to something else. Loud. Funny.
For him to notice, for him to say it out loud, that’s not nothing. That’s everything.
Two weeks. That’s how long Olivia Mitchell’s been in my house. Babysitting. Long enough to settle into a rhythm. Long enough for me to see that she’s not flaking yet.
Which, honestly, is a first.
Things are… fine. Rocky sometimes. Awkward as hell when she’s chirping away, and Teddy shuts down completely.
But fine. Better than fine on the good days when Teddy lets her close enough to sit in the same room, when he hums along while she chatters like she’s talking to herself.
She doesn’t know it, but that’s his version of comfort.
I know what comes next, though. It always starts out okay.
Then the hard days roll in. The days when Teddy’s world feels too loud, too sharp, too much.
When he refuses to leave his room, or his shoes have to be lined up just right, or the whole day derails.
Or when the weight of change crushes him so hard, it sends him into a spiral I can’t always pull him out of.
That’s usually when people bail.
The office buzzes louder than the coffee machine in the corner.
Woody’s already up on his desk, re-enacting some weekend footy tackle.
Stokes is tossing in his trademark “stoked, mate” every thirty seconds, and Reynolds is laughing so hard, he nearly spits coffee across the files stacked high between us.
It’s chaos, but it’s productive chaos. Our mornings always start like this.
Banter layered over the grind of casework that’s got us swamped.
Half are rural jobs that land right in our lap, the other half are closer to Sydney than we have any right to cover.
Small town, big workload. Which is why the pile of files on my desk doesn’t faze me.
What does faze me is Reynolds leaning over, a pen tapping against his lip.
“So, Daniels. How’s the new nanny?”
I groan, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. “She’s not a nanny.”
He grins, that shit-eating one that tells me he’s been waiting all morning to bring this up. “What’s the fucking difference?”
“A nanny’s live-in. Long-term. This is temporary.” I level him with a look. “She’s a babysitter.”
His mouth tips down like he’s pretending to consider the distinction. “Uh-huh. And how’d the big boss in there take the news?” Of course he knows. Hell, they all do. The second Olivia Mitchell walked through my front door, the gossip train left the damn station.
“Oh, he was thrilled,” I mutter. “We toasted to it over coffee and bagels. Real bonding moment.”
Stokes barks out a laugh. “Well, good luck, mate.”
I frown. “Why would I need luck?”
He shrugs. “Because if you fall for your best mate’s sister, he’ll bury you in the paddock behind his dad’s farm and claim plausible deniability.”
“I’m not gonna fall for her,” I snap, sharper than intended. “Now piss off and get back to work.”
Stokes raises his hands in surrender. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I open my mouth to reply, but the familiar sound of footsteps grows closer.
Bradley strides past, files under his arm, his scowl dialled to eleven.
He doesn’t even slow as he passes, just tosses a single word over his shoulder.
“Daniels.” It’s not a greeting. It’s a warning.
A one-word threat wrapped in sibling loyalty and the kind of silent judgement only a lifelong friend could pull off.
The room erupts behind me. Laughter bouncing off the walls, Woody wheezing somewhere near the printer.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly through my nose. “Glad to know everyone’s deeply invested in my childcare arrangements.”
“Not your childcare, mate,” Woody calls.
“Your survival.” I flip him the bird without turning around.
Because the truth is, I don’t have the energy to argue.
Olivia’s in my house. She’s taking care of Teddy.
She’s loud, persistent, and has already wormed her way into routines she has no business belonging in.
But this? This is fine. It’s fine. Everything’s still professional. For now.