23
Olivia
Amelia’s name lights up my phone just as I’m fumbling for the kettle. No coffee date today. She’s stuck at school for some early staff meeting, and the tone of her text said pray for me, so we settle for a call while I stand in my kitchen in socks and a bad ponytail.
“Spill,” Amelia says by way of hello, voice bright through the speaker. “You’ve been MIA lately. I assume you are busy with work, babysitting, and mud-wrangling at the farm?”
“Correct. Mud and mayhem,” I say, grinning into the receiver. “Teddy actually came out to visit the farm. We rode Blue. And I introduced his grumpy dad to the elite sport of goat-feeding.”
Amelia gasps. “Oh, please tell me he screamed like I did when Kevin charged.”
“Shockingly, no. He held his ground. Mostly. There may have been a light jog involved. But he kept the bucket upright the entire way. Unlike someone else…”
“You traitor!” she cries. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am. But facts are facts. You, my love, dropped the bucket halfway through and triggered a full-blown frenzy.”
“I was wearing new sneakers! Not my fault Kevin’s got a personal vendetta. Oh, God,” she says between laughs, “I have to tell Brad—”
“Ah, no, you will not,” I cut in quickly, pointing a finger at no one. “I won’t hear the end of it for the next decade.”
“But—”
“No buts, Amelia Brown. This is strictly girl talk. Private channel. Encrypted. No brother-sharing clause allowed.”
We fall into the kind of giggles that make me feel sixteen again.
Before the wedding plans. Before adulting became a full-time job.
Just us, being us. Two best friends stuck in our own little time warp, laughing about chaos and questionable decisions.
But my laughter catches somewhere in my throat.
Because I leave out the rest. The kiss. The way my hands didn’t tremble when they were in his.
Not because I don’t trust her—I’d hand over every secret I have to Amelia—but because she’s engaged to my brother.
And something about this feels different.
So, for now, I let it live in the silence between laughs.
“So,” she says, “how’s the rest of your week been?”
“Teddy had a rough patch—fever, clingy, the works. He’s better now.” I swirl the teabag in my mug. “And I had a movie night.” Immediately, I cringe. Mistake. “Anyway, how’s wedding prep going? We’ve got, what, a few weeks left?”
Yeah. Nice try, Liv.
A movie night?” Amelia echoes, suspiciously casual. “With who?”
“Uh… me?” I stall, immediately regretting the phrasing. “And technically the TV.”
“Mmhm.” She’s not buying it. “Just you and the TV.”
“Okay, and technically, Sebastian was there because it was his TV.” I wince. “We watched an episode of The Rookie.”
“Olivia.”
“Fine. Two episodes,” I confess quickly.
There’s a beat of silence before, “You binged the whole season, didn’t you?”
“Not the whole season,” I say, installing outrage I don’t feel. “Just… a healthy chunk. He made tea. It was civilised.”
“He made tea,” she repeats. “In your world, that’s practically foreplay.”
“Amelia!” I choke on a laugh.
She softens. “Don’t act like you don’t like him.”
I glance down into the steeping tea. The swirl of amber and shadow.
“You like them. Both of them.”
She’s right. Teddy’s somehow managed to nestle himself into a part of my heart I didn’t even know was still open. And Sebastian… He’s not what I expected. He’s quieter. Kinder. Frustrating, absolutely, but safe in a way that both unsettles and calms me.
“Hm.”
“‘Hm’ is code for yes,” she says smugly. “Just… be careful. He’s not exactly uncomplicated.”
“I’m being good,” I promise.
Mostly.
But the memory of his mouth on mine has a way of blurring the lines between good and don’t-give-a-damn. By the time we hang up, my tea’s gone cold, and my brain is a messy knot of her voice, her warnings, and the ghost of a kiss I keep trying to forget.
Or pretend to forget.
Whichever one makes me sound less pathetic.
I rinse the mug, place it upside down on the rack, and shove my phone into my back pocket. There’s laundry waiting, a grocery list half-written on the fridge, and a whole day ahead of me where I’m supposed to act like a functioning adult.
Except my phone rings again. And here’s the thing, I know it sounds strange, but sometimes I can just feel it. When a call isn’t casual. When something’s not right. It’s like this low hum in my chest, a twist in my gut I’ve never been wrong about. That feeling hits now.
And it’s right.
Wattle Creek Primary School.
My stomach plummets.
“Hi, Olivia Mitchell? It’s Miss Harper, Teddy’s teacher. He’s okay, but he’s had a bit of a tough day. Would you be able to come pick him up?”
I’m already grabbing my keys. “On my way.”
Ten minutes later, I’m standing in the school office, heart punching hard against my ribs.
The fluorescent lights hum too loud, too bright.
Behind the office desk, looking small, and curled tight on the bench is Teddy—backpack clutched to his chest, eyes red and glassy.
The second our eyes meet, he bolts. Arms thrown around my waist, face buried in my jumper.
His body trembles against mine, and it guts me.
I’ve seen scrapes and tired tantrums. But not this. Not him like this.
“Hey,” I murmur, crouching down to his level. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He tucks into my shoulder like he never wants to leave it.
Miss Harper offers a gentle smile. “Just one of those days. He was quiet all morning, then got a bit overwhelmed.”
“Thanks for calling,” I say, rubbing slow circles on his back. “Did you reach his dad?”
“We tried. No answer, so we left a message. You were listed as the next important contact.”
Her words settle somewhere deep. Important.
I shouldn’t read into it, but I do. Even knowing it’s just protocol, that it’s how the form works, something about hearing it aloud hits different.
Like I matter. Like I’m not just a name on a line but someone real in his world.
Still, I shove the feeling aside. I’m his babysitter.
His safe option when plans go sideways. That’s all.
“I’ll try him again,” I say, steadier now.
Teddy sniffles, squeezing tighter. I press a kiss to his hair. “C’mon, champ. Let’s go home.”
As I grab his bag, Miss Harper adds softly, almost offhand, “You know… I’ve never seen him run that fast to anyone before.”
Her words hang there. I don’t ask the question that forms in my throat. Not even to his dad? I just hold him closer and carry him out into the sun.
In the car, he doesn’t say much—just fiddles with the strap on his booster seat, his little fingers tracing the frayed stitching.
I handed him his water bottle when I buckled him in, and now he sips it quietly while I hum under my breath.
It’s the same tune Isla uses on Callie when she’s overtired and grizzly.
I don’t even think about it. It just slips out, and slowly, Teddy’s breathing starts to match the rhythm.
By the time I pull into the driveway, his head is tilted against the window, mouth parted slightly, eyes fluttering closed.
I carry him inside, his arms looped around my neck like it’s second nature. He’s heavier than he looks, all limbs and sleepy weight, but I don’t care. I lay him gently on the couch, tug a blanket over his legs, and smooth the hair off his forehead. He stirs, barely, but doesn’t wake.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Sebastian.
My stomach clenches. I’d called him right after we left the school.
Relayed what happened, that Teddy had a meltdown and that I’d picked him up.
He’d sounded so gutted over the phone because he’d been in a case meeting and couldn’t answer at the time.
His voice had turned gravelly with concern the moment he spoke. Now, it’s a text.
Sebastian: He okay?
Me: Yep. He’s curled up on the couch now.
Sebastian: Okay. And you?
Me: What about me?
Sebastian: How are you doing?
Wow. He’s actually making small talk.
Me: I’m okay. Just glad he’s settled now. Wbu? Surviving paperwork hell?
Sebastian: ?? Barely. Should probably get back to it.
The dots disappear. I’m about to put my phone down when it rings. My heart jumps. Why is he calling? I hesitate. Then swipe to answer. “Well, well,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Keep this up, and I might start thinking you enjoy talking to me.”
There’s a beat of silence, then the low sound of his laugh. “Something like that,” he says. “Felt weird texting. Figured I’d call instead.”
The sound of his voice does something to my spine. It’s not fair how his words can leave me standing here like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I hear the faint creak of his chair. Fabric shifting, the weight of his exhaustion settling between syllables.
“You know,” he says after a pause, “talking to you’s a nice break from the chaos.”
My pulse stutters. Nope. Nope. He can’t say stuff like that.
Not with that voice. Not when I’m already halfway to melting into a puddle on the kitchen tiles.
I chew the inside of my cheek, fighting the smile threatening to creep across my face.
This man. This grumpy, too-serious, disciplined man is going to ruin me.
“You should get back to it,” I say, aiming for breezy. “That mountain of forms won’t meditate itself.”
He chuckles again, low and rough and far too real in my ear. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.” I grin, leaning against the counter. There’s a muffled voice in the background, someone calling his name.
He sighs. “Duty calls. I’ll try to be home as soon as I can.”
Home. I know he’s literally referring to his home, but the word sinks into my chest like a stone. I don’t let myself dwell on it.
“See you soon, Grumpy.”
There’s a pause. One of those quiet ones that stretches just a second longer than it should. Then his voice drops, soft and warm. “Not grumpy anymore, Trouble.”