Chapter 26 #2
“Not since I’ve known you,” Zoe says, bumping my shoulder. “Is it… friendlier than three months ago when you started? August feels like a lifetime ago, babe.”
I groan, covering my face. “You’re all insufferable.
We’re… easier around each other.” I roll the stem of my glass between my fingers.
“Teddy and I make a great team now. I’ve gotten better at understanding his needs and how to support him.
I’m learning more every day about ASD and what works best for him.
And Sebastian and I—well, we’ve finally figured out how to talk without biting each other’s heads off. And he pays me well, so whatever.”
Imogen whistles. “Growth.”
“Okay, but real talk,” Isla’s smile softens. “When did babysitting become dinners and movie nights?”
I freeze, mid-sip. What the hell. How does she know that? Then it hits me. Amelia. Oh, she’s dead. Absolutely, one-hundred-per-cent dead. But harmless, right? Probably.
“It’s not—” I start, then exhale, setting my glass down. “Sometimes he works late, sometimes I stay for dinner. It’s just easier to feed the small human and then put him down. We’re… friends.” I pause, though I already know the answer. “Who told you that, anyway?”
Isla shrugs. “Amelia might’ve mentioned it. We were talking about shows, and The Rookie came up, and, well… one thing led to another.”
Of course. Amelia and her big, honest heart. The woman couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. Clearly.
“We are friends,” I repeat, hearing the defensiveness in my own tone, but honestly, I don’t even know what to call it. “Getting along for Teddy.”
“Right. For Teddy,” Isla echoes.
Imogen’s eyes gleam. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
I feign innocence. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Imogen says, counting on her fingers, “you’re funny, you’re gorgeous, you’re in his house at least five nights a week, and you smell like vanilla. He has eyes.”
Zoe lifts her glass, voice gentler. “Ignore them if you want. But also remember this, Liv—your life is yours. You get to choose what it looks like. You get to choose joy, even if it’s messy.
If it’s real, it’s worth it.” Her eyes reflect something old and tender, the kind of wisdom that only comes after surviving the worst and choosing yourself anyway.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. Sebastian’s name lights the screen. My pulse stutters.
“Busted,” Imogen sings.
I flip the phone, face down, like that’ll help. “It’s probably just about Teddy.”
No one believes me, but they let me have it. The conversation drifts to wedding speeches and Imogen’s plan to teach Joseph to fold laundry for “character development”, and while they trade jokes, I slide the phone into my lap and open the message. Heat blooms in my chest.
Sebastian: Hey.
Me: Hey.
Sebastian: So… there’s no other way to beat around the bush.
I frown. The dots appear, disappear, and return. My stomach dips entirely at the thought of what is coming next.
Sebastian: Teddy asked me to invite you to the Wattle Creek Fair tomorrow. He’s very sure you should come with us.
Right. Only because Teddy wants it. I swallow, then type what I’m brave enough to say.
Me: So I’m only coming because he wants me there?
Sebastian: Well, not just Teddy.
Sebastian: I want you there too, Trouble.
There it is. Simple words that feel like a blanket and a warning. My heart thuds a little faster because even through a text, he has this ridiculous ability to flip me inside out; calm and chaos wrapped up in one man.
Sebastian: That a yes or no?
Sebastian: What if I said… please?
Oh, God. I swear I can hear him saying it, in that deep, gravelly voice of his.
The one that slides down my spine like it knows exactly where to settle.
And just like that, the horniness returns with a vengeance.
Now is not the time. I’m surrounded by wine, women, and emotional vulnerability, and my uterus has been waging war for days.
I curse silently, squeezing my thighs together under the table.
Me: Well, since you asked so nicely. Sure thing, Bash.
A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the wine the second it sends.
My chest feels too full, my heart too stupid.
Everything feels bigger lately. I’m too vulnerable this week.
Maybe Imogen’s right. Maybe I am playing a dangerous game.
Because somewhere along the way, babysitting turned into casual dinners, then late-night talks, heated touches, hell…
moments like this. Me, catching feelings for a man I was never meant to fall for.
A brutal thought pops into my head. What if this isn’t real?
What if I’ve built it all up in my head?
The idea that he might actually want me—not out of convenience or comfort, but because he sees me.
That’s the part that terrifies me. The part that feels impossible—the idea of becoming something we haven’t named—and I can’t figure out if I’m brave or delusional. My eyes sting.
Imogen notices first. “Whoa. Hey. Why are you crying?”
Isla’s already scooting closer, hand warm on my knee. “What did we do? We’ll undo it.”
“I’m fine,” I say, which would be more convincing if my voice didn’t wobble. “I’m just—” I gesture helplessly because I have become a leaky tap, and there is no dignity left. “I’ve just been an emotional wreck lately. I’m on my period. Sorry.”
Zoe sets her glass down. “Don’t apologise.” She squeezes my fingers. “You can talk to us.”
“I know,” I say, blinking at the ceiling.
“I just—” Words tangle. “It’s a lot. Teddy drew a family tree and put me on it, and I cried.
Sebastian said I looked beautiful with a raccoon face, and I cried.
Then he called me Liv, and I cried harder like an idiot.
I like them. Both of them. And that terrifies me. ”
Imogen’s eyes go wide. “Wait—he called you Liv? As opposed to…?”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “As opposed to Trouble. That’s what he usually calls me. Is that the part you’re stuck on?”
They start whispering, giggling, trading looks that make my cheeks heat.
Zoe eventually smacks Isla’s arm. “Shhh. She’s just opened up, and you two are giggling about a nickname. We all have one. Men just can’t help themselves.”
The laughter fades, replaced by a quieter kind of calm. I try to shrug it off, to make light of it, but Zoe catches my chin before I can retreat into a joke. “It’s okay to want something that feels good,” she says quietly.
Imogen points her glass at me. “And if anyone says different, I’ll key their car.”
“Please don’t key anyone’s car,” Zoe says, smiling. “But do keep that energy.”
“Thank you.” Then realisation hits me. “You three are vaults, right? Like, if any of this gets back to Bradley, I’ll move towns and change my name.”
Zoe raises both brows. “You don’t think he’d actually lose it, do you?”
God, I don’t know. “There isn’t even anything to lose it over,” I say too quickly. “But… I mean, maybe? He’s protective. Always has been. I like to think he’d handle it like a grown man—unlike me, who had a full meltdown when I found out about him and Amelia.”
With those thoughts still spinning, we eventually drift to the kitchen for Zoe’s second cake—because one apparently wasn’t enough. We cut oversized slices, laughing when frosting slips off the knife and splatters across the counter.
Tomorrow, there’s a fair, a little boy waiting for me, and a man who said please.
Maybe that’s enough for now. Nights like this remind me I’m not lost, just learning.
The girls don’t fix anything; they just sit in the chaos with me until it feels a little less heavy.
I leave Zoe’s place feeling full—not just from cake, but from them.
From the reminder that I’m allowed to feel everything, even the messy parts.
Especially when a certain message still echoes in my head.
I want you there, too, Trouble.