Inviting Collaboration
Riley
The front door clicked open just after eight.
Riley glanced up from the couch, the soft glow of the lamp catching on the takeout containers spread across the coffee table. The food had gone warm instead of hot, but she hadn’t touched it yet.
Dee stepped inside with a quiet exhale, toeing off her shoes like the weight of the day had followed her all the way home.
“Hey,” she said, a little breathless, dropping her bag by the door. “Sorry. Today just ran away from me.”
Riley shook her head lightly. “It’s okay. I ordered us dinner.”
Dee’s gaze flicked to the table, then back to her, her expression softening straight away. “You always take care of me like that.”
“You’re easy to care for.” Riley watched Dee’s body melt, as if relieved by the idea. “How was your day?”
“God, it’s been chaos,” Dee said finally, running a hand through her hair as she crossed the room. “I swear I’ve barely had time to breathe. The clinic’s been nonstop, and you—” she gestured vaguely, a tired half-smile forming “—you’ve been practically adopted by Declan and his entire family.”
Riley huffed a quiet breath, something almost like amusement slipping through. “Something like that.”
Dee dropped onto the couch beside her, shoulders sinking back as she let herself finally stop moving. “I’ve missed you,” she added, more quietly this time.
Riley felt it settle easily, without resistance. She never had to search for the right way to hold it with Dee. “I’ve missed you too.”
Dee blinked, the surprise small but unmistakable. Riley noticed it and, for once, didn’t try to fix it. “That’s…” Dee let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “That’s really nice to hear, Ri.”
Riley’s fingers traced absently along the edge of the container in front of her. “I think this whole thing, it’s helping. More than I thought it would.”
“The research?” Dee asked.
Riley nodded. “I think more so the people.” She hesitated briefly, then continued, “Declan’s niece, Ebony, in particular.”
Dee’s attention sharpened, interest cutting through the fatigue. “You’ve mentioned her.”
Riley smiled faintly. “She’s… a lot like me. Or, like I was. The way she thinks, the way she processes things. It’s been nice to see that she’s got the support system I never had.”
“Is that a sad thing, or a nice thing to recognise?”
Riley considered it, then nodded. “Yeah. It’s nice, being around someone who just gets you, and a family that supports her needs and processes,” she paused, then added, a little softer, “Declan really enjoys having her there too.”
Dee hummed, something warm and knowing flickering across her expression, but she didn’t push it. “I’m really happy for you,” she said instead.
Riley felt that land just as easily as everything else had. “What about you?” she asked. “You said things have been busy?”
Dee groaned quietly, leaning her head back against the couch. “Busy is an understatement. Stillwater is at full capacity. We’ve been turning people away for weeks.”
Riley’s brows lifted. “That’s incredible.”
“It is, kinda,” Dee said, though there was a thread of overwhelm beneath it. “But you know me, I can’t say no to children who very clearly need help. Every no feels like I’m being stabbed in the heart. I’ve been looking at potentially expanding.”
Riley turned toward her slightly. “You are?”
“Mm. There’s a space that opened up on the Sunshine Coast. If I could secure it, it would save so many families driving to Brisbane every week…” She exhaled, somewhere between excitement and nerves. “I’ve got a meeting with the bank this week. Loan, projections, everything.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
Dee looked at her properly then, the weight landing fully. “Thanks, Ri.”
She hesitated, then almost thoughtfully, “If it all goes through, I’d have two spaces running. Maybe twelve staff total. Right now, we’re already stretched thin and there’s no place for me to get more staff or rooms.”
Riley let the image settle, Dee building something bigger, something that reached further than where she’d started. “You’ll do it,” she said simply.
Dee huffed a quiet laugh. “I like your confidence.”
Riley shook her head lightly. “It’s not confidence. It’s just… true. You care for everyone, including me; they’ll take care of you.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Dee nudged one of the containers with her foot. “Alright. What did you order? Because if it’s that dodgy Chinese place you always pick, I’m judging you.”
Riley’s mouth twitched, just slightly. “You’re still going to eat it.”
“Absolutely,” Dee said, already reaching for it. “What are we watching?”
“I thought Moulin Rouge.”
Dee turned to her and grinned. “Oh babe, you really love me.”
As Riley went to press play, she smiled. Yeah, she really did.
?
Riley was halfway through her notes on the previous client when the chair beside her shifted.
She registered it before she looked up: the proximity, the quiet presence, the subtle brush of Declan’s arm against hers as he sat. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, steady and unselfconscious, like he hadn’t considered the distance at all.
Her pen continued moving for another few seconds, finishing the sentence she’d started, but her focus had already shifted. Not away from the work, just split.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“The research?” Riley replied, eyes still on the page.
“Yeah.”
“It’s progressing,” she said, tone analytical and distracted by work, finishing the line before she moved to the next.
Declan leaned slightly, his gaze drifting close enough to read. Close enough that she noticed. Riley didn’t move the page away. A small pause settled between them, quiet but not uncomfortable.
“Do I change my speech patterns,” he asked, glancing at her notes, “when clients started to disengage?”
Riley’s pen stilled. She followed his line of sight, registering the note he’d gotten caught on. Adjusts tone and pacing in response to early disengagement cues. For a moment, she said nothing.
“That’s not my observation,” she said finally.
Declan turned his head slightly toward her. “No?”
Riley shook her head once, small and certain. “Ebony’s.”
That registered in a way she could feel more than see. “She noticed that?” he asked, something quieter threading into his voice.
Riley nodded. “She’s identified that you lower your tone and slow your pacing when clients start to disengage. And that you reposition yourself to reduce direct eye-line when they subconsciously become overwhelmed.”
Declan leaned back a fraction, a quiet breath leaving him as he processed it. “I didn’t even realise I was doing that.”
“She did,” Riley said simply.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It settled between them, heavier now, threaded with something unspoken.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment, softer this time. “She’s… pretty incredible.”
“She is,” Riley agreed.
Her pen didn’t move again. She became aware of that a few seconds later aware that she had stopped writing entirely, her notes unfinished beneath her hand. Normally, that would have pulled her attention immediately.
It didn’t. Then, like the thought had been sitting there and finally found its way out—
“My family is having dinner here tomorrow night,” Declan said. “You should come.”
Riley blinked, the shift immediate as her attention snapped fully to him. “With who?”
“Tyler and Ebony,” he said. “My parents will be there too. I know they’d really love to meet you.”
The instinct to decline surfaced instantly.
Too many variables. Too many people. An environment she hadn’t mapped.
Her focus tightened, already cataloguing the unknowns: the layout of the space, the unpredictability of conversation, the expectations she might not identify in advance.
The kind of social environment that required constant adjustment without clear structure.
Declan recognised it before she said anything. “It’s not a big thing,” he added, his tone steady, grounding her thought process. “We do it pretty regularly. Family dinner before Tyler’s away for a game.”
Riley’s attention shifted slightly.
“When he travels,” Declan continued, “everything changes for Ebony. This time he’s heading to Adelaide so he’ll be gone about a week.”
The detail settled into place immediately. Distance. Duration. Disruption.
“So, we keep that part consistent,” he said. “Same people. Same setup. Always the night before.”
Riley’s thoughts adjusted. Fewer variables than she initially assumed. Defined participants. Predictable structure. A clear purpose that extended beyond simple social expectation.
She exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping briefly to the table before returning to him.
“If this is part of a structured routine for her,” she said, more carefully now, “wouldn’t introducing an additional variable be… disruptive?”
Declan didn’t answer straight away. Not because he didn’t know but because he was considering it properly.
“I’d ask her,” he said after a moment. “And confirm that it was okay, always do.”
Riley watched him.
“But I don’t think you’d be a disruption.”
Her brow drew slightly, not in disagreement, but in analysis. “Based on what?”
Declan’s mouth lifted faintly, something almost amused in the edge of it.
“Based on the fact that she’s chosen to spend time with you almost every afternoon for the past two months,” he said. “And the way she talks with you... She seems to really love your company.”
Riley absorbed that, her attention sharpening slightly. “She’s an amazing kid.”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “She really is.”
Something in Riley stilled again, not uncomfortable, not destabilising. Just unfamiliar in a way she couldn’t categorise. “I think she’d like having someone around who sees things the way she does,” he added. “Someone she doesn’t have to explain everything to.”
Riley’s fingers shifted slightly against the table. The idea sat in her mind somewhere she hadn’t expected. It didn’t unsettle her. It lingered, unresolved, in a way that felt new.
“And if she does not?” Riley asked. She almost didn’t want to ask, the idea that she wouldn’t sent an unfamiliar pang through her chest.
“Then you won’t come,” Declan said simply. “No pressure for either of you.”
There was no hesitation in it, no attempt to convince her otherwise.
Riley nodded once. That made sense. Her gaze drifted briefly not to the room this time, but inward again.
Toward the interaction. The absence of effort it had required to simply sit here and respond without over-processing every step, towards the fact that her notes were still unfinished beneath her hand, and she hadn’t stopped their conversation to correct it. She looked back at him.
“Sure,” she said. “I’d like that.”
The words came more easily than they should have. Declan’s expression shifted, something warmer settling in, more certain. “Yeah?” he asked.
Riley nodded once. “Yes.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll check with her. But I’m telling you now: she’s gonna say yes.”
Riley didn’t respond, but she felt it. That same quiet shift, something close to what she could identify as happiness. She let herself sit in it as Declan pulled out his phone and walked away to ask Ebony, and then pulled out her noise-cancelling headphones to finish her notes.
The feeling lingered for the rest of the day.