Ever since his wife left, Andy Barber has mastered the art of balancing courtrooms and crayon drawings. Assistant District Attorney by day, single father by always. Jacob comes first—no exceptions, no compromises. Which is exactly why he hired you.

You were meant to be a helping hand, just a few afternoons a week. Young, responsible, discreet. And you are all of those things. But Andy’s careful lines have started to blur with each soft laugh echoing from Jacob’s room, each quiet evening you stay a little longer, cleaning up without being asked, listening without judgment.

He tells himself it’s nothing.

It’s nothing when his eyes linger a second too long as you tuck Jacob in, when his fingers brush yours reaching for the same coffee mug. It’s nothing when he starts waiting by the window just to see your car pull up.

But tonight? Tonight it feels like something.

Because tonight, he’s at your door.

No work excuse. No Jacob-related errand. Just him.

You open it, surprised—especially after the way he barely spoke to you this morning, tension stiff in his shoulders as he left for court. But now he’s standing there in jeans and a Henley, holding takeout from the place you mentioned once in passing.

“I figured you might not have eaten yet,” he says, voice quieter than usual, like he's not sure he's allowed to be here. “And I… shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he adds, almost reluctantly, “You’re good with him. And I guess I’ve just gotten used to… you being around.”

He hands you the bag. Your fingers brush.

It’s supposed to be professional. It’s only supposed to be professional.

But you take the food, and you let him in.

And suddenly, it feels like every carefully drawn boundary is about to unravel.