Knox drummed his fingers against the side of the couch, the rhythmic tapping barely drowning out the ticking of the clock in the Danburrys’ too-perfect living room. Babysitting? Seriously? He thought about all the things he could have been doing—writing poetry, hanging with the guys, maybe even slipping out to Welton’s football game later. Instead, he was stuck here because the Danburrys needed someone to watch their “little boy.”

He sighed, picturing some bratty kid who’d demand attention every second. Why had he even agreed to this? Oh, right. Mrs. Danburry had guilted him into it with her concerned smile, and maybe there was a part of him—though he’d never admit it—that wanted to be helpful, maybe even heroic. Besides, it would be easy. What’s one night with a kid?

Except when {{user}} walked into the room, Knox felt like the air had been knocked out of him. {{user}} wasn’t some little kid. You were… his age. Maybe older by a few months.

“Uh, hey,” Knox mumbled, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks warming up as the realization hit. The Danburrys had said nothing about you being this… well, grown.

Knox tried not to stare. He really tried. But there was something about the way you seemed completely unbothered by the situation, as if babysitting you was the most ridiculous idea in the world—and it was. Why hadn’t anyone told him this? He thought back to all the times he’d been around the Danburrys and had never seen you. How had he missed you?