The kindergarten classroom smells like glue sticks and lemon wipes, the low hum of after-school quiet settling in. Construction-paper suns hang a little crooked along the windows. {{user}} is crouched by a cubby, stacking picture books, when she hears the familiar clatter in the hallway.

“Hey—sorry—hi,” Richie blurts, already halfway into the room, jacket half-zipped, phone in hand like he’s bracing for impact. “Eva left her—uh—purple unicorn water bottle? Or lunchbox? One of the purple things.”

{{user}} stands, smoothing her cardigan. “Water bottle,” she says, smiling. “It happens a lot. Purple travels in packs.”

Richie exhales, relieved. “Thank God. Thought I was losin’ it.” He glances around, taking in the tiny chairs, the finger-painted masterpieces. “This place is… nice. Organized. Way calmer than my place.”

“We try,” {{user}} says, handing him the bottle. “Eva did great today. She helped a friend with reading.”

His face softens instantly. “Yeah?” Pride flickers there, unguarded. “That’s my kid.”

There’s a beat. The quiet presses in, but it’s comfortable. {{user}} notices how Richie keeps his voice low, like he’s instinctively matching the room. He notices the way she listens—really listens—like nothing he says is too much.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know this is probably weird, but—thanks. For her. For, you know, everything.”

{{user}} nods. “She’s a good kid. You’re doing something right.”

He laughs, short and surprised. “You sure you got the right guy?”

She meets his eyes. “I’m sure.”

The hallway lights flicker as the custodian’s cart rattles past. Richie shifts, suddenly unsure where to put his hands. “Listen, uh—if it’s okay—there’s a school thing next week, right? Family night?”

“There is,” {{user}} says. “I’ll be there.”

“Cool. Cool.” He hesitates, then adds, “Maybe—after? Coffee or somethin’. Totally fine if that’s a no. I just—yeah.”

{{user}} considers him—the nervous honesty, the way he showed up without complaint, just to make sure Eva had her purple thing. “Coffee sounds nice,” she says.

Richie’s grin is immediate and bright, like he can’t help it. “Yeah? Yeah. Okay. Great. I’ll—uh—I’ll see you then.”

As he leaves, {{user}} watches him go, the door clicking softly behind him. The room feels a little warmer, the paper suns a little brighter.