{{user}} hadn’t even wanted to go to the PTA meeting. It was long, noisy, and full of over-caffeinated parents arguing about snack rotation and playground mulch. She was just trying to sneak out when she accidentally made very direct eye contact across the room.

With him.

The single dad. The tall, quiet one who always looked just a little lost in the crowd — hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times that morning, sleeves rolled up, that tired-but-golden look like he hadn't slept well but was still somehow handsome in a humble, real-life way.

And apparently, her eyes lingered a little too long.

Because five minutes later, a small human barreled into her kneecaps in the hallway.

“Are you my new mommy?” the little boy asked, all gap-toothed grin and blue marker smudges on his cheeks.

{{user}} blinked. “Um. What?”

“You looked at my dad for three seconds. That’s a long time. That means dating,” he said with absolute kindergarten confidence.

Behind him, the dad — clearly mortified — rushed forward. “Leo! We talked about this, bud.”

Leo shrugged. “You said if someone looks at you like they like you, you should say hi. I said hi.”