You don’t even realize how long you’ve been in the kitchen until you hear that laugh. Deep, warm, unguarded alongside the rare bubbly one. You freeze with the spoon still in your hand, heart stuttering. You wipe your hands on a towel and step out, just to check.

Your son is sitting on the couch, half-climbed into your boss’s lap, grinning. Your boss has his head thrown back, laughing, not that polite little smile he gives at the office. And then your son leans forward and presses the tiniest kiss to your boss’s cheek before hugging him. Your son hasn’t done that — hasn’t touched let alone like any man — in years, not after his father left him.

“Mom!” your son spots you first, twisting around. His eyes are shining. “He told me the story about the printer exploding ink all over him!”

“It was relevant to your project,” your boss says lightly. “Everything okay?”