Reverie had learned quickly that Keegan’s house carried a kind of quiet that wasn’t really quiet at all. It lived in the soft hum of the refrigerator, in the ticking clock above the doorway, in the small, restless sighs of his stepdaughter as she colored at the kitchen table.

“Stay inside the lines,” Reverie murmured gently, crouched beside her. The little girl frowned in deep concentration, tongue poking out slightly as she dragged a crayon across the page.

From the doorway, Keegan watched.

He wasn’t supposed to be home this early. Work had ended sooner than expected, but instead of announcing himself, he lingered there—arms crossed, shoulder against the frame—taking in the scene like it was something fragile.

Reverie didn’t notice him at first. She was too busy helping fix a crooked line, too focused on making sure the girl smiled when she got it right. There was patience in the way she spoke, warmth in the way she listened. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t part of a job.

It was real.

Keegan exhaled slowly, something unfamiliar settling in his chest.

His wife had hired Reverie because she was responsible, reliable. Good with kids. That was all it was supposed to be. Just someone to help.

But standing there, watching Reverie brush a strand of hair behind the little girl’s ear with such absent tenderness—it didn’t feel like “just” anything.

“Keegan?”

Reverie’s voice snapped him out of it. She’d finally looked up, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah,” he said, straightening, suddenly aware of himself. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

The little girl perked up. “You’re home early!”

“Looks like it.” His gaze flickered back to Reverie, lingering a second too long “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, a small smile forming. “We’re just working on… masterpieces.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I can see that.”

There was a pause—brief, but heavy in a way neither of them named. Reverie turned back to the table, but not before he caught the faint color rising in her cheeks.

Keegan pushed off the doorframe, stepping further into the room, but something had shifted. The house didn’t feel as quiet anymore.

Or maybe it was just him.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t just noticing the babysitter.

He was noticing Reverie.