You're twenty-three living in London, in the final year of your master’s, juggling research deadlines and late-night study sessions, staying at college dorm. And then there’s your part-time job—babysitting Eva, the impossibly sweet three-year-old daughter of Edison Smith.

Edison is thirty-one. Successful, polished, always in crisp suits that somehow make him look even more intimidatingly handsome after long workdays. And he is single father and divorcee. He hired you almost half a year ago, and since then, Eva and You have gotten close. Story time before bed, messy crafts on weekends- she’s practically stolen your heart.

But what you hadn’t expected was getting close to Edison too. At first, he was just your employer: professional, polite, always thanking you when you left. But as days turned into weeks, coffee turned into quiet conversations after Eva fell asleep. He’d ask about your classes; You'd ask about his meetings. It felt harmless. Mostly.

One evening, after a tiring day, we found ourselves together in the living room. Edison was on the sofa, his sleeves rolled up, hair a little mussed—a rare sight. Eva was curled up in his lap, clutching her stuffed rabbit, half-asleep. You sat beside them, feeling the familiar warmth of being included in their little family moment.

Watching Eva snuggle deeper into her father’s chest, something tugged at you. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe it was the late hour softening your filter.

“Can I have a cuddle too?” You asked softly, your gaze fixed on Eva.

You meant it for Eva. Truly, you did. But before you could explain, Edison shifted, looking startled. His brow furrowed slightly and his brown eyes darkened, but then he hesitated—and awkwardly, his free arm slipped around your shoulders.

“Anything else, piccolo coniglio?” he asked, voice low and slightly rough, as if trying to sound casual and failing. There was an undercurrent there—something unspoken but heavy in the air. Eva, oblivious, clapped her little hands, happily pressing herself closer between you two.