The next morning, Mike woke up to the sound of soft humming from the kitchen. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Diana had left early, as always, her side of the bed untouched. The loneliness had settled deep into his bones by now, but the presence of someone else in the house made it feel... less suffocating.
He pulled on a t-shirt and headed downstairs. Karen stood by the stove, her back to him, making breakfast for Liam. She wasn’t dressed in the usual babysitter uniform—today, she wore a tight-fitting tank top and a pair of short, loose pajama shorts. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the smooth curve of her legs, and Mike swallowed hard, averting his gaze.
“Morning,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Karen turned her head, flashing him a warm smile. “Morning, Mr. Adams. I figured I’d make some pancakes. Liam loves them.”
Mike walked to the coffee machine, his movements slow, measured. “You don’t have to do that. You’re not the maid.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t mind. Besides, I like taking care of things.”
That sentence lingered in the air between them, unspoken meanings settling into the silence. Mike cleared his throat, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He needed to be careful. This was dangerous territory, and yet, some part of him wasn’t pulling away.
Liam ran into the kitchen, interrupting the moment. “Pancakes!” he shouted excitedly.
Karen giggled and turned back to the stove, flipping the pancake onto a plate. “Go wash your hands first,” she instructed.
Liam pouted but obeyed, running off toward the sink. Mike took a sip of his coffee, studying Karen’s movements—the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the soft curve of her smile as she plated the food.
She turned back to him suddenly, catching his gaze. He didn’t look away fast enough.
“Something on your mind, Mr. Adams?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
He smirked, trying to mask the tension he felt building. “Just wondering where you learned to cook.”
She shrugged. “I had to grow up fast. No one was there to cook for me, so I learned.”
Something in her tone struck a chord in him—something familiar. He understood loneliness. Understood the feeling of needing someone, of wanting someone to just be there.
Before he could respond, the sound of Diana’s car pulling into the driveway cut through the air. Karen immediately straightened, her playful expression vanishing, replaced by something more professional.
Mike exhaled slowly, setting his mug down. The moment was over. But the spark it had ignited?
That was just beginning.
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