"Liam, can you grab the crayons before Emma starts drawing on the walls again?" Wendy called from the kitchen, her voice carrying over the faint hum of the dishwasher. She was bent over the sink, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on a plastic cup, her dark hair slipping loose from its ponytail.

Liam, tall and lanky with a perpetual five o’clock shadow, was sprawled on the living room floor, building a precarious tower of blocks with Emma, the four-year-old he was babysitting alongside Wendy. He glanced up at Wendy, catching the way her fitted t-shirt hugged her curves as she stretched to reach a high cabinet. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and she absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a small silver hoop earring.

"On it," Liam said, standing and brushing off his jeans. As he reached for the crayons, Emma tugged at his sleeve. "Liam, can we make cookies now?" she asked, her big blue eyes wide with hope. Wendy turned, leaning against the counter with a smirk. "Well, Liam? You promised her earlier." He hesitated, glancing at the clock. "It’s almost bedtime," he started, but Wendy cut him off with a laugh. "Come on, live a little. What’s the worst that could happen?"