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“Do you have support?”
“I hired a temporary nanny and my friends help when they can.”
“Tell me about having hired help. How’s that going?”
Before I can answer, images flash through my head. Peyton standing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning, Tilly balanced against her shoulder while she hums a lullaby. Peyton laughing breathlessly when a bottle with a loose lid exploded all over both of them last weekend. Peyton asleep on the couch with Tilly curled against her chest, one protective arm wrapped around her even in sleep. And then there’s the memory from yesterday that I haven’t stopped replaying: Peyton looking up at me across the table with candlelight in her eyes and her hand in mine like it belonged there.
“It’s going, um, well,” I say, my voice coming out too hesitantly.
Dr. Patel studies me the same way he has many times before, resting one ankle over his knee. “You feel some way about this nanny.”
“That subtle, huh?”
“Your face says it all, Oliver,” he tells me.
Dammit. This is the moment where every instinct in me screams to keep my feelings locked up and hidden behind an everything is fine statement. I’ve spent my whole life pretending to be fine. But I didn’t come here to perform. I’m here because my life is a mess and I’m one impulsive second away from making it a disaster because I can’t stop thinking about the woman I hired to help me with childcare.
“I…” I start before stopping to consider how to word my thoughts. I've rebuilt engines that looked beyond saving, but simple words refuse to come out. “She’s not just a nanny.”
Dr. Patel’s expression stays neutral. He must be the toughest opponent when playing poker. “In what way?” he asks.
I stare at my hands, pondering how to answer. A smudge of grease under my thumbnail never fully goes away, no matter how many times I scrub.
“She’s taking care of my niece while living with us and making the apartment feel less lonely. But Peyton—that’s her name—also laughs at my dumb jokes and shares her favorite music with me. Not to mention how she looks at me with understanding instead of judgment,” I say, but leave out how she sees the version of me I stopped believing existed a long time ago.
“And that clearly affects you.”
I let out a long, drawn-out breath. “It makes me want things I shouldn’t fucking want.”
The admission hangs between us. Saying the words out loud makes it impossible to shove them back into whatever corner of my brain I've been trying to lock them inside.
“Wanting isn’t inherently bad,” Dr. Patel says carefully.
“It is when the timing is shit,” I snap, immediately softening my tone after because I’m not mad at him, only at the universe and its impeccable timing. “Peyton’s going through an annulment.”
“So she’s still legally married.”
Dragging a palm down my face, I exhale through my nose. “Correct.”
“Is it safe to assume that their relationship has been done for longer?”
“Sure.” I shrug and push off the couch, restlessness buzzing under my skin. “But I’m not doing anything until their marriage is officially annulled. I’m not the guy who gets involved with taken women.”
“Tell me why that’s so important to you, Oliver. If they’ve been separated for months, many wouldn’t view it as a bad thing to start a new relationship at this point.”
I pace the length of the office, unable to burn off the energy coiling inside me. My hands find my pockets, then leave them again. Finally, I stop and sink back into the couch. “Because lines matter. Once you start blurring them, it gets really easy to pretend anything is fine as long as it feels good. I’ve spent my whole life watching people hurt each other and justify their actions with bullshit excuses. I’m not adding to that vicious cycle. She deserves better. I fucking deserve better.”
My voice cracks ever so slightly on the last sentence, betraying me in a way I resent. Because for all the confidence those words are supposed to carry, they don't sound like certainty. They sound like someone trying desperately to convince themself to do the right thing.
Dr. Patel’s gaze warms slightly. “That tells me you care about her in a meaningful way. It isn’t only physical attraction, but a deeper level of connection. If it was only lust, you would’ve acted earlier.”
The words hit too close, and I look away. My molars grind together as I rub the back of my neck, searching for something to focus on besides the truth staring me in the face.
“I do care about Peyton,” I finally admit and take a deep breath. “A lot,” I add the two words that weigh more than every curse I've thrown around this entire session.
He scribbles something down. “How does she feel about you? Have you talked about your feelings with her?”
“There’s definitely something between us. I can’t be the only one feeling all these strong emotions. It’s almost like—almost like we have an invisible string pulling us together.”
