Chapter 17 The Morning Problem

Chapter 17 The Morning Problem


Morning in the Saunders house had a pattern now.

It surprised Tessa every time she realized it, not because the routine was complicated, but because it existed at all. It was a rhythm, steady and real, built from small repetitions that had started as work and quietly turned into familiarity. She knew which floorboard near the pantry creaked, and she knew the drawer that stuck in the kitchen island unless you lifted the handle slightly before pulling. She knew where the cereal was, which shelf Emma could reach without climbing, and which cup Emma insisted was “the good one” even though it was just a plain plastic cup with a faded rainbow on the side.

Tessa moved through it without asking permission.

She did not hesitate at doorways anymore. She did not pause to figure out what belonged to her and what did not. She opened cabinets, grabbed plates, and rinsed fruit like she had always done it. The confidence felt practical, not emotional, but it still made her uneasy when she caught herself in it. Comfort was dangerous. Comfort made you careless, and careless was how people got attached to things that could be taken away.

She told herself it was not comfort, it was efficiency. She was doing her job well, and she was doing it fast because mornings did not wait for anyone. Still, the thought hovered in the back of her mind like a warning label, one she could not peel off.

Mikayla’s voice floated in, uninvited, as she poured cereal into a bowl and listened for Emma’s footsteps upstairs.

Just do not let him become your problem.

Tessa told herself, again, that he was not her problem. Derek Saunders could act however he wanted, because her focus was the kid, the schedule, and the paycheck. She was here for Emma. She was here because her mom needed her to be here, and because bills did not care about ego.

Her phone buzzed softly on the counter. She ignored it. She cracked an egg into a pan, stirred it, and added a pinch of salt the way Emma liked, because Emma always complained if it tasted “too plain.” She reached for the small spatula, the one with the rubber edge that did not scratch the pan, and flipped the eggs with quick, practiced movements.

Emma came down the stairs in socks and an oversized hoodie, hair still a little messy, cheeks puffed because she was brushing her teeth as she walked. She stopped at the bottom step and scanned the kitchen, then smiled when she saw Tessa.

“You are making eggs,” Emma said, voice muffled.

“I am,” Tessa replied. “And you are brushing your teeth like a person who wants to choke.”

Emma blinked, then giggled, then hurried to the sink to spit. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed onto the stool at the counter like it was her rightful place. “Can I have the rainbow cup.”

Tessa did not need to ask which one that was. She grabbed it from the cabinet and filled it with water without looking. “Drink,” she said.

Emma drank obediently, then sighed like she had done something hard.

Tessa slid a plate toward her. “Eat first, then we will do hair.”

Emma nodded and reached for her fork.

The kitchen felt normal in that moment, which was the problem, because normal was not supposed to happen in a house like this. Normal belonged to people who did not have tragedies and scandals hanging in the air like invisible wallpaper. Normal belonged to families who ate breakfast together without a strange quiet sitting between them.

Tessa turned back to the stove to finish the eggs.

That was when Derek walked in.

He did not stomp. He did not announce himself. The only sign he was there at first was the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to brace even though the kid did not. Tessa felt it the same way she had started sensing storms before they hit. She turned her head slightly and saw him in the doorway, hair damp, T-shirt wrinkled like he had thrown it on without thinking, eyes fixed on her hands moving in his kitchen.

He froze for half a beat.

Not because she was doing anything wrong.

Because she was doing it easily.

Tessa watched him clock the scene, her reaching into the fridge without hesitation, her stirring the eggs, her speaking to Emma like this was a normal morning. Derek’s expression did not change much, but something in his gaze tightened, the same way it did when he saw something he did not like and could not name.

Tessa braced automatically.

Here it comes, she thought. The comment. The micromanaging. The reminder that she was not supposed to be comfortable in this space.

Derek took a step in, slower now, and leaned his shoulder against the counter near the coffee machine. His eyes flicked to Emma, then back to the stove.

“You are making eggs,” he said.

It was not a question. It was not praise. It was said the way people commented on something they were already annoyed by.

“Yes,” Tessa replied, tone even.

Emma looked between them, fork paused midair like she was sensing the current.

Derek’s gaze lingered on the pan. “She does not always eat eggs.”

“She does when they are scrambled,” Tessa said. “She does not when they are runny.”

Derek’s eyebrows lifted slightly, like he did not like that she knew that detail.

“I know what she eats,” he said.

Tessa slid the eggs onto a plate without rushing, then placed it in front of Emma. She kept her voice calm. “Then you know she is picky, and you know mornings go smoother when she is not hungry and mad at the same time.”

Derek’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue the logic. He reached for a mug and poured coffee, movements sharp and efficient. He watched Tessa out of the corner of his eye as she rinsed the pan and set it in the sink.

The irritation in him felt strange. It was not the usual defensive thing, not the my parents hired you and I did not ask for this anger. It was something else, something more irrational. His house looked functional without his mother controlling it, and it bothered him in a way he did not want to admit.

Tessa misread the look immediately. She assumed he was about to criticize her for using the wrong pan, the wrong spatula, the wrong cup. She kept her posture steady, prepared to absorb whatever petty comment he threw.

Derek misread her too. He saw her moving through the kitchen like she belonged, and he assumed she was getting too comfortable on purpose, like it was a challenge.

Neither of them said that part out loud.

Tessa grabbed the hairbrush from the drawer that stuck and held it up. “Emma. Hair.”

Emma groaned dramatically, then hopped off the stool and stood in front of Tessa, chin lifted like she was preparing for battle.

Tessa began brushing gently, working through knots with practiced patience. “Hold still,” she murmured.

Emma huffed. “It hurts.”

“It does not hurt,” Derek said, voice dry.

Emma shot him a look. “You do not have hair.”

Derek’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, then he caught himself. He took a sip of coffee instead, eyes flicking toward the window like he needed distance from the moment.

Tessa kept brushing, careful, steady, then gathered Emma’s hair into a ponytail. She reached for a hair tie and wrapped it around twice.

Derek’s voice came again, low and almost casual. “Her school does not like ponytails that high.”

Tessa glanced at him briefly. “Her school does not have rules about ponytails.”

“They do,” Derek said.

Tessa’s eyebrows lifted. “They have rules about skirts being too short. They do not have rules about ponytails.”

Emma said, very quietly, “I like it high.”

Derek’s gaze flicked to Emma, then back to Tessa. “It looks messy.”

“It looks like a ponytail,” Tessa replied.

Derek’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You do not have to argue everything.”

Tessa’s stomach tightened, heat flaring fast. She kept her voice controlled. “You do not have to comment on everything.”

Emma’s eyes widened.

The bickering was not screaming. It was not a fight. It was the low, dry kind, petty and sharp, the kind that could be passed off as normal conversation if you were not paying attention.

It was also familiar in a way that annoyed both of them.

Derek leaned against the counter and stared at the ponytail like it personally offended him. “You are acting like you live here.”

Tessa’s fingers stilled for a beat at Emma’s collar.

There it was.

The line beneath everything.

She forced herself to keep her tone even. “I am acting like I know where the cereal is. That is not the same thing.”

Derek exhaled through his nose, a quiet scoff. “You know where everything is.”

“Because I have been here for weeks,” Tessa replied. “That is how jobs work. People learn.”

Derek’s gaze held hers for a second longer than necessary. “People get comfortable.”

Tessa felt the sting of his words, and she hated that she felt it. “Then maybe you should stop making everything a problem,” she said before she could stop herself.

Derek’s jaw tightened, and for a second it looked like he was about to push, to turn the petty bickering into something sharper. His eyes flicked to Emma, who was watching them with too much attention.

That was the interruption that forced both of them to redirect.

Emma dropped her spoon on the floor with a loud clatter and said, “Oops.”

The sound snapped through the tension.

Tessa and Derek moved at the same time, both bending down to pick it up, both reaching for it. Their hands brushed briefly over the handle.

Neither of them reacted out loud. Neither apologized. Tessa straightened first and grabbed a clean spoon from the drawer.

“Here,” she said to Emma, voice soft.

Derek straightened next, eyes flicking to Tessa like he had noticed how easily she switched tone. He hated that she could predict his next comment. He hated it because it made him feel seen.

Tessa hated that she could predict him too, hated that she knew which lines he would push and which ones he would avoid when Emma was watching.

Emma took the spoon and started eating again like nothing had happened.

Tessa set a hand on the back of Emma’s chair lightly, grounding herself. “All right,” she said. “We have five minutes, then shoes.”

Emma nodded and shoveled eggs into her mouth like she was racing time.

Derek watched, coffee mug in hand, expression unreadable.

Tessa glanced at the clock and started gathering Emma’s things. Backpack by the door. Lunch in the fridge. Jacket on the bench.

She moved quickly, not looking over her shoulder for approval, and that was what pulled Derek’s attention again. She opened the fridge and grabbed the lunch bag, checking it without thinking.

Derek’s gaze tightened. “You do not have to check it.”

Tessa paused, then looked at him. “I do,” she said simply. “Sometimes your mom packs too much fruit, and Emma complains, and then we waste it, and then she refuses to eat the next day because she thinks lunch will be wrong.”

Derek stared at her.

Tessa lifted her chin slightly. “If you want the mornings to run smoother, you let me run them.”

Derek’s shoulders stiffened. “You are not in charge.”

“I am not trying to be in charge,” Tessa replied. “I am trying to get her to school without turning breakfast into a war.”

Emma, chewing noisily, said, “I hate war.”

Tessa blinked and looked down at her. “You hate war.”

Emma nodded seriously. “It is loud.”

Derek’s mouth twitched again, almost a smile, then he caught it.

Tessa finished checking the lunch bag and zipped it. “Shoes,” she called.

Emma hopped down and sat on the bench, swinging her feet.

Tessa crouched to help tie the laces because Emma always tied them too loose. Derek hovered near the doorway now, not speaking, but watching with that stillness that suggested he was holding himself back on purpose.

Emma stared at Tessa as she tied the knot. “Do you know what Grandma said yesterday,” Emma asked suddenly.

Tessa’s stomach tightened, expecting another test. “What.”

“She said the kitchen is nicer now,” Emma said, eyes wide. “Because it has more food smells.”

Tessa froze for half a beat, then forced herself to keep tying the laces like her fingers were not suddenly clumsy.

Derek’s gaze snapped to Emma.

Emma continued, unaware. “She said I used to only eat toast and cereal and now I eat eggs and pasta and chicken and trees.”

Tessa’s mouth twitched despite herself. “Broccoli.”

“Trees,” Emma insisted.

Derek exhaled, sounding like he wanted to laugh and did not trust it.

Tessa tied the second shoe and stood. “All right. Jacket.”

Emma pulled her jacket on and zipped it halfway, then looked between Derek and Tessa with that quiet, observant expression she had when she was collecting information.

They bickered again, softer now, about the lunch bag.

Derek said she did not need two snacks. Tessa said she did, because she ate one at recess and one at dismissal. Derek challenged it. Tessa held her ground, because she had watched Emma’s mood dip when she was hungry, and she refused to set Emma up to fail.

The bickering stayed low and dry. It was petty. It was routine. It was familiar in a way that both of them hated.

Emma watched them for a moment, then said something small and careless, like she was commenting on something ordinary.

“Stop fighting in our kitchen.”

The word landed harder than it should.

Our.

Tessa’s breath caught. She forced a small laugh, quick and light, like it was cute and nothing. “We are not fighting,” she said.

Emma shrugged. “Yes you are.”

Derek did not laugh.

He paused.

Tessa heard the misinterpretation instantly.

Emma meant comfort. Safety. Routine. She meant the way the kitchen felt less like a museum and more like a place you could spill juice without feeling like you ruined it.

Tessa heard attachment.

Derek heard invasion.

Tessa felt a quick warmth spread in her chest and smothered it immediately with logic. Kids said things. Kids claimed space in strange ways. It did not mean anything. It did not mean she belonged, and it did not mean she was staying forever.

Derek’s eyes flicked from Emma to Tessa, then away like he did not trust his own expression. The pause stretched a beat too long, and it was not awkward because they were strangers.

It was awkward because they were not.

Emma went back to eating, content, unaware she had shifted the entire room with one word.

Tessa busied herself by checking the schedule on the counter, flipping the page like she needed something to look at. She could feel Derek’s stillness beside her, the way his silence held weight.

He did not comment.

He did not crack a joke.

He did not reset the room.

He just stood there, coffee in hand, staring at nothing like he was thinking too hard about a word that should not matter.

Our.

Tessa swallowed and forced herself to move. “We should go,” she said, voice normal.

Derek blinked as if he had forgotten they were still in a morning.

He grabbed his keys, motion sharp and controlled, and held the door open.

Emma bounced toward the car without thinking, and for a second Tessa saw the smallest ease in her movement, the way routine made a kid feel steadier even when nothing else was steady.

Tessa followed, and Derek fell into step behind them.

As they walked out, Derek’s eyes flicked to Tessa once more, then away again, like the glance was involuntary and the meaning behind it was something he did not want to touch.

The pause stayed with him.

And for the first time, the look on his face suggested he was considering what it meant.