Chapter 72
Maya's POV:
The fluorescent lights of Sunny Days Community Daycare buzzed overhead as I pushed through the glass door at 6:30 PM.
Amy was sitting cross-legged on a foam mat, stacking wooden blocks. When she saw me, her face lit up.
"Mama!"
"Hey, baby." I crouched down, pulling her into a hug. "Ready to go home?"
"Ms. Bennett?"
I turned. Miss Robinson stood in the doorway of her office, expression carefully neutral.
"Could I speak with you for a moment?"
"Of course." I gestured to Amy. "Sweetie, can you get your backpack?"
Miss Robinson closed the office door softly behind us. "Ms. Bennett, yesterday afternoon, an older woman came to the center. She said she was Amy's great-grandmother and wanted to take her."
My breath caught.
"I refused, of course. Strict pickup policies." Miss Robinson's eyes flickered with concern. "She asked me not to tell you about her visit. But I thought about it all night, and I decided you have a right to know."
Mrs. Sterling.
"Thank you for telling me." I forced a smile. "The woman you described—she is Amy's great-grandmother. It's a complicated family situation."
Miss Robinson nodded. "I understand. I just wanted to make sure you were aware."
Mrs. Sterling knows about Amy. She came to the daycare. She wanted to take her.
Adam had shown up at my door last night, acting completely normal.
He didn't know.
If Adam had found out about Amy, he wouldn't have been so... restrained.
So Mrs. Sterling hasn't told him.
But why?
---
"Mama, the water's cold!"
Amy stood at the bathroom sink, hands dripping.
I twisted the hot water tap. Ice-cold water streamed out. I turned it all the way left and waited. Thirty seconds. A minute. Still cold.
"The hot water heater's broken," I muttered.
This fucking building.
I dug the toolbox out of the storage closet and pulled up a YouTube tutorial: How to Fix a Hot Water Heater—Quick DIY Guide.
But my brain refused to focus. Every thought circled back to Mrs. Sterling.
I adjusted a wire, tightened a screw. The water heater beeped. The indicator light flickered on.
"Oh, thank God—"
I reached to close the panel, and sharp pain sliced across my palm.
"Fuck!"
Blood welled up immediately. I'd caught my hand on a jagged piece of metal inside the heater casing.
I stumbled to the bathroom sink, running cold water over the cut. It wasn't deep, but it bled freely.
"Mama?" Amy appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. "You're bleeding!"
"It's okay, baby. Just a little cut. Can you get me a towel?"
A knock sounded at the front door.
"I'll get it!" Chloe called from the living room.
I heard the door open. Then: "Uh, Maya? You've got—"
"Where is she?"
Adam.
Footsteps thundered across the apartment. Then he was there, filling the bathroom doorway, his eyes zeroing in on the towel wrapped around my hand.
"What happened?" His voice was sharp.
"It's nothing."
He crossed the bathroom in one stride, grabbing my wrist. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.
"Let me see."
"Adam, I'm fine—"
He peeled back the towel. His jaw tightened.
"How did this happen?"
"The hot water heater was broken. I fixed it myself and cut my hand."
"You fixed it yourself?" He turned on the cold water, guiding my hand under the stream. "Why didn't you call maintenance? Or a plumber?"
I stared at his profile. The sharp line of his jaw. The furrow between his brows.
"Did your grandmother say anything to you?" The question slipped out.
Adam's head snapped toward me. "Say what?"
I swallowed. "Nothing. Never mind."
He turned off the water.
"Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Hall closet. Top shelf."
He disappeared. I leaned against the sink, pressing the towel to my palm.
Adam returned with the first aid kit. He opened it on the counter, movements efficient.
"This might sting," he warned, before pouring rubbing alcohol over the cut.
I hissed through my teeth. He dabbed the wound dry with gauze and unwrapped a band-aid, smoothing the adhesive over my skin with surprising gentleness.
"Your hand is injured," he said firmly. "You're not cooking tonight. I'll order food."
"Adam, it's fine. I can still—"
"Or I'll cook."
I blinked. "You'll... what?"
"I'll cook." He turned toward the kitchen, already rolling up his shirtsleeves. "How hard can it be? I run a multi-billion-dollar company. I think I can handle making dinner."
Before I could argue, he grabbed the checkered apron hanging by the stove and tied it around his waist.
The sight of Adam Sterling—6'3", custom Armani suit—wearing my cheerful apron was so absurd that I actually laughed.
---
One hour later, the kitchen smelled like burnt garlic and questionable spices.
He plated the food with surprising care and carried the dishes to the table like he was presenting a merger proposal.
Amy climbed into her chair, peering at the food suspiciously.
I took a bite. It wasn't terrible. The chicken was dry and the vegetables were soggy, but the flavors were... there. Kind of.
"Well?" Adam sat across from me, arms crossed.
"It's edible," I said diplomatically.
His eyes narrowed. "That's not a compliment."
"You asked."
Chloe circled the table to inspect the food. "Adam Sterling. In Maya's kitchen. Wearing an apron. Actually cooking." She turned to me. "Did I slip into an alternate universe?"
"No," I said dryly. "You didn't."
"This is wild." Chloe pulled out a chair. She tried a forkful of Adam's cooking. "Huh. Not bad, actually." She waved her fork at him. "But if you're gonna make this a regular thing, you'll need serious practice. Maybe get a chef to teach you."
"I'll look into it," Adam said mildly.
---
After dinner, I stood to clear the table, but Adam caught my wrist.
"You're injured. Don't touch water."
He was already gathering plates and heading to the sink.
Chloe elbowed me, voice dropping to a whisper. "Okay, I'm gonna say it. Adam Sterling isn't that bad. If people in his social circle saw this, they'd lose their minds."
I glanced at the kitchen. Adam was scrubbing a pot, sleeves pushed up.
"He looks ridiculous," I muttered.
"He looks like he's trying," Chloe corrected. "If you're gonna give him another chance, make him earn it. Marriage."
I stared at her.
"I'm serious. If Adam wants to be with you, he needs to commit. Publicly. Legally. Marriage gives you protection. If things go south, at least you'll have legal recourse."
"You want me to marry him for insurance?"
"I want you to marry him because you love him and because you're smart enough to protect yourself. Maybe it works out and you're all happy. But if it doesn't—you won't be left with nothing."
I looked down at the band-aid.
"Do you really think two people from completely different worlds can make it work?" I asked quietly.
Chloe snorted. "I don't know. But at least Adam's willing to try. At least he's not hiding you in the shadows." Her voice turned bitter. "Not like some people."
She grabbed her coat. "Anyway, I'm gonna head out. You two lovebirds enjoy your evening."