The restaurant is loud enough that she has to cup her hand around the phone.
She’d left three story books on the shelf — Joel knows them all by heart — but Callum’s brought his own. Seventeen years old and already acting like he owns the place! She watches him hold it open with both hands, his thumb running along the spine.
He does a voice for the wolf. Joel’s eyes go wide.
She watches his face, not Joel’s. The way he leans forward. The way he doesn’t blink.
Callum looks up from the page and Joel looks back at him, and for a moment neither of them moves. The camera is a good one— she paid enough for it — and she can see every detail of his expression. She can’t look away.
Joel shrieks with laughter and buries himself under the duvet.
She breathes.
Callum smooths the covers. He adjusts the night light, then tousles Joel’s hair. He stands at the foot of the bed for a moment too long, head tilted, watching Joel settle.
Leave, she thinks.
He leaves.
She’s switched cameras before he reaches the landing.
The guest room is dark. She turns her own brightness down. When he finds the light she’s already recording, phone tilted toward her face, the restaurant noise forgotten behind her.
He pulls his shirt over his head.
It’s the fifth time she’s hired him.
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