Grace Quinn clenched her fists at John Amster's frivolous words. She wished she could grab the corners of his smirking mouth, tie them into a neat bow, and stuff his face with whole wheat bread.
Struggling to maintain her composure, she exhaled slowly and covered her lips with her hand, coughing softly. "My preferences don't matter, Mr. Amster. I want to talk about Jimmy."
John raised an eyebrow, but she pressed on.
"Jimmy is sensitive and withdrawn. Lately, he's been in low spirits, his appetite has declined, and during nap time at school, he struggles with sleep. Even when he does doze off, he wakes frequently. After an assessment by our school psychologist…" Grace hesitated before continuing. "He shows early signs of depression."
The air between them shifted. The lighthearted arrogance in John's gaze disappeared, replaced by something cold and unreadable. "When did this start?"
"He's never been particularly lively, but this semester, he's become noticeably gloomier. His emotional instability started about two months ago."
Grace had a good idea why—his home life. "Mr. Amster, if his condition doesn't improve, we recommend he rest at home."
The school had already suggested that Jimmy be pulled from classes. The principal didn't want to risk an incident. But Grace believed that if the problem stemmed from his family, sending him home wouldn't fix it—it would make it worse. That was why she had been paying extra attention to both Jimmy and Larry, another child in her class with psychological struggles.
John's gaze remained locked onto her. For once, there was no amusement, no teasing glint.
He lit a cigarette, the white smoke curling lazily between them, obscuring his face. "So, Miss Quinn, what do you suggest?"
"I hope you'll pay more attention to Jimmy. Children are perceptive. That… wild teaching method you just demonstrated won't work on him."
She hesitated before adding, "If possible, his mother should spend more time with him. He craves maternal love. Having her around would help."
"That won't be possible," John replied, tapping the ash from his cigarette into the tray, his movements smooth and deliberate.
Grace's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "Why?"
"Because his biological mother is no longer alive."
Her breath caught.
John extinguished the cigarette, leaned forward, and met her gaze, closing the distance between them. His voice was low, deliberate. "You care about Jimmy a lot. Why not consider my proposal? He likes you. If you became his stepmother, he'd be truly happy."
Before Grace could react, a sudden crash sounded from upstairs.
"Jimmy!" They two looked up.
Without thinking, she sprang to her feet, completely forgetting about the slippers on her feet. She barely took two steps before her foot hit the leg of the sofa. Pain shot up her shin as her slipper went flying, and the next second—
Thud!
She landed on her knees, the hard floor sending a jolt of pain through her body.
John was already beside her, reaching out. "Are you okay?"
A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, but she ignored the pain. "Jimmy—"
She extended her hand, and John pulled her up effortlessly. Even standing, her knees throbbed, but she didn't pause.
John frowned but said nothing as she hurried upstairs.
The second floor was elegant, lined with paintings and antique shelves filled with porcelain. Grace's gaze quickly landed on a little girl standing beside one of the shelves.
She looked just like Jimmy.
The girl wore an elaborate princess gown, a delicate crown resting atop her dark hair. Her eyes, however, were not soft and innocent—they were cold. She stared at Grace with quiet scrutiny, her small hands balled into fists.
Before Grace could ask, Jimmy appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Miss Quinn?" His hair was damp from his bath, the faint scent of fruit shampoo clinging to him.
Relief flooded her, and she crouched slightly to meet his gaze. "I heard something break. Are you alright?"
Jimmy nodded. "I'm fine."
Grace turned back to the girl. "And she is…?"
John stepped in, gently moving the child away from the broken shards. "This is Jimmy's younger sister, Alice."
Grace blinked. "They're twins?"
The two children were so similar in age, yet Jimmy had never mentioned her.
"For personal reasons, Alice has been raised at home," John said vaguely.
Alice continued to stare at Grace, her expression unreadable but unmistakably guarded. The hostility in her eyes was surprising for a child.
Grace immediately understood.
John's earlier comment about her becoming Jimmy's stepmother—Alice had heard it.
She looked back at John, her tone even. "Mr. Amster, I hope you'll take my concerns seriously. It's getting late—I should go. Please take care of the children."
She turned toward the door, making her way outside. The night breeze cooled her flushed skin as she approached her car.
Behind her, footsteps followed.
"Miss Quinn," John's deep voice cut through the silence.
Grace reached for the car door handle, but before she could open it, a warm hand covered hers, stopping her. His grip was firm yet careful, the rough calluses on his palm brushing against her skin.
The night was quiet, save for the rustling wind. Under the streetlight, John's tall figure seemed closer, his dark eyes unreadable.
Then, he leaned in slightly, voice low and deliberate. "Miss Quinn, tonight… shall I?"