Chapter 2 — Paperwork and Awkward Introductions
Gabriel
Gabriel Lorne stared at the stack of papers on his kitchen counter. Their edges were slightly curled from being stuffed into Amelia’s backpack the day before. His coffee mug, half-full and untouched, sat nearby, the steam curling upward before vanishing into the stillness of the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the familiar weight of exhaustion settling over him. Forgetting to sign the forms wasn’t an intentional oversight—just another thing that had slipped through the cracks in his endless list of responsibilities.
Olivia Hart had called that morning, her voice gentle but purposeful. “Mr. Lorne,” she’d said, “I realize you might be busy, but I do need these forms signed today. Could you stop by the school when you have a chance?”
There was no reproach in her tone, just a quiet understanding, but that didn’t stop it from stinging. Gabriel had simply muttered, “Yeah, I’ll bring them by,” before hanging up, feeling more like a struggling student than a responsible parent.
Now, as he gathered the papers, Amelia’s crayon doodles caught his eye. In the corner of one form, she’d drawn a sunflower, its uneven petals radiating out from a bright yellow center. It was simple, yet unmistakably hers. He traced the lines with a rough fingertip, a pang of guilt tightening his chest. She was thriving in this new environment, but was he giving her enough? Could he?
“Daddy?” Amelia’s voice called from the living room, where her plush animals were currently starring in a lively reenactment of some cartoon episode. The sound of her laughter filtered through the house, warm and unguarded, a fragile balm against the gnawing ache in his chest.
“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” he said, tucking the papers under his arm. “Eleanor will be here any minute.”
“Okay, Daddy!” she chirped, her attention already returning to her animal parade. Her innocence was both a comfort and a source of pain—a reminder that she deserved more than what he felt capable of giving.
Gabriel grabbed his keys and stepped out, the cool morning air biting against his skin. Eleanor would have her opinions, as she always did, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He’d drop off the papers, get back to Amelia, and keep moving forward. One step at a time.
###
The mid-morning sun cast warm light over Golden Grove Kindergarten as Gabriel’s truck crunched into the gravel parking lot. The sound of children’s laughter drifted from the playground, mingling with the faint, earthy scent of freshly turned soil. Gabriel hesitated as he approached the glass double doors, his boots slowing against the pavement. He adjusted the papers in his hand, the sunflower drawing peeking out like a quiet reproach.
The hallway was bright and inviting, the soft hum of activity filling the air. He stopped outside Olivia Hart’s classroom, the door slightly ajar. Inside, her voice—soft, soothing, with an undercurrent of enthusiasm—carried over the murmur of children’s chatter.
“Just hand her the papers and go,” he muttered, his hand hovering over the frame. Yet he remained rooted, his boots feeling heavier than they should. The hint of lavender in the air, mingling with the scent of crayons and glue, pulled at something he couldn’t quite name.
A child’s giggle broke his trance. Olivia glanced up from where she crouched beside a small boy, her hands deftly arranging colorful blocks into a precarious tower. Her hazel eyes brightened when they landed on Gabriel, and she stood gracefully, brushing her hands against her cardigan.
“Mr. Lorne,” she greeted warmly, walking toward him. The soft lavender of her cardigan and the light sway of her auburn ponytail gave her an approachable, almost effortless charm. “Thank you for coming in.”
Gabriel shifted his weight, holding out the papers. “Sorry about the delay,” he said, his voice low and clipped. “I should’ve handled this yesterday.”
“No problem at all,” Olivia replied, her smile a quiet reassurance as she accepted the forms. She flipped through the stack quickly, her fingers brushing the sunflower drawing. “Everything looks in order. Thank you for bringing these by so promptly.”
Her calm, practical tone unsettled him. It wasn’t judgmental—if anything, it was kind—but it made him acutely aware of the cracks in his own composure. He cleared his throat, unsure if he should leave or say something more.
“Amelia seems to be settling in well,” Olivia added, her hazel eyes softening. “She’s a bright girl with such a creative spark. Yesterday, she told me about her ribbon collection. She said her favorite is the one with stars because it makes her feel brave.”
Gabriel blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. Amelia rarely shared personal thoughts with strangers, yet here she was, opening up to her teacher after just a day. “She told you that?”
“She did,” Olivia said, her smile widening just a fraction. “She’s a little shy, but she’s already made a friend or two. And she’s really taken to the garden activity. She was so thoughtful picking out her sunflower seed yesterday—it was lovely to see.”
Gabriel’s mouth twitched, almost forming a smile, but it faded quickly. “She’s... been through a lot,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. He glanced down, the words feeling too heavy in the lightness of the room. “We both have.”
Olivia’s expression softened further, but she didn’t press. Instead, she gestured toward the windowsill, where small pots of freshly planted seeds basked in the sunlight. “Gardening can be a wonderful outlet,” she said, her tone gentle. “It’s amazing how tending to something small can help us feel a little more grounded.”
Gabriel followed her gaze to the pots, the neat rows of soil a stark contrast to the messiness of his own thoughts. He felt the urge to say something—anything—but the words stuck in his throat. His fingers tightened slightly on the papers.
“I’m glad she likes it,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “Thanks for... you know, making her feel at home here.”
Olivia tilted her head as though weighing whether to respond, but she simply smiled. “It’s my pleasure. Amelia’s a joy to have in class.”
Gabriel nodded, his boots already turning toward the door. “I should get going,” he added, the words feeling abrupt in the gentle warmth of the room.
“Of course,” Olivia said, stepping back. “Have a good day, Mr. Lorne.”
As Gabriel walked back down the hallway, the sound of children’s laughter echoed faintly behind him. The sunlight outside felt harsher as it reflected off the windows, and the knot in his chest refused to loosen.
###
At the truck, Gabriel leaned against the door, letting out a slow breath. Olivia’s words lingered, intertwining with the image of Amelia’s sunflower drawing. It was so simple—a bright spot of color in a sea of lines and signatures—and yet it carried a weight he couldn’t shake. Amelia was finding joy in this new world, in ribbons and seeds and laughter. Maybe, he thought reluctantly, she was finding what she needed, even if he wasn’t sure he could provide it all himself.
The thought both comforted and stung. Shaking his head, he climbed into the truck and started the engine. There were more immediate matters to focus on—like Eleanor. She’d be watching Amelia this afternoon, and she always had a sharp word or two about his choices. He couldn’t even blame her; she just wanted what was best for her granddaughter. The problem was, so did he.
###
Back in the classroom, Olivia lingered by the door, watching Gabriel retreat down the path. There was something about him—his quiet stoicism, the flicker of something unspoken in his blue eyes—that tugged at her in a way she couldn’t quite define. She recognized the weight he carried, though she didn’t know its specifics. Yet.
“Miss Hart?” Amelia’s small voice pulled Olivia back into the room. The little girl stood by the table, holding up a crumpled sunflower seed packet. “Can we water the seeds now?”
Olivia’s smile softened, and she stepped back into the warmth of the classroom. “Of course we can, Amelia. Let’s take care of them together.”
As she knelt beside the girl, handing her a tiny watering can, Olivia’s thoughts drifted briefly to Gabriel. He was as closed off as the soil they’d just planted seeds in, but even the most guarded ground had its potential.
Maybe, just maybe, hope could take root there, too.
