Page 2 of Officer Gabriel

Damon is practically bouncing with excitement, his giggles spilling over as he envisions the scientific adventure ahead. The anticipation is palpable, and I can see his eyes sparkling with curiosity about what this new babysitter has in store for him.

Luna shoots me a wink, her confidence radiating, and then executes a mock salute that is both adorable and amusing. "Aye, aye, captain!" she exclaims, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

The ladies were right—Luna really does seem like a fantastic babysitter. I feel a sense of relief as I tell her, "You have my number in case of emergencies," while I begin to slowly back away toward the door, still keeping an eye on the two of them.

"9-1-1," she replies with a nod, her expression playful. "You're the police, right?"

I roll my eyes at her cheekiness, though I can't help but chuckle. "Don't get cheeky, little lady," I say, my voice light yet firm. Her quip brings a small smile to my face, and I can't shake the feeling that she's already proving to be more reliable than the various girls I've called to babysit Damon over the past year—and certainly more fun!

Before I even manage to shut the front door behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of Bill Nye turning off, followed by the eager patter of two pairs of footsteps heading toward the kitchen. I guess it's volcano time, and I can't help but feel a sense of excitement for what they’re about to create together.

2

LUNA

Ifeel a gentle nudging and someone calling my name from a distance. "Go away," I mumble, my voice thick with sleep. Let me stay in my dream where the sexy, muscular cop is putting me in handcuffs, his strong hands gripping my wrists firmly yet tantalizingly.

"Luna," comes a deep, rugged voice, rich and warm, cutting through the haze of my slumber. "It's me, Gabriel."

Yes, I'm painfully aware of his name, the way it rolls off the tongue like a melody. I can see the shiny Livingston nametag affixed to his chest, glinting in the soft light as he pushes me up against a wall, his presence looming and magnetic. His dark eyes bore into me with a mix of intensity and curiosity, and?—

My eyes shoot open in shock when I realize that Gabriel, the real Gabriel Livingston, is the one nudging me awake, pulling me abruptly from my vivid fantasy. "Oh, hello," I croak, still disoriented as I take in the sight of him standing over me in his bed, looking impossibly handsome in the morning light. "I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here."

He rewards me with a disarming smile, one that lights up his face and makes my heart flutter. "Nope, not at all."

When I catch sight of his nametag again, a wave of warmth floods my cheeks, and I practically blush at the lingering memory from my dream. God only knows why that was so erotic; perhaps it was the thrill of danger mixed with the allure of authority. "Well, after I put Damon to bed, I decided to check out your bathroom like you said, then?—"

Gabriel raises his hands, a gesture meant to halt my flow of thoughts. "Don't worry about it, Luna, really. I called you over here at the last minute for an unexpected sleepover with a six-year-old. I’m lucky you weren’t a serial killer. I’m going to make breakfast for Damon and me. Want some?"

Last night, Damon couldn’t stop gushing about his dad. It was abundantly clear that he was a little boy utterly smitten with their bond. They went fishing together, casting lines into the shimmering lake, sharing secrets under the vast sky. They explored the park, running hand in hand, laughter echoing in the air. They even cooked dinner together, a chaotic but joyful affair that filled the kitchen with warmth and the savory scent of home-cooked meals. There was hardly anything that Damon and his dad didn’t do together, and it was heartwarming to witness such a deep connection between them.

Gabriel soon left the room to start breakfast, his footsteps fading as I got up to use the restroom. By the time I emerged, the enticing aroma of sizzling bacon wafted through the air, mingling with the comfort of a home filled with love. I stepped into the kitchen just as Damon made his entrance, still clad in the same footie pajamas I’d put him to sleep in, his eyes bright with anticipation for the day ahead.

"Hey, buddy!" Gabriel swoops down, effortlessly lifting Damon and placing him on the counter as if he were as light as a feather. "How was last night? I haven't seen any volcano residue yet."

"Have you checked the bathtub?" Damon responds, his eyes growing wide as saucers, filled with a mixture of innocence and mischief.

I take a seat at their kitchen island, settling in to watch the playful banter unfold between father and son. "Hey now," I interject with a teasing tone, "I'm pretty sure we washed that out. There's only a slight orange-y tint to the tub that I'm confident a little bleach and some elbow grease will take care of."

Gabriel flashes me a bright smile, accompanied by a playful wink that showcases his good-natured spirit. "Wow. Orange-y? I thought you had scurvy!" he exclaims to his son, adopting a comically wide-eyed expression of exaggerated concern. "You look like a carrot!"

Damon dramatically slaps his hands to his face, his expression a mix of horror and hilarity. "Luna! Do I look orange-y?" he gasps, clearly caught up in the playful theatrics of the moment.

Oh, boy. "I wouldn't say you look like a carrot," I reply, trying to keep the atmosphere light. I shoot a pointed look at Gabriel, who, sensing the playful tension, wisely returns his eyes to the stack of pancakes he's working on and begins to whistle a cheerful tune while he flips them with practiced ease.

"I think you're tricking me, daddy!" Damon exclaims, a hint of mischief dancing in his wide eyes, as he leans closer to Gabriel for reassurance.

They're absolutely adorable together. Their banter flows effortlessly as they chat about the exciting activities of lastnight, recounting each detail in a way that makes me almost jealous of their bond. I feel a little like an intruder, sitting there and listening in on their joyful exchange. After all, I'm just the neighbor who was called in at the last minute, seeking the warmth of a home-cooked meal instead of the stale Frosted Flakes waiting for me back at my place.

As breakfast winds down and the last crumbs of pancake are wiped away, Damon suddenly springs to his feet, a burst of energy propelling him toward the backyard. He can hardly contain his excitement as he mentions something about a fort, which Gabriel explains to me is the treehouse that the two of them built together last summer, a testament to their teamwork and creativity.

"It was a slow and painful process, believe me," he says, shaking his head in disbelief as he begins to tidy up the remnants of breakfast. "I tried to get a lot done while he was taking his naps, but inevitably, he’d wake up to the sounds of me hammering or sawing, and he’d come bounding over, eager to lend a hand."

I could only imagine the chaos of attempting to build a treehouse with a five-year-old. It sounded like a recipe for disaster, one that could easily lead to mishaps and mayhem. "How many times did one of you end up getting hurt?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes dramatically, then holds up his hand, revealing a long scar that stretches across the entirety of the back of it, a testament to his trials. "I got more cuts and bruises trying to stop him from getting hurt than anything else. This one? Had to get stitches. And let me tell you, Damon cried the entire time."

What a sweet boy, I think, appreciating the bond they share. "I know this is none of my business, but where's his mom at?"

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