Chapter 2
Charlie Spring’s mornings always start the same, and he’s incredibly grateful for that. This one is no different. It begins with the soft patter of little feet on the wooden floor, followed by a tiny voice climbing into bed with him: “Daddy, Daddy, it’s time to get up, Daddy.” Then comes the inevitable poke to his cheek, just persistent enough to drag him from sleep.
That’s how every day starts—with his four-year-old son, Remy, demanding his attention at what feels like an ungodly hour. And today is no exception. It’s 4:30 a.m., of course, because Remy never sleeps in. He’s an early riser through and through, unlike other kids Charlie knows who give their parents the luxury of another hour or two of sleep. But not Remy.
And yet, as Charlie cracks an eye open to see his little boy’s grinning face and feel those tiny arms wrap around him, he knows he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Sure, it’s exhausting, and sure, he’ll need an extra cup of coffee (or three) to survive the day, but there’s nothing that compares to waking up with his son holding onto him like he’s the most important thing in the universe. And for Charlie, Remy is exactly that—his everything.
Charlie groans softly, rolling onto his side as he feels a little body wiggle under the blankets next to him. He squints at the clock—4:32 a.m.—and then glances at his son, who is very much awake.
“Bubs,” Charlie mutters, his voice still rough with sleep. “Why are you up so early? It’s your first day of school—you should be asleep.”
“No!” Remy declares, his tiny voice bursting with determination. “No sleep! No sleep! School’s scary! Don’t go to school! No school!”
Charlie sighs and presses an arm over his forehead, staring at the ceiling. Of course. This again. Remy’s first day of preschool has been looming over them for weeks now, and every time Charlie has tried to hype him up about learning his ABCs, meeting new friends, playing with Play-Doh, or building Lego towers taller than him, Remy’s enthusiasm has been… nonexistent.
It’s not like Charlie blames him. Remy doesn’t have many people in his life—just Charlie and the small circle of adults who’ve been there since the divorce. He knows it’s partly his fault, raising his little introverted boy in a quieter bubble than most kids get. Still, Remy needs this. He needs to go to school, to be around other kids, to make friends and have experiences that don’t revolve around Charlie. And, frankly, Charlie needs this too. He needs a few hours to work during the day, not just stealing time from 8 p.m. to midnight while running on fumes.
So Charlie sighs again and tries, because what else can he do? “Re, please?” he says softly, hoping for reason.
But Remy scrunches his nose and shakes his head furiously. “No, Daddy! No school! I don’t wanna! Nooooo!”
Charlie lets out a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Great,” he mumbles to himself. “We’re off to a fantastic start.”
Remy’s pout deepens, his bottom lip sticking out in the most exaggerated way, and he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. To really drive his point home, he starts jumping a little on the bed, his voice rising as he cries, “No! School’s bad! Daddy leaves me! Not fair!”
Charlie sighs, dragging a hand down his face before pulling Remy into his lap despite the little boy’s attempts to wiggle away. “It’s not me leaving you, sweetheart,” Charlie says gently, brushing back the messy strands of bedhead from Remy’s forehead. “It’s just me having to go to work. That happens with all the other kids, too. And guess what? I’ll be back to pick you up, and you won’t even know I was gone!”
But that doesn’t seem to do much for Remy, who shakes his head so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t get dizzy. “Nooooo!” he whines, trying to scurry out of Charlie’s arms with all the grace of a wriggling fish.
Charlie holds him a little tighter, letting out another sigh. Of course, this is very Remy. Sure, his son is shy and introverted, but when Remy decides he’s unhappy, the theatrics are unmatched. He’s always been full of big feelings and even bigger expressions—his pout alone could win him an Oscar.
“Rem” Charlie tries again, his voice soft but firm, “school isn’t bad. You’re going to have so much fun! There will be toys, games, and other kids to play with—”
“No kids!” Remy interrupts, his voice muffled as he buries his face against Charlie’s chest. “No kids! No school! Stay with Daddy!”
Charlie sighs for what feels like the hundredth time that morning, resting his chin on top of Remy’s head. “Sweetheart, I promise you’ll be okay,” he murmurs, though convincing himself might be just as hard as convincing his stubborn little boy.
Sometimes, Charlie can’t help but stop and question how his life became… this. A single dad to a dramatic, introverted, completely loveable little boy who isn’t even biologically his.
And no, it’s not like Charlie suddenly woke up one day and decided parenthood was the dream. He’s gay, for starters, and while he can absolutely acknowledge that women are beautiful, the idea of ever sleeping with one—let alone getting one pregnant—is about as realistic as him becoming a professional athlete.
No, the reason Remy is his starts with one man: Ben Hope. His ex-husband. Ben, who decided that marriage vows weren’t sacred, had an affair with a woman—Emily, he thinks her name was—and knocked her up. Charlie remembers the whirlwind of that time vividly, as much as he wishes he didn’t. He remembers the fights, the sleepless nights after Remy was born, the exhaustion of trying to care for a screaming newborn while Ben stayed out late, doing God knows what with God knows who.
“I need you here,” Charlie had yelled during one of their many fights. “I’m taking care of your kid, Ben. This isn’t even my child, and yet I’m the one raising him because you’re too selfish, too immature, too—God, just too you—to do it yourself!”
But Ben never changed. The fights got worse, the laughs more bitter, the nights lonelier, until one day, Ben left. Just… walked out the door. With Emily. And left Remy behind.
And so now, Remy is Charlie’s. All his. He doesn’t share him, doesn’t answer to anyone about how he raises him, and though he never planned on becoming a father, he wouldn’t change it for the world. Remy is his everything, even on the hardest days, even when the scars of Ben’s betrayal still ache. Because if there’s one thing Charlie knows for sure, it’s that Remy is the best thing Ben ever left him with.
Charlie will admit, on occasion, that it bothers him how much Remy looks like Ben. The light brown, fluffy hair that’s nothing like Charlie’s curls. The eyes—Ben’s eyes—staring back at him every time Remy looks up to tell him about dinosaurs or beg for just one more cookie.
And it’s not like Charlie can offset that image with Emily, the woman who shares Remy’s DNA. He only met her once, in passing—if you can call walking in on her in his and Ben’s bed “passing.” There was yelling, of course, but not enough to leave a clear impression of her in Charlie’s memory. He doesn’t know if Remy looks anything like her. He only knows he wishes Remy looked less like Ben.
But despite all of that, despite the constant reminders of his ex-husband in Remy’s features, Charlie loves him more than anything. Because even if Remy shares Ben’s hair and eyes, everything else—the most important things—belong to Charlie.
His son’s personality is all his. The way Remy stubbornly insists on doing things his own way, how he hugs fiercely, like the world might crumble if he lets go, and how his imagination fills every corner of their lives with stories and adventures. Well, okay, the over-the-top energy bursts might be a product of childhood, but everything else? That’s Charlie’s boy.
And even on the hard days—on the days when Remy’s resemblance to Ben feels like a ghost Charlie can’t shake—he wouldn’t trade a single piece of him. Because Remy is his. All his.
Charlie brushes his son’s hair again, his fingers gentle as he tries to smooth down the wild strands. “Baby, please,” he says softly, “maybe just a few more hours of sleep, and then we can talk about school again, okay?”
Remy sighs, his tiny shoulders drooping as he looks up at his dad. “But… but Daddy, I don’t… I don’t want to go to school. School’s scary.”
“Why do you think it’s scary, sweetheart? Lots of kids go to school, and they have so much fun.”
Remy fidgets, his small fingers twisting in the hem of his pajama shirt. “Yeah, but… but most kids have… will have a mommy and a daddy,” he says, his voice wobbling. “What if… what if they think it’s weird that I don’t have a… that I don’t have a mommy?”
And there it is—the moment Charlie never really prepared for.
His heart clenches as he stares at his little boy, whose big, innocent eyes are filled with uncertainty. Charlie has worked so hard to make sure Remy feels loved and safe, has tried to fill every role—mother, father, everything in between—to make sure Remy never feels like something is missing. But this… this is a conversation he’s been avoiding, a topic he’s never had the heart to bring up.
They don’t talk about Ben. They don’t talk about Emily. Charlie has never wanted Remy to feel like he wasn’t wanted, like he was some kind of mistake. Because he’s not. Remy is the light of Charlie’s life, the one thing that makes every struggle, every sleepless night, every heartbreak worth it.
But now, sitting here with his son looking up at him for answers, Charlie feels like he’s failed. He never imagined that, at four years old, Remy would already be asking these kinds of questions—already feeling different, already noticing the moms and dads at the grocery store, the families on TV, the things that set their little duo apart.
Charlie takes a deep breath and pulls Remy into his lap, hugging him close. “Sweetheart,” he begins, his voice soft but steady, “you don’t have a mommy, but you have me. And I promise, that’s not weird at all. Families come in all shapes and sizes. Some kids have a mommy and a daddy, and some just have a daddy, like you do. And you know what? That’s okay. It’s more than okay—it’s perfect, because it’s us. And I wouldn’t trade us for anything in the whole world.”
Remy sniffs, his small arms wrapping tightly around Charlie’s neck. “You sure, Daddy?”
Charlie presses a kiss to the top of his son’s head, his heart aching but full. “I’m absolutely sure, bubs. You and me—we’re a team. And you’re not weird. You’re my perfect little boy.”
And even though he knows there will be more questions, more hard conversations, Charlie hugs his son a little tighter, determined to make sure Remy always knows he’s loved.
Remy snuggles closer, his tiny arms wrapping tightly around Charlie. “Okay, Daddy,” he says, his voice soft and sleepy. “I’ll go to sleep, but… but can I bring Dino with me to school?”
Charlie smiles, brushing his fingers through Remy’s hair. “Well, bubs, if you bring Dino to school, you might have to share him. Do you want to share Dino with the other kids?”
Remy immediately shakes his head, his expression scrunching up in alarm. “No, no, no! I don’t want to share! No sharing Dino!”
Charlie chuckles softly, kissing the top of his son’s head. “Okay, okay. Then Dino can stay here, yeah? He’ll be waiting for you when you get home from school, so you can cuddle him and play with him. And we can play Dino together, just like we always do. What do you think?”
Remy considers this for a moment, then nods, his little face brightening. “Okay. I think that’s okay. Let’s go to sleep now, Daddy. I’m tired.”
Before Charlie can say anything else, Remy clumsily reaches up and puts his hand on Charlie’s face, pushing him gently to the side as if making room for himself to settle in. Charlie can’t help but laugh, pulling his son close again. “Alright, buddy, let’s go to sleep, yeah?”
Remy nods against him, already starting to drift off, and Charlie holds him a little tighter, his heart full. Moments like these are what make it all worth it—the chaos, the exhaustion, the worries about school and everything else. Because at the end of the day, it’s him and Remy, their little team.
---
The next time Charlie wakes up, it’s 8:32 a.m. The sunlight filters through the curtains, warm and soft, and he realizes with a start that he has about an hour before he has to drop Remy off at preschool. The thought sits heavy in his chest, a quiet, nagging dread that grows as the clock ticks on.
He used to think it was a little ridiculous, the way parents would cry on the first day of school. It always seemed overly sentimental, didn’t it? But now, as he stretches and carefully carries a still-sleepy Remy to the kitchen to make breakfast, he feels that tug in his heart—sharp and sudden and so much more real than he ever expected.
His little boy is growing up. And growing up means saying goodbye to something, doesn’t it? To the days when it was just the two of them, when Remy’s world revolved entirely around him, and Charlie’s world revolved entirely around Remy.
Charlie doesn’t like change. It’s unsettling and unpredictable, and the last four years of his life have been one massive lesson in how terrifying and painful change can be. Dropping Remy off at preschool feels like another shift, another leap into the unknown. He isn’t ready for it, not really. But he has to be, because this is what’s best for Remy.
“This is good for him,” Charlie mutters to himself as he flips pancakes on the stove. “This is right. He’s going to love it. He’s going to have friends. He’ll… he’ll have a better experience than I ever did. He’ll be okay.”
He hopes so, at least. God, he really hopes so. Because even though the thought of walking away from that classroom feels like it’s going to break him, Charlie knows he has to trust this step forward—for Remy’s sake, and maybe even for his own.
As Charlie flips the pancakes, Remy tugs on his sleeve, looking up with big, hopeful eyes. “Daddy, can I have a pancake with a smile on it?”
Charlie chuckles, nodding. “Okay, sweetie. But if I do that, you need to make sure you pick out an outfit for school. Is that a deal?”
Remy thinks for a moment, his lips pursed in exaggerated concentration. “Mmm, that’s okay. Can I wear my dino jacket, then?”
“Of course, sweetie. You can wear your dino jacket.”
“Okay, okay!” Remy bounces a little, clearly warming up to the idea. “Can I wear my dino shoes too?”
Charlie grins as he places the first pancake onto a plate. “Yes, sweetie, you can wear whatever shoes you want.”
Remy nods firmly, his determination renewed. “Okay, okay. You put smiles on pancakes, and I’ll go change. Right, Daddy?”
Charlie ruffles Remy’s hair with a laugh. “Right, sweetheart. Now go on, and don’t forget to brush your teeth!”
“OKAY!” Remy shouts as he scampers off, his excitement filling the room.
Charlie shakes his head with a smile, turning back to the stove. As nervous as he is about the day ahead, moments like these remind him that everything will be just fine.
When Remy comes back, he’s exactly as he said he’d be: wearing his dino jacket, his dino shoes, and proudly clutching his favorite stuffed dino in one hand and his well-worn baby blanket in the other. But instead of heading straight to the table, he runs around the kitchen with his arms outstretched, pretending to be an airplane.
“Wheeow, wheeow, wheeow!” Remy zooms past Charlie, nearly colliding with a chair in his excitement.
Charlie turns from the stove, already laughing. “Remy, buddy, you’ve got to sit down if you want breakfast!”
Remy pauses mid-zoom, his arms still out, his eyes wide. “But I’m a dino plane, Daddy! Dinosaurs gotta fly!”
Charlie raises an eyebrow, setting the plate of smiley pancakes on the table. “Even dino planes need to refuel. Now come on, sit down and eat, or I’ll have to eat your pancake instead.”
Remy gasps dramatically, clutching his stuffed dino to his chest. “No! That’s my pancake!” He scrambles into his chair, his dino and blanket tumbling into his lap as he peers eagerly at the plate.
Charlie grins, handing him a fork. “That’s what I thought. Now dig in, dino plane.”
Remy giggles, already cutting into his pancake, his earlier worries momentarily forgotten in the joy of breakfast.
Charlie treasures moments like this, watching the bright smile spread across Remy’s face as he happily digs into his pancake, complete with the promised smiley face. It’s the kind of childlike energy—from dawn until sunset—that Charlie knows he’ll miss one day. Still, as much as it tugs at his heart, he’s excited for Remy to have this chance at school, to grow and learn and experience a world outside their little bubble.
After breakfast, Charlie makes sure Remy’s hair is combed and his little backpack is packed with all the supplies he’ll need. They head out to the car, and by the time they’re driving, Remy is in full performance mode, singing along to the Disney soundtrack playing softly over the speakers. Charlie can’t quite tell if it’s from Frozen or Mulan—after four years of Disney marathons, they’ve all blurred together. But Remy knows every word, his tiny fists patting against his knees in time with the beat, his baby blanket clutched on his lap.
“Ooh, ooh, Daddy, Daddy,” Remy says, his voice bubbling with excitement. “Is my teacher gonna be nice?”
Charlie smiles, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Yes, buddy. Your teacher is going to be very nice. Almost all teachers are very nice, especially when you’re a good boy. And you’re going to be good for your teacher, right? You’re going to listen to them and be kind?”
Remy nods quickly, his curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah, oh, okay. I be nice. I promise, Daddy!”
Charlie chuckles, warmth blooming in his chest. “That’s my boy. You’re going to do great, sweetheart.”
As Remy dives back into his singing, Charlie keeps driving, a quiet mix of nerves and pride settling in his heart.
When they arrive at the school, Charlie parks the car and gets out, walking around to help Remy out of his car seat. He reaches for Remy’s baby blanket, intending to leave it behind, but the moment his fingers brush the soft fabric, Remy erupts into a full-blown tantrum.
“No, Daddy, no! Don’t take it, no!” Remy cries, kicking his legs and swinging his arms wildly in protest.
Charlie sighs, bracing himself against the onslaught of his emotional little boy. As much as he adores Remy’s sentimental heart, it also comes with moments like these—moments where letting go, even for a little while, feels like the end of the world.
“Remy,” Charlie says gently, crouching down to his son’s level. “You can’t take your blanket with you. It could get dirty, or it might get lost, and we don’t want that to happen, do we?”
But Remy shakes his head furiously, tears welling up in his big eyes. “No, no, see, I don’t like school! No, no!”
Charlie takes a deep breath, keeping his voice calm. “Sweetheart, your blanket can stay at home with Dino, okay? It’ll be safe there, waiting for you when you get back. I promise. But if you bring it to school, it might get dirt on it, or someone might accidentally take it, and I know you don’t want that.”
“But, Daddy!” Remy whimpers, his voice cracking as he clutches the blanket tighter. His sniffles grow louder, and he looks up at Charlie with watery eyes. “I’m scared, and… and you got me this, and I want you there with me!”
Charlie’s heart twists painfully at his son’s words, and he reaches out to gently wipe a tear from Remy’s cheek. “Oh, sweetheart, baby,” he murmurs, pulling Remy into a hug. “I’m going to be right here when the school day is over, waiting to pick you up. You’re not going to be alone, and you’re going to be okay.”
“You promise?” Remy asks, his voice tiny and trembling as he looks up at Charlie with all the trust in the world.
Charlie smiles softly, pressing a kiss to Remy’s forehead. “Cross my heart,” he says, tracing an X over his chest.
Remy sniffles again, clutching his blanket one last time before reluctantly letting Charlie take it. “Okay, Daddy,” he whispers, still unsure but trusting in Charlie’s promise.
Charlie stands, holding his son’s hand as they walk toward the school doors. One of the first things Charlie did after the divorce, when he was looking for a new neighborhood to settle into, was research schools. It was non-negotiable—he wanted a school that would be safe, kind, and inclusive, a place where Remy could thrive academically and socially. It had taken months of checking reviews, reading parent testimonials, and visiting campuses, but when he came across this school, it felt like the right fit.
He’d heard great things about it—about the teachers, the programs, the environment—and it gave him a small sense of relief to know he was making the right choice for Remy. Once the schedule came through and he saw the name of his son’s teacher, "Mr. Nelson," Charlie will admit he’d felt a flicker of curiosity. It had crossed his mind to do a quick search, maybe find some background information on this Mr. Nelson.
And yes, he’d opened his laptop, intending to do exactly that. But just as quickly, Remy had come barreling into the room with the kind of energy only a four-year-old could muster, nearly knocking the laptop to the floor in his excitement. That had been enough to snap Charlie out of his brief dive into nosiness.
So, as it stands, Charlie doesn’t know much about Remy’s teacher beyond his name and the fact that he’s been teaching at this school for four years. But surely that means he’s good at what he does, right? Four years is a long time for a preschool teacher. If there were any major complaints, surely he wouldn’t still be here.
As they walk through the bright, bustling halls of the school, Charlie keeps a firm hold on Remy’s hand. His little boy, usually a bundle of energy, seems quieter today—still curious, still Remy, but with a hint of shyness that makes him cling just a little closer to Charlie’s side. His eyes dart around, taking in the colorful decorations on the walls, the chatter of kids, and the teachers crouching down to greet nervous students and teary-eyed parents.
Charlie’s eyes scan the hallway, moving from one name tag to another, searching for the one they’re looking for. He watches other parents give hugs and wipe tears as they say goodbye to their kids, and he can feel the lump already forming in his own throat. He thought he’d be fine with this, but as the moment gets closer, his chest tightens.
Remy glances up at him every now and then, his grip on Charlie’s hand firm but small, and Charlie squeezes it in reassurance. “We’re almost there, buddy,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady.
They pass more classrooms, more smiling teachers, and then Charlie sees it. The name tag he’s been searching for. Mr. Nelson.
It’s neat and unassuming, written in cheerful block letters on a plaque by the door. Charlie stops, his breath catching for just a moment as he glances into the classroom. And there, among the crowd of kids and parents, is a man crouched down, gently tying a shoelace for a little girl who’s chattering away at him. His ginger-blond hair catches the sunlight streaming through the window, and he has the kind of easy smile that puts everyone around him at ease.
Charlie swallows hard, his nerves replaced by something else entirely—something that makes his cheeks feel a little too warm. “Okay, Remy,” he says, crouching down to his son’s level. “This is it. This is your class. Ready to meet Mr. Nelson?”
Remy peeks inside the classroom, his wide eyes curious and uncertain. “Is he nice, Daddy?”
Charlie glances back at the teacher, who’s now laughing softly at something the little girl said, and nods. “Yeah, bubs. I think he’s really nice.”
And with that, they take the first step inside, Charlie’s heart pounding as much for Remy as for himself.
Charlie’s subtle movement must have caught the teacher’s attention, because Mr. Nelson gives the little girl a gentle pat on her shoulder, directing her toward a cluster of chairs and pointing out a table in the back filled with art supplies. Then, with an easy grace that seems almost unfair, he stands, brushes some imaginary dirt off his pants, and starts walking toward them.
And that’s the moment Charlie’s brain screeches to a halt.
Oh. Fuck.
Mr. Nelson is a sight for sore eyes. And Charlie will admit—begrudgingly—that while he’s not usually someone to swoon over people in real life, this? This might be an exception. Sure, he’s admired actors and celebrities from the safety of his couch, but when it comes to real-life interactions, Charlie has perfected the art of keeping his head down and staying focused. He hasn’t gone to a club in years, hasn’t swiped through dating apps in… well, longer than he’d like to admit. So it’s been a while since anyone has caught his attention.
Until now.
Because Mr. Nelson isn’t just attractive—he’s everything. Blondish ginger hair that looks casually tousled but probably took a fair amount of effort. A crisp white button-up tucked neatly into well-fitted gray trousers. Dress shoes polished enough to reflect the light and, as if that wasn’t unfair enough, socks that are definitely purple and way too charming. And then there are the freckles, dotting his face in a way that should be illegal, and—oh, great—a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles. Charlie has a weakness for dimples.
This is bad. Very bad.
Charlie can feel the gay panic rising in his chest, threatening to spill over. But no. No. This isn’t about him. This is about Remy. Remy’s future. His education. His growth. This is not about how Mr. Nelson is basically walking eye candy.
Charlie steels himself, internally repeating a mantra of 'don’t make it awkward, don’t make it weird, you’re just here for your kid.'
As Mr. Nelson gets closer, that warm, friendly smile lighting up his face, Charlie can only hope he doesn’t do something monumentally stupid, like trip over his own feet or forget how to form complete sentences. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. Totally fine. Probably.
Remy, who had been buzzing with excitement all morning, suddenly seems to shrink into himself as Mr. Nelson approaches. He shyly hides behind Charlie’s legs, peeking out occasionally to steal glances at his teacher before retreating again. Charlie doesn’t even have to look down to know his son’s grip on his pant leg is tighter than usual.
Mr. Nelson—Nick, apparently—doesn’t miss a beat. He crouches down to Remy’s level, his movements calm and unhurried, which Charlie immediately appreciates. Not everyone understands how to approach a kid like Remy, who’s shy, introverted, and a little unsure around new people. But Nick? He seems to get it instinctively.
And then he speaks, and Charlie is not prepared for the sound of his voice. It’s warm and smooth, with just the right amount of kindness that makes you want to listen forever. Charlie’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and he feels ridiculous for how much of an effect a single sentence is having on him.
“Hey, buddy” Nick says, his tone gentle and inviting. “I’m your teacher. I’m Mr. Nelson, but you can call me Mr. N. Or just Nick, whatever works for you. What’s your name?”
Remy peeks out from behind Charlie’s legs, his wide eyes locked on Nick, but doesn’t say anything at first. Charlie gives him an encouraging nudge. “Go on, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly. “You can tell him.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Remy whispers, “I’m Remy,” before darting back behind Charlie’s legs again.
Nick’s smile widens, his dimple making another unfair appearance, and he nods. “Remy,” he repeats, as if testing the name out. “That’s a great name. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together this year, Remy.”
Charlie feels his chest tighten in a strange mix of pride and… something else entirely.
This is going to be a long year.
Remy peeks out again, his brow furrowed as he considers Nick’s words. “Fun? Like… like what?” he asks, his voice curious but cautious.
Mr. Nelson grins, resting his hands on his knees as he crouches a little closer. “Well, we’re going to learn a lot, but we’ll also do music, draw, do some cool art projects, maybe even watch some fun movies, and of course, play outside. It’ll be really fun.”
Remy tilts his head, clearly still skeptical. “Hmm… I don’t know. Daddy won’t be here, so how can it be fun?”
Charlie opens his mouth to jump in, but Nick beats him to it, his tone still warm and understanding. “Yeah, I get that,” he says with a small nod. “It can be a little unsettling when your parents aren’t around. But guess what?”
Remy tilts his head further, curiosity sparking in his wide eyes. “What?”
“I have all the parents’ phone numbers,” Nick says with a playful smile. “So, if anything happens, or if you ever get scared, guess what I can do? I can give your daddy a call, and then everything will be okay. How does that sound?”
Remy considers this for a moment, his tiny fingers twisting in the hem of his jacket. Finally, he says, “Hmm… okay.” And then, without warning, he sprints forward and throws himself at Nick, wrapping his small arms around him in a big hug.
Nick lets out a surprised laugh, catching him easily. “Well, that’s quite the welcome!” he says, glancing up at Charlie with a grin.
Charlie’s heart feels like it might burst. This—this is so unlike Remy, who is usually so shy around new people. But here he is, hugging his teacher like he’s known him forever.
Charlie smiles, his throat tightening with emotion. “Looks like you’ve already made a new friend, Remy.”
Remy beams, still clinging to Nick. “Hi,” he says simply, his voice bright and full of trust.
Mr. Nelson gently pats Remy’s back and leans down, whispering softly in his ear, “Why don’t you give your big daddy a hug? Then you can sit down with some of the other kids here, and we can get started and have some fun, yeah?”
Remy nods enthusiastically. “Okay, okay! Can I sit in a green chair? I don’t like yellow.”
Nick chuckles, nodding with the same warmth he’s shown all morning. “Yes, you can sit in any green chair you want.”
With that, Remy beams, his earlier nervousness replaced by excitement, and he wriggles out of Nick’s arms. He turns and sprints straight toward Charlie, his little feet thudding against the floor.
Charlie crouches down instinctively, catching his son in a tight hug. Remy wraps his arms around his neck, squeezing as hard as his tiny arms can manage. Charlie feels his chest tighten, the lump in his throat making it harder to speak.
And then it hits him—this is it. This is the moment he has to say goodbye, the moment he leaves his little boy at school for the first time. He feels the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and no amount of deep breathing is going to stop them.
He holds Remy close, whispering softly, “I love you so much, bubs. You’re going to have such a great time, okay? Be good, listen to Mr. Nelson, and have fun.”
Remy nods against his shoulder, his small voice muffled. “Okay, Daddy. I love you too.”
Charlie pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the top of Remy’s head, blinking back tears as best as he can. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice shaky but full of pride.
Remy grins up at him, already bouncing on his toes. “Okay! I’m gonna find a green chair now!”
Charlie laughs softly, watching as his son dashes off toward the table, the green chairs clearly catching his eye. He stands up slowly, his heart heavy and full all at once, and glances toward Nick, who’s watching the scene unfold with a kind, understanding smile.
And just like that, Charlie knows everything is going to be okay. Well, for Remy at least. For him? He’s pretty sure he’s going to cry in the car.
Charlie rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, watching Remy settle into a green chair with a beaming smile. “Sorry about him,” he says, glancing back at Mr. Nelson. “He’s, uh, usually the shy type. I wasn’t really expecting… well, that little burst of energy is kind of new for him around new people.”
Mr. Nelson—Nick, apparently—shakes his head with an easy smile. “Oh, no, no worry at all. Most of the kids are doing the same thing right now. First-day jitters and all that.”
Then, to Charlie’s mild surprise, Nick steps closer, extending a hand. “Sorry, I, um, I never did a proper introduction. I’m Mr. Nelson—or you can call me Nick. Or Mr. Nelson. Or, uh, well, I guess… whatever you want to call me.”
Charlie can’t help but notice how Nick stumbles over his words, his cheeks faintly pink. It’s so at odds with his towering frame and warm, steady presence, and it throws Charlie off. He looks like a walking contradiction—a big, cuddly teddy bear who could probably bench-press a small car. And Charlie, despite his best efforts, can already imagine the biceps and abs hidden under that perfectly crisp white button-up.
Oh God, Charlie thinks, panic bubbling as he realizes he hasn’t responded. Nick is still standing there, his hand outstretched, and Charlie’s brain screeches to life.
“Oh, um,” Charlie stammers, quickly taking Nick’s hand and giving it a shake. Great, he thinks. Super smooth, Charlie. “I’m, uh, I’m Charlie. Remy’s dad. Obviously.”
Nick’s smile widens, his dimple making an unfair appearance again, and Charlie feels his heart do something embarrassing. “Nice to meet you, Charlie. I can already tell Remy’s a great kid. He’s going to fit right in here.”
Charlie nods a little too quickly, trying not to get lost in the kindness of Nick’s gaze. “Yeah, uh, thanks. And, um, thanks for… you know, making him feel comfortable. It’s, uh, really appreciated.”
Nick lets go of Charlie’s hand with a soft laugh. “It’s my job. But really, he’s a sweetheart. We’re going to have a great year.”
Charlie clears his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Right, uh, right. Sorry. I should probably get out of the way. I’m sure more parents are going to be coming in soon, and I have to get to work anyway. But, uh, pick up is at two, right?”
Nick nods with an easy smile. “Yeah, pick up is at two. Oh, before you go—are there any food allergies I need to be aware of that weren’t already sent to me?”
Charlie shakes his head quickly. “Nope, nope, no allergies.”
Nick tilts his head slightly, still looking as warm and approachable as ever. “Any behavior issues I should be wary of?”
Charlie shrugs lightly, glancing toward Remy, who is happily examining the art supplies at his green chair. “No, he’s overall a really good kid. Just shy, mostly. He does have bursts of energy sometimes, but I’m sure once he sees all the other kids settling in, he’ll be fine.”
Nick nods again, his smile reassuring. “Right, okay. Well, then, I guess I’ll see you at pick up. It was great to meet you, Mr. Spring.”
Charlie feels his face heat up at the formality. “Oh, just call me Charlie.”
Nick’s grin widens, and that damn dimple appears again. “Okay. Well, it was great to meet you, Charlie.”
Charlie nods, his heart doing that embarrassing flutter thing again. “Yeah, yeah, you too, Mr. Nelson.”
Nick raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “You can just call me Nick.”
Charlie swallows, nodding again, and hopes his awkwardness isn’t as obvious as it feels. “Right. Nick. Got it.”
Nick chuckles softly, turning back toward the classroom, and Charlie takes a deep breath, trying to calm the ridiculous nerves buzzing under his skin. He glances one more time at Remy, who seems perfectly content now, and heads toward the door, thinking only one thing: I want to bang my son's teacher.