The Billionaire's Runaway Nurse

9

In the warm glow of a late afternoon, a gentle murmur spread through the roses and camellias in the garden. Shadows swayed like dancers on the green grass, their rhythm known only to children at play.

“Eight, nine, ten! Mia, I’m coming!” Bryan, all of five years old, called out, his voice chiming through the garden. His brown eyes narrowed, scanning the familiar rose bushes where Mia always hid. He pretended to search, calling, “Where could Mia be? I can’t seem to find her!” His tone was a playful taunt, a boy’s soft challenge, meant to coax the familiar giggle from behind the roses. Right on cue, Mia’s tiny laugh drifted through the petals, a sound as light and eager as a bird’s call.

He sighed theatrically and walked around the bush. “Found you!” he announced, reaching her side, his expression half-feigned frustration and half-admiring her stubborn consistency. Mia, barely three, erupted into a peal of laughter, her little hands clapping as she bounced on her toes. “Again!” she demanded, her excitement undimmed by repetition.

Bryan, with all the earnestness of a boy too young to realize how quickly time slips away, looked out toward the rest of the garden, suddenly feeling the tug of a different kind of game. “I’m going to look for Daddy,” he declared, glancing back at Mia. “I want to play soccer.”

Mia’s eyes widened, and her soft voice piped up, “Mia too play.” Her baby voice wove through her words with determined resolve, and she toddled after him as he moved away.

Bryan turned back, a solemn shake of his head. “You can’t play soccer, Mia. You’re a girl.” He crossed his arms, his tone firm, though he knew she’d resist.

Mia’s eyes glistened, and the corners of her mouth trembled. “Mia play,” she insisted, though her voice wavered. Tears gathered, swelling before she could even grasp why she felt so disappointed. And before Bryan could stand his ground, the sight of her tears weakened his resolve.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, patting her head in an awkward attempt to comfort her, echoing the tender way his mother sometimes patted his own when he was upset. He didn’t want to upset her, but Daddy had told him—strictly—that Mia couldn’t join in his soccer games. But still, it hurt to see her cry. “Fine,” he finally gave in, “we can play hide-and-seek again, but this time, I’ll hide.”

Her tearful face brightened instantly, her hands clapping with delight. “Bain hide!” she squealed, her round eyes fixed on him.

“It’s Bryan,” he corrected, his small brow furrowing with annoyance, though her mispronunciation softened his stern expression.

“Bain!” she repeated, her mouth working to shape the sound. Sighing in resignation, Bryan nodded, deciding not to correct her anymore.

“Alright then,” he said, preparing for his grand disappearing act. “Now you count to ten. And don’t peek!” He gave her a serious look, the gravity of the game casting a spell over his words.

Mia nodded, her face scrunched in concentration as she began. “One… two… thwee… phor…” she counted, her baby pronunciation drawing a small chuckle from Bryan as he dashed away to hide behind the shrubs. He knew she would have a hard time finding him, which, he thought with a budding five-year-old’s strategy, would buy him more time until their parents called them in. Bryan had grown clever about things like that.

In her small voice, Mia continued calling out, “Bain!” as she began her search. Minutes ticked by, her little footsteps crunching the grass as she wobbled around the garden. Soon, her voice began to waver, and the garden filled with a soft, despairing cry. Bryan, stifling a giggle behind his hand, suddenly felt his confidence falter as he heard her cry grow louder, more urgent, as if the idea of his absence had shaken her in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Bryan ran to her side, his heart thudding with a protectiveness he hadn’t known he could feel. Mia flung her arms around him, sobbing, “Bain!” into his shoulder, clinging as if he were the only thing keeping her safe in a vast, incomprehensible world. Bryan held her close, patting her small head as he had seen his mother do, her sobs slowing as she burrowed her face against him.

The memory of when they’d first met flickered through Bryan’s mind, a time when he’d found Mia utterly exasperating—a bundle of crying and sleeping, unappealing to his child’s curiosity. But his mother had patiently explained how babies needed more time to grow and adjust. And from that moment, a young Bryan had decided that he would protect Mia, that he would be her friend. Now, Mia was his best friend, even if he had others in kindergarten. She was the constant, the one who needed him in a way his other friends didn’t.

When her cries subsided, Bryan pulled back, “C’mon, let’s find Mommy. I’m hungry.” He took her small hand, leading her gently across the lawn.

As they walked, Mia suddenly stopped, her face brightening as she dug a tiny hand into her pocket and proudly held out a piece of candy. “Eat!” she declared, her eyes gleaming with the earnest generosity of childhood.

“No, no,” Bryan said, waving it away with a laugh. “It’s yours, you should have it.”

But Mia’s little face set in determination. “Daddy gave Mia candy, and Mia give candy to Bain.” Her voice softened, her eyes shining as she held it out to him once more.

“Thank you,” Bryan finally said, accepting the candy, and together they dissolved into laughter, their joy as free and unselfconscious as the petals that drifted from the rose bushes around them.

From the restaurant window, their mothers looked on, watching their children’s exchange with affectionate smiles. Soon, Sydney and Amelia made their way toward them, each mother gathering her child in her arms. Mia squealed in delight as her mother lifted her, and Bryan, trying to appear grown-up, allowed his mother’s embrace, though a shy smile betrayed his pleasure.

“Did you take care of Mia?” Sydney asked her son, her voice warm with approval.

“Yes,” Bryan replied, a proud tilt to his chin.

“That’s my good boy.” She kissed his cheek, ruffling his hair with a smile. The parents had been watching their children from inside, using the vantage point to observe without interrupting, appreciating how the two played when left to their own devices. The garden was always a refuge for afternoons like this, a sanctuary where they could talk and let their children play.

“Look, Mommy! Mia gave me candy!” Bryan said, holding out his prized sweet.

“Did you thank her?” his mother asked, smiling.

He nodded solemnly, and his mother praised Mia, “That was very sweet of you, Mia.” Mia beamed, hugging her mother tightly.

Sydney turned to her friend Amelia. “Bryan, thank you for looking out for Mia.” Amelia added, her voice full of appreciation for the gentle influence her son had on Mia.

Bryan’s face took on an expression of quiet pride. It was only with Mia that he felt like a ‘big boy,’ someone with responsibility, a feeling he savored because he had no younger siblings.

But his thoughts soon shifted. “Mommy, where’s Daddy? I want to play soccer.”

“He’s still inside, sweetheart,” Sydney replied. “Talking business, you know, with Mia’s daddy.”

Bryan’s shoulders slumped a little, but he perked up at her next words. “You can play with Mia while we wait for Daddy. We have a soccer ball in the car.”

“But Mia can’t play soccer,” Bryan said, shaking his head in exasperation. “She’s a girl.”

Amelia raised her brows, exchanging a look with Sydney. “Sweetheart,” his mother said gently, “who told you that girls can’t play soccer?”

“Mia’s daddy,” Bryan replied, looking up at her with conviction.

Both mothers exchanged another look, this one marked by surprise. Sydney crouched down, brushing a strand of hair from her son’s forehead. “Maybe he meant that Mia was too little before and might have gotten hurt,” she explained gently. “But she’s a big girl now, aren’t you, Mia?” She turned to Mia, who nodded vigorously, proclaiming, “Mia big girl!”

“There you go!” Sydney said with a smile, her voice infused with warmth. “She can play now, Bryan, but you’ll have to be careful so she doesn’t get hurt. Can you do that?”

Bryan hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay,” he agreed.

Amelia smiled, ruffling his hair. “Next time, we’ll bring Mia out to play soccer with you, won’t we?”

The kids erupted with a loud “Yay!” that echoed through the garden, their joy as untethered and effervescent as their laughter, a memory that Sydney and Amelia would carry in their hearts.