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“Already in the works, dad.”

I glance at Gemma, watching her chat comfortably with my father. Her warm aura brightens the dreary hospital room in a way I’ve never experienced before. She has this glow about her that makes even the old man’s eyes shine brighter despite the dark circles beneath them.

Part of me had hesitated to bring her here. I don’t let people see this side of my world. But now, seeing how quickly she put my father at ease, I’m glad I did.

“How did you two meet?” Dad turns his attention to me.

I tense, clearing my throat as Gemma looks over to me, eyebrows raised.

“We met at a gala.” It's not a lie, though not the full truth either. I’m not about to tell my conservative father we first crossed paths at a club and had sex. “Connor introduced us.”

Gemma nods along to my account. “Connor. Yes. I remember thinking Elijah was handsome in his suit.”

“Was?” I lean to her.

“Is,” she says.

If only she knew the thoughts running through my head when I first saw her in that sexy black dress.

“Well, I’m pleased my boy met a woman worth settling down for,” Dad says.

My future wife. Marriage has never been part of my plan. But looking at Gemma now, could I? With her?

No. I force the thought away. She recently got a divorce. I won’t trap her like that. She deserves more.

Dad’s eyes start drooping, and I straighten his blankets. “You should rest now. The nurses will be pissed if I’ve overexerted you again.”

“If you insist.” He sighs in resignation and nods. “It was lovely to meet you, dear. You’ll come to visit again sometime?”

“Absolutely.” Gemma squeezes his hand.

“Ms. Barron, do an old man a favor and keep an eye on this delinquent son of mine, would you?” He tilts his chin in my direction.

Gemma’s gaze meets mine, equal parts amused and flustered. “Of course, Mr. Mil—Charles.”

“Goodnight, Dad.” I shake my head but can’t quite suppress a smile as I guide her towards the door, my hand finding the familiar curve of her lower back. And again, this feels… right.

His soft snores follow us out into the hall.

“He’s wonderful.” She twirls around. “I can see where you get your charm. Like father, like son.”

I snort, the sound at odds with the lump in my throat. “Wait ’til you hear his stories about me as a boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, like the time I ‘borrowed’ Dad’s car when I was 15. Or when I got suspended for three days in high school for getting into a fight.”

Gemma laughs. “Now I really want to hear those stories.”

“Well, you’ll have to come back and visit to get all the juicy details.” I wink, eliciting another silvery laugh.

There’s something about Gemma that makes everything seem a little brighter, a little more hopeful. I can’t remember the last time I smiled and laughed this much.

“Come on. I’ll get you home.” I take her hand, relishing its warmth.

As we walk down the sterile hallway, I feel her gaze on me, likely burning with a hundred questions.

She stops. There we go.

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