Page 44 of The One Who Changed Everything

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Don’t.”

With one more shaky inhale of her scent, I stepped away, recreating the distance between us.

The past few weeks had been a slow burn, a constant push and pull between us. Some days, it felt like we were slipping into something easy, natural. Other days, the walls between us shot back up, a stark reminder that too much had been left unsaid.

And then there were nights like this.

Nights where the air felt heavier, thick with something neither of us seemed ready to name.

I wanted to ask her.

I wanted to say something—anything—to get a read on what she was thinking. Did she feel the same pull I did? Did she notice the way we kept orbiting each other, caught in some gravitational force we couldn’t seem to escape?

But I didn’t.

Instead, I cleared my throat and reached for the next dish. "You really do make a mean salsa."

Sam seemed grateful for the offering of a distraction. "Is that your way of saying you want to take some leftovers home?"

"Maybe," I admitted, my grin easy, despite the tension in my chest.

She shook her head, drying her hands. "I can pack some up for you."

I watched her move, tucking away leftovers, and it hit me—this was what home looked like. Not the Mercer estate with its cavernous rooms and cold perfection. Not the bachelor apartment I’d barely made my own.

This.

This simple, quiet moment in a tiny kitchen with dishes in the sink and a woman I couldn’t stop thinking about. I wanted to step up behind her again and wrap my arms around her waist. I wanted to run my nose along the long line of her neck and feel her relax into my embrace.

I exhaled, forcing myself to look away.

I wasn’t here to stir things up, not when Sam was still figuring out how to let me in. Not when Sophia was the important thing. Not when I was still the guy who’d abandoned her after a quick romp that left her a single mother.

Not when I was still figuring out if I had the right to hope for more.

Sam turned, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Sophia should probably say good night before you go.”

I nodded, grateful for the excuse to see my daughter once more before leaving. “I’ll go find her.”

I found Sophia at the small desk in her room, her head propped on one hand as she stared at her math worksheet like it had personally offended her.

"Giving you trouble?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She looked up and sighed. "It’s boring."

I chuckled. "I can’t argue with that. But you’re smart—you’ll knock it out in no time."

She straightened a little at the compliment, then frowned. “Are you leaving?”

I stepped inside, ruffling her hair. “Yeah, kiddo. It’s getting late.”

Her expression dimmed, but she nodded. "Okay… Can I walk you out?"

I hesitated, glancing toward the kitchen where Sam was tidying up. "You sure? It’s dark out."

She rolled her eyes. "I’m not scared of the dark."

"Of course not," I said, amused.

---