Page 27 of The Spark Between Us

"I don't understand," I admit.

"Grant," he says, leaning forward, elbows on his desk. "You're a good man. The best I know, in fact. Do I wish my daughter had fallen for someone her own age? Maybe. Does the age difference concern me? Sure, sometimes. But I was ten years older than Sarah, and we had the best marriage I could have imagined."

He pauses, his expression growing more serious. "Ellie is... special. After Sarah died, I was lost. Angry. Broken. Ellie's the one who held us together, who made sure I kept going, kept living. I have no idea where I'd be without her."

I nod, understanding completely. Ellie's strength, her compassion, her ability to see through people's defenses—these are just some of the countless reasons I've fallen for her.

"She deserves someone who sees how extraordinary she is," Brock continues. "Someone who'll take care of her the way she takes care of everyone else. If that person is you—and I suspect it is—then who am I to stand in the way?"

Relief washes through me, so intense it's almost dizzying. "I promise you, I'll take good care of her," I say, the words feeling inadequate for the commitment I'm making.

"I know you will," Brock says with confidence. "But she's still my daughter, so I'm obligated to say this: Hurt her, and I will end you. Slowly. Painfully. With no evidence left behind."

Despite the threatening words, his tone is light, almost teasing. Still, I know there's truth beneath the humor.

"Understood," I nod. "Though I suspect Ellie would get to me first."

Brock laughs at that. "No doubt. She's her mother's daughter." His expression grows wistful. "Sarah would have liked seeing you two together, you know. She always had a soft spot for you."

"She was a remarkable woman," I say. "Ellie reminds me of her sometimes. That same quiet strength."

"Yes," Brock agrees, a shadow of old grief passing over his features before he shakes it off. "So, now that the dramatic confession is out of the way, when are you moving the rest of your things in?"

I nearly choke. "What?"

He grins, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "I’ve noticed an extra toothbrush has taken up permanent residence in her bathroom."

"We're not—I haven't—" I stammer, feeling heat rise in my face. "We're taking things slowly, like I said."

"Relax, Grant," Brock laughs. "I'm just messing with you. Though I should warn you, now that I officially know, the dad jokes are going to increase exponentially."

"Looking forward to it," I say dryly, but I'm smiling too, relief and happiness mingling in my chest.

After so many years of friendship, after everything we've been through together, Brock's blessing means more to me than I can express. Not because I needed his permission to love his daughter, but because having his support makes the path ahead clearer and easier to navigate.

"One more thing," Brock says, his expression growing serious again. "Do you love her?"

The question is direct, leaving no room for evasion. But I don't need to evade. For the first time in years, perhaps ever, I'm absolutely certain of what's in my heart.

"Yes," I say simply. "More than I thought possible."

Brock nods, satisfied. "Have you told her?"

"Not yet," I admit. "I wanted to talk to you first. And..." I hesitate, then continue honestly, "Part of me is still afraid I don't deserve her."

"None of us deserve the people who love us," Brock says with unexpected wisdom. "We just try our damnedest to be worthy of them every day." He stands, coming around the desk to clap me on the shoulder. "Tell her, Grant. Life's too short to hold those words back."

I stand as well, oddly emotional. "I will. Tonight."

"Good," he nods, then glances at his watch. "Now, as touching as this heart-to-heart has been, we've got a department to run. Budget meeting in thirty."

Just like that, we're back to business—Chief and subordinate preparing for another day of keeping Cedar Falls safe. But something has shifted, settled into place. A new understanding between us, a new chapter beginning.

As I turn to leave, Brock calls after me, "And Grant? You're coming to dinner on Friday."

I smile, thinking of lazy evenings at the Brock house, no longer having to pretend I'm not watching Ellie's every move, no longer having to limit our contact to accidental brushes of hands while passing dishes.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Chief."

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