Page 165 of The Overtime Kiss

That’s a damn good question.

I’d thought I had a handle on this in Cozy Valley. I was gearing up to tackle things properly. But now? Now I feel like I’m not just back at the starting line—I’m not even on the damn track.

I steal a glance at the woman I adore. She’s standing tall, shoulders back, chin up.

Like she would after finishing a routine. Is this the Sabrina who landed every routine under pressure, who never let a stumble show? Not the Sabrina who melted in my arms every time I touched her?

And have I misread her too? Was she ever wanting the same thing I was? My mind is reeling and I can’t even grasp at answers.

But I try. “That’s just not how it works,” I say to the kids,my voice sharper than I’d intended. I need to cut this conversation off before it spirals further.

Sabrina takes another step back, her posture shifting, and my gaze snaps to her. Her face is unreadable, but there’s something off in her eyes. Like she’s holding back more than just words. She looks to the kids, “This really seems like something you should discuss with your father. I’m going to let you all have some family time.”

Then she’s gone, her footsteps fast fading down the stairs.

She leaves—because she can.

But I stay because that’s my job—them.And it’s a job I love, but now I’m left alone standing here—staring at the huge dinner she’s cooked with two confused kids and one colossal mess of a problem.

I drag a hand over my beard. “We should eat,” I mutter.

“But, Dad,” Luna presses, just shy of whining. “Why can’t you two?”

Ah, hell. I can’t brush them off. They’ve put together a whole damn PowerPoint.

I exhale heavily, trying—really trying—to explain. “It’s not that easy, kids. You don’t go from liking someone to getting married.”

“Fine,” Parker says, with a thoughtful sigh. Then—“So what are you two? Boyfriend-girlfriend?”

Are we even that?

In my rush to tell her how I felt in New York, I never actually put a label on us. I insisted we keep things quiet. Said we’d figure out how to tell the kids on our terms.

And yet—here they are, telling me their terms.They want us to get married.

By keeping quiet, I let it get to this point where my kids have completely misunderstood things. But maybe…so did I.

My chest hollows out as my gaze instinctively driftstoward the hallway. Toward the space where she walked away. The hall’s empty now, without her. And, so am I.

But for the first time, a thought crashes into my mind, heavy and suffocating. Maybe she was never mine to have.

I let out a slow breath. “Honestly, I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m sorry I confused you two.”

Luna frowns. “You kinda did, Dad,” she murmurs, her lower lip quivering.

I’ve made everything worse by not coming clean.

I reach for my little girl, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, honey. I care deeply for Sabrina. I just…”

But the words don’t come. Because for the first time, I don’t know what comes next.

Nowhere in the dating handbook did it occur to me that my kids would see marriage as the next logical step.

Suddenly, I can’t shake the fear that maybe—maybe I was never the next step for her at all.

And if she doesn’t see a future here…what the hell am I even doing?

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