I wanted to give him that. I wanted to be the man who did.
And yet…
I’d spent years building walls so no one could get that close again. My life was order, control, and clean edges. I didn’t do promises. I didn’t doforever.I’d failed spectacularly at both before, and I wasn’t about to drag someone kind, gentle, already wounded into my chaos.
When he’d said the wordDaddy,something inside me had tightened. Not fear. Recognition. Like a puzzle piece had slid into place where I’d been pretending there wasn’t a gap.
But I couldn’t keep it. Couldn’t keephim.
Not for good.
He looked up at me, eyes bright, and smiled like I was the best thing he’d seen all day. No hesitation. No doubt.
I’d never deserved that.
So I did what I do best—I compromised.
“Clayton,” I said quietly.
He turned, cautious. “Did I say something wrong?”
God. That instinct—the one that flinched before love—it broke something in me every time.
“No.” I reached over, brushed a stray curl off his forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He relaxed a little, waiting. Always waiting.
“What you said about wanting a Daddy.”
Color bloomed high on his cheeks, but he didn’t look away. “I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” I interrupted gently. “You meant it exactly how it sounded.”
Silence. Just the faint hum of the diners around us. This wasn’t the place for this, even though the booth was secluded, but I had to get his agreement before anything else. Either I took him to the bungalow and left him there, or I took him home.
“I want to give you that,” I admitted. The words came out rougher than I intended. “The care, the structure…the safety. I want that for you. But I need you to understand something.”
His eyes searched mine. “What?”
“This,” I said, forcing each word past the tightness in my chest, “can’t be forever. I don’t do promises I can’t keep.”
I waited for disappointment—for him to fold in on himself like before. Instead, he just nodded, quiet and calm.
I exhaled slowly. Relief and regret tangled in my throat.
“Then we’ll make itfor now,” I said. “Just through the holidays. I’ll take care of you. it’ll give you the chance to make some decisions about the house.”
His eyes softened—hope flickering there like the tree lights in the window behind him.
“For the holidays,” he repeated, a small, awed smile curving his mouth.
I touched his jaw, thumb tracing the edge of his cheekbone. “For the holidays,” I promised.
It should have felt like control again, a boundary. Instead, it felt like surrender.
He took a breath. “I feel like I’m going to screw it up.”
I snorted. “You couldn’t. Even if you tried.” Then, quieter, “I wouldn’t let you.”
