I grab the next dumpling, eyes brightening.
“Oh! Fortune cookie!” I exclaim, picking it up like it’s a treasure.
He raises an eyebrow. “You know the rules,” he teases. “Finish your broccoli first.”
I groan dramatically, stuffing a few pieces into my mouth.
“Fine… fine.”
But the corners of my mouth twitch. I can’t help sneaking peeks at him while he moves between plates, the warmth of him making my chest flutter.
Halfway through, I muster the courage. “Keane…” My voice is a little breathless. “Would you… stay tonight?”
He pauses, sets a dumpling down, and looks at me with that Daddy gaze.
“Yeah,” he says, softly but firmly. “I’ll stay. But only if you promise to feel brave on your own sometimes too. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you do.”
I nod, cheeks warm, feeling a mix of excitement and relief. I wish I had the courage to tell him. Part of me is still rattled, stilljittery from everything—Vince, the texts, the what-ifs. But the other part… the part that’s tangled up in him, that just wants to lean into his warmth and feel kept… that part is loud, insistent.
I want him to stay for me. For us.
From across the table, I glance at him to see the look in his eyes, and my chest tightens. He doesn’t need me to say it. He just… knows.
Even so, I wish I could put it into words.
Keane hovers in the doorway while I brush my teeth and floss. He hums softly, just a background note, and I realize I’m talking more than I normally do—about cartoons, the puzzle, even the sticky undies incident from the other day.
When I finally settle under the covers, he leans over to tuck the blanket around me. His fingers brush my arm, just enough to send shivers, and I try not to wiggle too much, though the warmth of him so close makes my stomach do little flips.
“Want a story?”
I nod, holding out the book I picked earlier. Not my usual naughty one, just something boring and silly. He flips it open, and his deep voice brings every word to life.
I start interrupting, quietly at first, suggesting small tweaks to make the story more ours, maybe the boy hedgehog climbs into Daddy’s lap instead of just reading alone. He laughs softly each time I add a detail, a little crinkle gathering at the corners of his eyes.
By the time he reaches the end, I’m curled against him, knees drawn up, my cheek resting against his chest. The rhythm of his breathing, the way he murmurs the last line, “Sleep tight, kiddo,” has me thinking that this is exactly where I want to be.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers as he shifts to make room, “we’ll read the story you write for me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining the words I might put down, words that only he will hear, words that can stay justbetween us. His hand slides over mine as he settles beside me, careful not to crowd, just close enough.
“Night, Daddy,” I murmur.
“Night, my boy,” he answers, and I feel a little thrill that he’s here, fully here, keeping me protected.
