When emotions weren’t tangled up in fear and adrenaline.
I let out a small breath. “That I can do.”
He kissed me again. Slower this time.
And when we finally settled into the bed, tangled together under the covers, I stayed close, my head tucked against his chest, his arm wrapped around me like something steady and sure.
The questions were still there. The imbalance, the fear, the unknown hadn’t been fixed yet. But for tonight, I let myself rest in what I did know. I loved him. And for now, that was enough.
I woke to voices.For a moment, I didn’t move. Just lay there, half-wrapped in warmth, listening to the soft clink of dishes, the murmur of conversation. My dad’s voice was clearer than it had been the night before.
That alone pulled me fully awake.
I pushed myself up, my knee protesting just enough to remind me it existed, and slipped out of bed. The house felt softer somehow in the morning light.
I followed the voices downstairs and stopped in the doorway.
Dad sat at the kitchen table, hands moving animatedly as he talked.
“ . . . and if you adjust the torque just slightly, you can double the output without compromising the integrity of the whole thing,” he was saying, completely absorbed.
Chandler stood across from him, leaning on the counter with an expression that hovered somewhere between polite interest and genuine curiosity.
Geoffrey stood nearby, pouring coffee with the same precision he applied to everything.
“And you built this yourself?” Chandler asked.
“Of course I did,” Dad said, like it was obvious. “Didn’t always work the first time, but that’s half the fun.”
Geoffrey slid a plate in front of him.
“Well, sir, your persistence is admirable.”
Dad beamed. He looked . . . good.
A smile pulled at my lips before I could stop it. This was what I had been fighting for. Not just survival. Not just paying bills. This.
This kitchen table is full of conversation. This is what a home was supposed to be like. People listening to him like he mattered, because he did.
I must have made a sound, because Chandler glanced up and gave me a small nod.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I replied softly.
Dad turned.
“Belle!” he said, like he hadn’t just seen me hours ago. “You wouldn’t believe the conversation we’re having.”
“I probably would,” I said, stepping closer.
Before I could say anything else, arms slipped around my waist. They were warm and strong . . . and familiar. Raph.
I melted into him. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of my head, his presence settling around me like something steady.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
“Morning,” I breathed.
