Luther’s thumb moves once against the back of his neck. “That’s exactly why Luca is meeting with finance tomorrow instead of letting you gut the marketing plan from my lap.”
“It’smycompany.”
“And your body is currently in my lap because Grayson had to bring you food,” Luther says, his voice staying low and even. “So we’re going to let Luca handle the first conversation.”
Blake looks toward me through the screen, frustration and guilt tangled together behind his glasses. “I don’t want Ember House waiting because I’m stuck here eating a sandwich like a child.”
“You’re not stuck,” I say softly. “You’re being taken care of. There’s a difference.”
That lands harder than I mean it to. Blake’s eyes flicker, and for a second I see the exhaustion under everything else. The work, the launch, the way he carries Keller Industries like it’s an extension of his own ribs. I wish I were there to touch him. I wish I could press my nose to his curls and make him hear me through scent instead of a phone screen.
Grayson does it for me, bending enough to kiss the top of Blake’s head. “We’ll find the money. We always do. But Luca is right. You don’t have to be the first body thrown at every fire.”
Blake lets out a slow breath and leans back into Luther again. “I hate when all of you make sense.”
“I know,” Luther murmurs, kissing his temple. “It’s devastating for you.”
The corner of Blake’s mouth moves, but the humor doesn’t take over the moment. He reaches for the plate again, more because Luther’s hand is still at his neck than because he wants the food. “Send me the estimate after your meeting tomorrow. Not before, if that makes everyone stop staring at me like I’m about to sprint to my desk.”
“You’re not going to sprint anywhere,” Grayson says, but there is affection threaded through the worry. “You’d make it three steps and then start wobbling again.”
Blake gives him a tired look. “I hate this family.”
“No, you don’t,” I say.
His gaze softens when it comes back to me. “No, I don’t.”
For a moment, nobody says anything. Grayson’s the one who eases the conversation somewhere gentler. “What time do you think you’ll be done there?”
“After the activity-room chaos settles. Maceo has the kids right now, so that could mean twenty minutes or three years.”
Luther’s brow lifts slightly. “How bad?”
I shrug. “I heard Rosalie is negotiating as the boss again, Samuel wants to look for frogs, and James brought tools.”
Blake straightens a little again, but this time it is less panic and more fatherly alarm. “What kind of tools?”
“The kind that won’t start a fire.”
He studies my face through the screen as if he can tell whether I’m protecting him from the truth. “That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”
“I know. But Maceo has them.”
That settles all three of them in different ways. Luther’s shoulders ease first, because Maceo with the children means the perimeter is watched. Grayson smiles, because he knows exactly how patient Maceo can be with a child demanding impossible things. Blake relaxes last, but he does relax, his hand sliding back into Luther’s shirt as if he can anchor himself there.
“Good,” Blake says quietly. “Though, Rosalie will have him agreeing to cookies by dinner.”
“She might,” I admit.
“She will,” Luther teases. “She’s mine.”
The certainty in his voice makes me laugh softly, and some of the heaviness from earlier finally shifts. Grayson asks about dinner before we hang up, his voice quiet with the practical care of someone trying to make sure the day ends with everyone fed and in one place.
“What sounds good tonight, Luca?”
I glance toward the hallway, where the distant noise from the activity room filters through the house. After the heaviness of the afternoon, I want something warm and familiar, something we can spread across the table while the kids talk over each other and my mates crowd close enough for their scents to settle into my skin.
“Thai sounds good,” I say, the special place down the street still my favorite even after being pregnant with all three kids.
