“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, genuinely concerned.
I looked up at him, at the satisfied gleam in his dark eyes, at the slight smile playing on his lips, and couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. “I just had sex in the bakery. On the display case where I sell cupcakes.”
“Best kind of sex.” He grinned wickedly, reaching down to pull my panties back up carefully, his fingers lingering possessively on my thighs. “And we’re doing it again. Soon. Very soon.”
“You’re insane.”
“Already established that.” He helped me straighten my rumpled skirt with gentle hands, smoothing the fabric down, then pulled me close and kissed my forehead tenderly. “Mine,” he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with emotion. “Every fucking inch of you. Don’t forget it.”
And God help me, standing there in my dimly lit bakery with my body still humming from what we’d just done, I didn’t argue.
I was his.
Completely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Trudy
I’d invited Grace and King to dinner at my house on Saturday, and the moment Grace walked through my front door, I saw something shift in Stephen’s shoulders. The tension that had been living there for weeks, ever since he’d started reading that damn journal, seemed to ease just a little.
“Dad.” Grace smiled, moving straight into his arms for a hug.
“How’s my girl?” Stephen asked, his hand gentle on her back, his voice softer than I’d heard in days.
“Huge.” She laughed, pulling back to show off her belly. “This baby’s running out of room.”
King’s hand settled possessively on Grace’s lower back, and I saw the way Stephen’s eyes tracked the gesture—not with jealousy or suspicion, but with approval. Like he was satisfied his daughter had found a man who’d protect her the way she deserved.
“Trudy.” Grace turned to me with genuine warmth. “Thank you for having us.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” I gestured toward the dining room. “Sit. Dinner’s almost ready.”
While I worked in the kitchen, I watched them through the doorway. The easy way Grace leaned into King. The protectiveway Stephen watched over both of them. The laughter that came naturally, not forced or performative.
This was what family looked like. Real family. Not the strained, obligatory gatherings I’d endured with Harold’s children, who’d made it clear I’d never belong.
This was different.
And Stephen kept catching my eye across the table, like he wanted to make sure I saw it too. Like he was showing me what he was offering—not just himself, but all of this. A place to belong.
Later that week, Tyler showed up at the bakery after school, bursting through the door with his backpack still on.
“Nana!” He spotted me immediately, then froze when he saw Stephen sitting at his usual table. “Oh. Hi, Mr. Popeye.”
Stephen’s mouth twitched. “Just Popeye’s fine, kid.”
Tyler approached cautiously. “Um... there’s this thing at school. A science fair project. I need help building a?—”
“I’ll help you,” Stephen said before Tyler could finish.
Tyler’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Yeah. When do you need it done?”
“Next week?”
Stephen nodded. “Come by tomorrow after school. We’ll figure it out.”
