Page 52 of Knox's Boy

"I wanted to see you," I admitted. The shadows still lingered beneath his eyes, but my boy was finding his way back.

"I'm making dinner!" he said. "Nothing fancy. Just that pasta thing you like with the pesto and pine nuts! I thought you'd like it."

"That's... thank you."

I felt so much relief I didn’t know what to say. Florian moved toward me. He flung his arms around my waist, pressing his face against my chest.

Then, my phone buzzed once, twice, three times. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the device, noting a string of notifications from the team about some IT updates at the office. I got scared for a second he’d think it was Finn, but Florian peered at the phone in my hand, his nose wrinkling in that youthful expression of disdain.

"That thing is practically prehistoric. I'm surprised it doesn't fold. You're such a boomer."

The teasing was light, playful, but it struck me hard. This was my Florian, the sassy, irreverent creature who had stolen my heart.

"This 'prehistoric' device manages millions in assets and contains the contact information of three heads of state," I replied, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "I still haven't been convinced to get myself an iPhone."

"OK, boomer," Florian grinned, the expression reaching his eyes. "Next you'll be telling me about how you had to walk uphill both ways to school in the snow."

I reached out and cupped his cheek in my palm. He leaned into my touch, his eyelids fluttering briefly before he caught himself and affected an eye-roll.

My expression must have shifted, because Florian's eyes widened slightly.

"What?" he asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I slipped my phone back into my pocket. "Talking about phones… I'm relieved to see you feeling more yourself," I said, my voice dropping to that register I knew he recognized instantly. "But we still have a matter to address, don't we?"

The color in his cheeks deepened, not entirely from embarrassment. He glanced down, then back up through those unfairly long lashes. "I was going to make pasta," he tried, a halfhearted deflection.

"The pasta can wait," I said, gentle but firm. "My study. Now."

I watched the conflict play across his features, the instinct to test, to defy, to see if the boundary would hold. But beneath it, I saw something else, as if he'd been waiting for this moment, needing it.

"I already apologized for the phone thing," he muttered, but he was already turning toward the hallway that led to my study.

"You did," I agreed, following him. "And now we'll ensure it doesn't happen again."

Florian paused at the threshold of the study, his hand resting on the door frame. I placed my palm at his back, a gentle pressure guiding him forward.

"In," I said simply.

He stepped into the room, his body vibrating with emotions: defiance, anticipation, the remnants of guilt, and obvious arousal.

That was my boy.

I gestured toward one of the leather armchairs. "Sit," I said, not a request but not too harsh either. Florian sank into the chair, his eyes downcast, fingers twisting together in his lap. I remained standing.

"Do you understand why we're here?" I asked.

"Because I went through your phone," he mumbled, the words directed more to the Persian rug than to me. Then, with a flash of that spirit I had missed so desperately, he looked up. "But in my defense, you left it in the kitchen. Who doesn't sleep glued to their phones?"

I arched an eyebrow, but I couldn't help a smile. "Maybe I should make a no-phones-in-bed rule.”

“Nooo, Daddy! I'm sorry.”

"Come here," I said, straightening and moving to sit in the larger leather chair opposite the desk. I patted my thigh.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then he stood. He crossed the short distance between us, stopping just out of reach. He sighed dramatically, but I could see the subtle shift in his stance, the way his body leaned toward me.

"Fine. Whatever," he huffed, with a grin. "Let's get this over with."