Page 60 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thanks yous for the muffin.”

“You’re welcome.” His gaze made a deliberate pass of Sutton’s lips before meeting her gaze. “Do I get another thank you?”

Sutton’s mouth curved into a real smile this time. She felt it reach her eyes and soften everything she usually kept locked down. “Thank you. For the coffee, yes, but mostly for remembering Lynlee.” Her voice dipped, warmth threading through it. “That mattered more than you know.”

The shift in him was immediate and unguarded, like she’d stepped somewhere tender without meaning to. His teasing ease fell away and he just watched her, eyes softening, shoulders releasing as if her honesty had settled him instead of unsettling him. It looked like relief, maybe even gratitude, the kind that came from being seen for more than charm or convenience.

When he finally did smile, it wasn’t cocky or practiced—it was warm, almost shy, and it hit her square in her chest like a promise she hadn’t asked for but suddenly wanted to believe in.

He opened his mouth to say something—something Sutton desperately needed to hear—but Lynlee broke the moment.

“Mister Colter, will you walk me to school?”

Sutton jumped in immediately. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but he does,” Jo said cheerfully.

Sutton shot her friend a warning glare hard enough to cut steel. Jo just smiled, then turned to the espresso machine like this decision had been made by the universe itself.

Colter, to his credit, didn’t push. He looked down at Lynlee instead. “That’s not my call, Princess. You’ve gotta ask your mom.”

Lynlee turned on Sutton with wide eyes and clasped hands. “Pwees, Mommy?”

“Yeah, Mommy,” Jo parroted. “I bet he knows the safe crossing spots, will walk slow, and will probably even promise not to let cars splash you two if there is a puddle. Right, Callahan?”

“I’ll even hold your hand as we cross the street,” he said to Lynlee but his eyes were locked on Sutton.

Sutton sighed, the fight draining out of her as she took in her daughter’s hopeful face—and Colter’s carefully neutral expression, like he was fully prepared to accept whatever she decided.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But just to the school. And no scaling the curb. You walk between the adults.”

Lynlee squealed. “Yay!”

Colter’s smile was slow and unmistakably pleased as he met Sutton’s eyes. “Guess I’ve got marching orders.”

“You two enjoy that walk,” Jo said waving goodbye.

Colter had been called a lot of things in his life—but domesticated wasn’t one of them.

Don’t get him wrong, many women—including the female members of his family—had tried and failed to domesticate him into something resembling a man who owned matching plates and remembered to buy milk. He’d always dodged it with a grin and a well-timed exit. Which was how he knew he was in trouble now.

Instead of running, he was standing on a sidewalk holding a tiny hand, carrying a tiny pink backpack jingling with keychains, and wondering when exactly his life had taken this unexpected left turn.

Matching plates, he could dodge. A four-year-old's backpack digging into his shoulder and a swinging hand he had zero intention of letting go of? He apparently could not.

“Today, I finds outs who I gets to be in the play,” Lynlee said, looking up at him through long butterfly lashes, which only made her green eyes appear deeper. Their hands, which were intertwined, swung back and forth. Her little legs skipping to keep up with his longer stride. “Mommy’s gonna make my costume.”

“Try being the correct term,” Sutton said dryly from his other side.

“Not try. Do,” Lynlee said proudly. “She tried to make my cape when it was Superhero Day, but she forgot the day and had to use a popup sunshade from the front window and masking tape.”

“That cape was functional,” Sutton said. “And aerodynamic.”

“It stuck to my hair,” Lynlee countered.

“Art is about sacrifice.”

"Art," Colter said, "or crimes against sunshades?"