Page 46 of The Decoy

“Hey, let her have her fun,” I say softly, sliding my hand up her knee to wrap my fingers around her hand, squeezing gently. “It’s her first grandchild. And honestly? I’m kind of curious what a Paris interior designer thinks a ‘football player’s son’s room’ should look like.”

Ellis lets out a soft laugh, turning her hand in mine so our fingers lock together tightly. “Don’t indulge her too much. Most guys would probably tuck tail if their girlfriend’s mother brought up ‘the Titanic’ at a formal dinner table.”

“Your mom is hilarious,” I say, grinning as the memory of Molly’s comment from dinner flashes in my mind. “But she loves you. And she wants to spoil this baby. You can’t fault her for that. Besides, your dad gave me a bottle of his prized whisky, so as far as I’m concerned, the Renwicks and I are solid.”

Ellis looks at me, a warm expression settling over her face. She turns her body slightly toward me in the leather seat, her thumb tracing my knuckles.

“How are you really doing, Brody?” she asks softly, her tone shifting from playful to genuinely concerned. “With the season being over, I mean?”

I keep my eyes on the road as we approach the entrance to the bridge.

“Honestly?” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “It’s always weird when the season ends. From June to December or January, my whole life is measured in four quarter increments. We win, we celebrate for twenty-four hours, we watch film, we do it again. We lose, we feel like the world is ending, we watch film and try to fix it. This is the first time in my adult life, since I’ve been playing football, where I don’t have a playbook waiting for me when I wake up.”

I glance over at her, my gaze dropping for a second to her belly before returning to her eyes.

“My purpose is different,” I add. “Not like my usual off-season routine. But sitting at home, making breakfast for you, driving you into work…it just feels right. It feels like I’m building something that actually matters.”

Ellis’s breath hitches slightly. She squeezes my hand tightly, leaning across the center console to press a kiss on my cheek.

“You’re such a good man, Brody,” she murmurs against my skin.

“Just trying to keep you healthy and happy,” I say softly.

She doesn’t flinch. She just smiles, her eyes shining with an unmistakable warmth as she settles back into her seat, holding my hand all the way into the city.

By seven o’clock, the sky was dark, leaving Manhattan wrapped in a cold, blue evening haze.

I’d gone home and taken care of a few things around the house, played with the dogs outside, and taken a long hot shower. I dropped the dogs off at Ellis’s place since we’re staying there tonight, and now I’m back at her office to pick her up.

Instead of waiting in the car, I park the car in their underground garage and take the elevator up to her office.

When I reach her doorway, her eyes look up as soon as she hears my knock on the frame.

“You came upstairs,” she says, standing and stepping toward me as the glass doors slide shut behind her.

“Tired of sitting in traffic,” I smile, stepping forward to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into me. I lean down and kiss her. “You tired?”

“Uh, yeah. Four straight hours of budget reviews will do that,” she sighs, resting her cheek against my chest before looking up at me. “Do you want to grab some food before we head to my place?”

“I made a reservation,” I say, surprising her.

She blinks. “Oh, good. Where are we going?”

Ellis walks back to her desk and grabs her tote bag from behind her desk, and I grab her coat off the hook near the door.

“I thought Keen’s sounded good. I read that some red meat would be good for you,” I say, guiding her toward the elevator. “I think we can take the night off from cooking, and takeout doesn’t sound good tonight.”

A soft smile curves her lips. “Lead the way, Vaughn.”

We make it to the restaurant within twenty minutes. The hostess leads us to a small corner booth in the back, shadowed by the soft light and draped in white linen.

It feels like we’re the only two people in Manhattan, in our own little world.

We share some bread, a salad, and some roasted figs. Watching her eat with a real appetite is one of my favorite parts of mealtime. She’s not getting little bouts of nausea anymore; instead, she’s starting to get cravings for rich carbs and meat, and I’m more than happy to encourage this change.

“So,” Ellis says, setting her fork down and taking a sip of her mocktail, “what are your plans for tomorrow while I’m stuck in meetings?”

“I have a nine a.m. meeting with my agent,” I say, cutting into my steak that arrived a few minutes ago. “He wants to go over some off-season endorsement offers. A shoe line wants to extend my deal for three years, and there’s a luxury SUV brand that wants to do a national campaign.”