“That’s easy,” I say, grinning as Chase swipes a napkin over her sticky face. “Mint choc chip—till I die. How about you, Lillie? What’s your favorite?” I ask.
She lets out a dramatic sigh, like the weight of her ice cream journey has been tough. “It used to be cookie dough,” she says. “But then I got sick, so now it’s peanut butter chocolate.”
“Solid choice,” I nod, playing along. “But what happened with the cookie dough?”
Her shoulders shake with quiet laughter—the kind that comes when kids know they’ve done something they shouldn’t. She throws a glance at Chase, her eyebrows lifting like she’s asking permission to spill the story.
Before she can, Santi—ever the straight-shooter—beats her to it.
“I told Uncle Chase not to let her get the monster four-scoop,” he says, shaking his head with the heavy disapproval of someone far older than five. “But he always lets Lillie do whatever she wants.”
His sigh is so world-weary. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. This must be what Chase meant when he said about getting owned by a five-year-old.
“Interesting,” I tease, flashing Chase a wicked smile. “And there was me thinking you’d be all strict—like you are in the office. Honestly, guys?” I lower my voice, mock-serious. “I’m not allowed to do anything.”
Chase tilts his head, his gaze locking on mine in that deliberate way that makes my pulse skitter. “Some people need discipline more than others,” he murmurs, low and edged with heat.
Holey mama. If he keeps looking at me like that, I’m one second away from ripping his clothes off at a kid’s trampoline park, and I’m pretty sure that’s a federal crime. It doesn’t help that today he’s wearing jeans that cling to his thighs a little too perfect and a white tee that shows off his golden skin and the ink curling up his biceps, giving off the whole bad-boy vibe that’s irresistible.
I clear my throat, willing my brain to reboot. “What about you?” I ask Chase. “Favorite ice cream flavor?”
“I don’t have one,” he says, like that’s a perfectly normal response.
Three jaws drop in unison.
“Are you even human?” I ask, reaching for his wrist like I’m checking for a pulse.
Lillie and Santi dissolve into giggles while Chase slides his hand onto my thigh under the table. The warmth of his touch burns through the fabric, and when I glance at him, there’s achallenge in his eyes—a silent promise that I’ll pay for teasing him. And I’ll enjoy every second.
As if he can’t help himself, he presses a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Yuck, Uncle Chase!” Lillie squeals, pulling a face. “Stop kissing Violet all the time,” she demands, her tone full of exaggerated disgust.
Santi, ever the wingman, nods along. “Yeah. Why are you always kissing her? It’s gross.”
I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter, but Chase is completely unfazed.
“It’s because I like her,” he says with a shrug, planting another feather-light kiss that makes heat crawl up my neck.
Lillie narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Well, I heard Dad tell Mom you’re crazy about Violet.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands, but Chase doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just looks at me—calm, certain—and says, “That’s because I am.”
His hand reaches for mine under the table, the warmth of him pressing into me. And just like that, I fall a little bit harder. I always thought it would be the ruthless side of Chase that would ruin me, but it turns out it’s his softer side that is dismantling me piece by piece.
“Violet, will you come on the trampoline with me?” Lillie’s little voice brings me back down to earth. A broad smile fills my face. “I would love to. Trampolining is kind of my thing.”
With a goofy grin, Lillie grabs my hand and tugs me toward the enormous play area. Santi drags Chase toward the basketball hoops, clearly thrilled to have his undivided attention. It’s hard to keep up with Lillie’s boundless energy as she bounces and giggles across every trampoline, diving headfirst into a giant foam pit with fearless abandon. Her curly chestnut hair bounces wildly in time with her movements, and even as I laugh, there’s a part of me on edge—nervous she might get hurt under my watch.
I’m so absorbed in having fun that when they announce time over the loudspeaker, I’m surprised at how quickly it flew by.
As we walk back to join the others, Lillie suddenly stops, a serious look on her face. She starts whispering, and I crouch down to hear her better.
“Are you going to marry Uncle Chase?” she asks, her voice quiet but her words hitting me like a truck.
“Oh.” I blink, scrambling for a response. “I’m not sure about that—we’re just friends.” It’s the first dumb thing that comes to mind.
“I think you should,” she says with confidence. “I can tell you make him really happy.”
