“Better get two,” he says without missing a beat. “One for her. One for her mother when you start flirting.”
My jaw actually pauses mid-sentence. “Flirting?”
He looks at me flatly. “Son, I have eyes. And working ears. And for eighty-two years they have served me flawlessly.”
I stare. He stares harder. Savannah hiccups like she knows drama when she feels it.
I clear my throat. “We are friends.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’ll teach her to do drywall.”
“Mm.”
“I’m a helpful citizen.”
Paul squints like I just told him I invented gravity. “You are making heart eyes while holding her child. Either commit or blink normally. You pick.”
I blink like a malfunctioning robot. “Iamblinking normally.”
“No,” he says, patting my arm with grandpa judgment energy, “you are blinking like a man deciding if he should build a crib or run.”
Savannah coos.Tiny traitor.
Paul softens, eyes on the baby. “She is good for Claudia. Gave her purpose when the world tried to knock her out cold.” He glances back at me. “If you care, do it right. No half steps.”
“I donothalf step,” I mutter.
“You better not. She doesnothave the luxury.”
That hits. No fancy speech needed.
After a second, Paul shifts gears like he just declared war and now wants tea. “So. You eat yet?”
“Ordering dinner. It?—”
He cuts me off, “You getting me fries?”
“You want fries?”
He frowns like I asked if he wants oxygen. “I always want fries.”
“Done,” I say. “Salty or sweet potato?”
He points at me. “Boy. Do not gentrify my potatoes.”
I laugh. “Regular fries. Got it.”
He nods, satisfied. “Good. And tell Dash if he drills into my trim, I am haunting him.”
“He already drilled.”
Paul mutters a curse.
Savannah stirs and lets out a tiny sigh. I press my hand over her back, steady. Paul watches, expression softer again.
“You look natural with her,” he says quietly.
