I'm good at compartmentalizing. It's what made me successful in military intelligence, what helped me survive the first months after Evie died. But Amelia is breaking down every wall I've built, and instead of terrifying me, it feels like relief.
The only shadow is the phone call with Dylan yesterday. The restraining order paperwork is ready, all it needs is Amelia's signature. Which means we'll have to tell her soon that Vincent is still out there, still searching. My jaw clenches at the thought. We'll handle it. Together. But not tonight.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly through my nose. Tonight is about this, about the warmth and laughter filling our home again. Tomorrow we can deal with Vincent and legal documents and all the complications that come with protecting what's ours.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulls my attention from my laptop. Hunter and Wyatt are both working late tonight, Hunter at a construction site that's behind schedule and Wyatt consulting on some case that apparently couldn't wait until morning. Amelia had agreed to stay longer without hesitation, settling in with the kids after dinner like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I close my laptop and push back from the table, suddenly needing to be in the same room as her instead of listening from a distance. The study has been my refuge for the past year, the place where I could hide from the reality of Evie being gone, where I could pretend she was just in the other room instead of lost to me forever. But lately, the study feels more like a prison than a refuge, and the only place I want to be is wherever Amelia is.
I walk into the living room and stop in the doorway, taking in the scene. Amelia is on the floor with Isaac in her lap, his curly head resting against her shoulder. Riley is sprawled on the couch, her legs kicked up over the arm, completely absorbedin whatever story Amelia's telling. The TV is off, the only light coming from the lamps scattered around the room, creating pools of warmth that make everything feel cozy and safe.
She looks warm, a slight flush high on her cheeks that might be from the heat or might be something else. Her pre-heat is progressing. I should probably check in with her about that, make sure she's comfortable, but the words feel too clinical, too invasive for this sweet domestic scene.
Amelia notices me first, her eyes finding mine and her smile widening in welcome. "And then the prince," she continues without breaking stride, "had to figure out how to get past the dragon to reach the princess in the tower."
"But the dragon wasn't mean!" Isaac interjects. "He was just lonely."
"That's right. The dragon was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to. So the prince, instead of fighting the dragon, decided to be his friend first."
Riley sits up suddenly, her eyes bright with an idea. "And then the dragon helped the prince get to the princess! Because that's what friends do."
"Exactly." Amelia beams at her, and the pride in her expression makes something warm bloom in my chest.
Riley scrambles off the couch and runs over to me, nearly tripping over her own feet in her excitement. She's clutching something in her hands, and when she gets close enough I see it's a handful of dandelions, their yellow heads already starting to wilt but still bright enough to be cheerful.
"Dad! You have to help." She thrusts the dandelions at me. "In the story, the prince puts flowers in the girl's hair. You have to do it for me first so I can show Isaac how it works."
I crouch down to her level, taking the dandelions gently. The stems are slightly damp, leaving traces of green on my fingers. "You want me to put these in your hair?"
"Yes! Please?" Her eyes are wide and hopeful, and there's no way I could say no even if I wanted to.
I carefully tuck one of the dandelions behind her ear, my fingers gentle against her temple, making sure it's secure enough to stay but not so tight it pulls her hair. It catches in the fine strands that smell faintly of strawberry shampoo. She giggles, reaching up to touch it, and the sound is so purely happy that it makes my throat tight.
"Perfect," I tell her. "Very princess-like."
"Now Miss Amelia!" Riley points across the room. "The prince has to put one in her hair too!"
I look over at Amelia, who's watching us with this soft expression that makes my heart do complicated things in my chest. Isaac has twisted around in her lap to watch, his hazel-green eyes tracking my movements as I cross the room. The dying evening light from the window catches in Amelia's hair, making the brown strands look almost golden.
I kneel beside them, holding up one of the dandelions. "May I?"
"You may," Amelia says softly, tilting her head slightly to give me better access.
I reach up and tuck the dandelion behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against the soft skin of her temple for just a moment longer than necessary. Her skin is warm, warmer than it should be, and I make a mental note to check her temperature later. Her eyes meet mine, brown and warm and full of something that looks like trust, and I'm hit with the overwhelming urge to kiss her properly, deeply, to show her exactly how much she's come to mean to me.
"Now you have to kiss!" Isaac announces with the confidence of a four-year-old who thinks he understands how romance works.
My eyes find Amelia's, a question in them. This is crossing a line in front of the kids, making our courtship visible to them before we'd planned. But she's smiling, her cheeks flushed pink, and she gives the smallest nod.
"Just a small one," Riley adds seriously, moving closer to watch. "Because we're watching."
I lean in slowly, giving Amelia time to change her mind, and press my lips to hers. It's light, chaste, nothing like what I actually want, but the kids are watching and this isn't the moment for anything deeper. Still, even this brief contact sends heat racing through me, makes me want to pull her closer and forget we have an audience.
When I pull back, Riley is grinning like she's accomplished something monumental, and Isaac is clapping his hands together in delight.
"Okay, troublemakers," I say, standing and holding out my hands to help Amelia up with Isaac still in her arms. His weight makes her stumble slightly and I steady her with a hand on her elbow. "I think it's time for bed. It's already past eight and you both need sleep if you're going to have energy tomorrow."
"But we're not tired," Riley protests, though she's rubbing her eyes in a way that completely contradicts her statement.
