I force myself to breathe evenly. To move. Todo something.
My fingers fumble with the edge of a garland nearby, pretending to straighten it though it’s already perfect. “Oh. Well, that’s nice. He deserves something special.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I can’t stop it. I can’t tell him—not here, not now, not when Eli’s paternity is a minefield waiting to implode my entire life as I know it.
I meet his gaze again.
There’s confusion there, but also something else.
Hurt? Doubt?
A flicker of realization trying to claw its way to the surface?
“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “Guess he does.”
I manage a small, polite smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Well. I guess I’ll see you there, then.”
Grant blinks once, the faint crease between his brows deepens.
His expression falters but not in anger.
It’s a complicated emotion I can’t quite name, or maybe I just don’t want to.
“Yeah,” he says again, the word almost an exhale. “Guess you will.”
He lingers for another moment, eyes searching mine one last time before he finally turns toward the door.
The bells chime softly when he pushes it open, the cold air rushing in and scattering little snowflakes into the entryway where they quickly dissipate the moment they touch the warm air.
When the door clicks shut behind him, I breathe out slowly.
Oh shit. What am I going to do now?
The question loops through my head like a siren I can’t shut off. My pulse still hasn’t slowed from the second Grant saidgrandson.
It echoes in my ears, heavy and relentless, until I can’t even hear the quiet carols playing anymore.
Grant, Callum, and Dean coming back into town is a mess all on its own—emotional landmines everywhere I look—butifthey see Eli?
If any one of them catches even a hint of familiarity in his face?
I’ll be screwed. Completely, irreparably screwed.
Grant might not say anything.
He’d keep it to himself, analyze what he was seeing and sit on it until he was sure what he’d found out was one hundred percent fact. Callum would be good at hiding his emotions, too.
He’d keep his distance, bottle everything up until he could catch me alone and ask me.
But Dean?
He wears his heart on his sleeve. There’s no filter between his thoughts and his mouth.
If he figures it out—if he evensuspectswhat Grant does—he’ll blurt out the obvious before he can stop himself.
Then my house of cards will collapse.
Years of quiet stability gone in a single breath.
