What else is rare? Dom holding a baby.
Actually, it’s more like he’s fighting with a baby. Ohh, damn. And she just elbowed him in the face. Snap! And there’s a finger poke to the eye.
Dom curses under his breath, and I snort a laugh. Maybe sheissome kind of government agent. We’re all sorts of strange, and I fucking wouldn’t have it any other way. I am surrounded by people I know care about me.
Even if they sic the big broody one on me.
Never thought I’d enjoy being stalked by a tattooed Italian with control issues. Turns out… I don’t hate it. Maybe Dom and Jasper can compare notes. Once, when I was picking up floral arrangements from Peddles and Perfume that Spencer wanted to use to decorate the tables, I swear I had an armful of flowers and he was out on the sidewalk hiding behind a light pole.
There are moments I still wonder if I did the right thing—walking away from all that training, all that prestige, all those shiny kitchens with their sharp-edged promises? Some days theanswer feels like yes. Some days it feels like I slapped a “quitter” sticker on my chest.
Then I stand in a room like this, with people who know my name and my coffee order and my damage, and I watch them laugh with their partners and hold their kid, building lives they actually want… and the answer hits harder: yes, a thousand times yes.
It’s okay to admit I got it wrong. Even if I lose everything, I won’t stay on a path that doesn’t feel true. I will not spend my life contorting myself to fit into rooms that don’t want who I am. I refuse to live that way for the rest of my life.
I want to do what all the people filling this room did. They found home, then themselves, and then love.
I follow the direction of Lucas’s laugh and see him near Marcus and Jacob, hands flying as he talks, Marcus clearly charmed. Good. I hope Lucas gets rooted here. I hope he finds his version of this, of us.
Then my gaze snags on something else.
What the fuck is Dom doing?
He’s… crouched behind a potted plant.
Holding Mazie.
At arm’s length.
She’s balanced on his forearm like a tiny, furious circus act, legs kicking. His other hand is pulling down one of the plant’s big leaves like it’s a curtain. He’s angled just so—peeking around Mazie’s head—directly at Lucas.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Oh my God.
He’s using a baby to spy on Lucas.
Mazie lets out a battle shriek and smacks his cheek. Dom doesn’t flinch. He just adjusts his grip and keeps staring past thefern, tracking Lucas’s every move like a very large, very unsubtle predator.
Marcus says something to Lucas; Lucas laughs, touches his arm. I watch Dom’s jaw clench from across the room.
“Oh, I see you, sir,” I murmur under my breath, a slow grin pulling at my mouth.
Jealous. He’s jealous. Not just annoyed, not mildly territorial, but full-on “hide behind the foliage with a baby and survey the situation” jealous.
A warm, reckless satisfaction curls through me. Not because I want to hurt him—God, I don’t—but because maybe I’m not the only one lying awake replaying that kiss. That night. Those promises.
He wanted to mark me. He pretty much said it.
And he thinks a plant and a baby are going to shield him.
I wipe my hands on a towel, straighten my shirt, and start crossing the room toward him, heart thudding with something that feels suspiciously like courage.
If he wants to spy, he can do it up close.
I’m ready to follow orders, sir.
Break into Dom’s house.
