When I step into the kitchen, my parents are talking in low voices.
Mom looks serious, Dad has his chin propped on his hand like he’s deep in thought.
The moment they see me, they both fall silent.
At the same time.
Okay… weird. They have literally never done that in front of me.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to hide my skepticism under a smile.
Mom straightens, flipping a pancake with suspicious enthusiasm. “Morning, sweetheart! Sleep well?”
“Not bad,” I answer, pouring myself coffee. “And you two? Talking about anything interesting by chance?”
“Oh, nothing at all,” Dad says way too quickly.
I raise an eyebrow.
Uh-huh.
But then I see the table set, the stack of chocolate-chip pancakes, the melted butter, the smell of coffee that feels like home—and I melt.
Dad lets out a low laugh, and the sound fills me with that soft kind of nostalgia.
He’s already left and come back twice since bringing Cohen Becker into my agency.
Which is practically a miracle considering it’s the middle of the season.
Having him here—relaxed, no locker-room tension, no meetings—is a small blessing. He pulls his chair closer and drapes an arm around my shoulders.
The loving dad I grew up worshipping. The one I’ve always adored.
Mom sets the last pancake on the plate and joins us. She’s smiling too. It’s nice seeing her happy. I think Dad’s thinking the same thing because he kisses my temple, then hers.
“Got anything planned today?” Dad asks, handing me the maple syrup.
“Pretty full day. A couple new clients and… the first session of the program with your athlete.” I finish the sentence reluctantly. I refuse to think about him before my coffee.
He doesn’t exist.
“Ah, Becker,” Dad says casually, as if he didn’t just drop a landmine into my life.
“Yeah. Becker.”
“He’s a talented kid,” Dad adds. “A little… complicated, but I think you can help him.”
I appreciate that he isn’t putting pressure on me even though we’re still on session one. He’s never been that kind of father. He expects perfection from his players on the field, but at home… he’s only ever wanted my happiness.
When I told him I wanted to drop my degree and focus on Mom’s company and become co-director… he looked at me and laughed. His only comment was:“I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to figure it out… you’re exactly like your mother, of course that’s where you belong.”
And he was right. I’ve always loved Cupid’s Agency.
When I was little, my favorite game was pretending I was the CEO. I had a pink folder with hearts on it and a glittery purple pen. I begged for a tiny desk for my birthday and spent my days matching my stuffed animals.
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll justadorehim,” Mom says with that ironic little smile that snaps me right back to the present.
“Mom.” I try to sound horrified. Actually—Iamhorrified.
