I barely registered her voice, too caught up in watching Emma nestled in his arms.
An irrational urge swelled inside me—to disappear in his arms the same way.
“Okay,” I murmured. “But quickly.”
Owen led the way, Emma snuggling into him as he carried her upstairs.
I followed behind, Chloe trudging next to me, still grumbling about her phone time but not putting up a real fight.
“You good, Chlo?” I nudged her gently with my elbow.
She huffed but nodded. “It was fun.” A pause. “He’s fun.”
I glanced at Owen, who was now negotiating with Emma over which bedtime story to read, his deep voice turning playful as he dramatically listed book titles. Emma giggled, burrowing closer into his chest as he sat down on her pink bed.
Yeah, he was fun. And dangerous. Because watching him like this—easy, natural, completely at home with my nieces—felt way too good.
Emma fell asleep almost immediately, but Chloe started telling me about this friend and that one. Remembering how verbal I used to get at bedtime as a tween, I let her talk.
When I came back downstairs, the fort was still standing—but now, it had only one occupant.
16
Owen
THE FORT WAS STILLstanding. Barely.
I was planning to dismantle it after a little rest, but since there were no cushions on the sofa, I ended up sitting ... in the fort. I stretched out inside it when I heard Rio coming down the stairs.
“You’re inthere?” Her voice came from outside.
I sat up. “Yeah, I was about to—”
Before I could finish the sentence, she appeared at the entrance, bending to look inside and holding the almost empty snack bowl.
I huffed a chuckle. “So we’re eating leftovers now?” I reached out and took it from her. “Any lemonade left to go with it?”
“I’ll check.” She straightened up and disappeared, only to reappear with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“I, uh ... no lemonade but I saw it in the kitchen earlier. It was open already, and I figured—why let it go to waste?” She exhaled a small laugh.
Relax, Rio. I wouldn’t suspect you of trying to seduce me with half a bottle ofleftover red.
“Are we drinking on the job?” I asked, smirking as I took the bottle and glasses from her and shifted to make space for her.
“Half a glass. We’re responsible adults.” She sank onto the cushions beside me as I poured.
“Babysitting deserves a reward.” I handed her a glass. “To surviving babysitting?”
She clinked her glass to mine. “To surviving babysitting.”
We took a sip, the wine warming my chest.
I told her Emma had nearly crushed my ribs with her goodbye hug.
“She’s selective with her affection,” Rio said. “You should feel honored.”
I put a hand over my heart. “Deeply.”
