It was somehow more intimate than anything we’d shared lately.
At one point, Michelle climbed into his lap without warning, declaring him “the best chair in the house.”I nearly stood, apology already on my lips—but Creed stilled her gently, one hand steady at her back.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly.
And it was.
He held her there, patient, solid, as she whispered something in his ear that made his mouth curve.It wasn’t a smile exactly, but something close.Something unguarded.
My chest tightened.This was what terrified him.
Not intimacy.
But this—connection without control.Love that didn’t demand obedience or fear.
When dessert was served, Aunt Ruth cut the pecan pie with exaggerated ceremony.“A gift deserves respect,” she said pointedly, shooting Creed a knowing look.
He inclined his head.“Of course.”
As plates were passed, his fingers brushed mine.
Just briefly.Accidentally.But neither of us moved away.The contact wasn’t possessive.It was...tentative.
Testing.
His thumb pressed lightly, once, against my knuckle—like he was checking to see if I was still real.
I didn’t pull back.And he didn’t linger.
After dinner, as the twins were corralled toward the living room and Aunt Ruth began clearing plates, Creed rose.
“I should go,” he said quietly.
Not an escape.
A boundary.
Aunt Ruth looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.“Drive safe.”
“Thank you,” he said to her.“For...letting me stay.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” she replied simply before retreating toward the kitchen.
His gaze flicked to me.This time, he didn’t look away.
“I didn’t come to disrupt,” he said low.“I needed to see...something.”
I searched his face.“And did you see what you needed to see?”
A beat.
“Yes.”
He didn’t explain.He didn’t need to.
“Walk me out.”His voice wasn’t a command this time.It was quieter.Deliberate.
I hesitated, searching his expression for some clue, some sign of what he was thinking.But as always, his face was unreadable, his gray eyes distant, withholding.
