Michelle’s doing.
The sight cracked something open in me.
“I think so,” I said quietly.
His focus sharpened, fully attentive.“Thinkso?”
I nodded.“I just realized I didn’t expect you to disappear tonight.”
The words hung between us, fragile but honest.
Instead of retreating, he stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, and rested his hand on the counter beside my hip.
“I didn’t expect to,” he said.
Behind us, the girls burst into laughter.Morgan waved her coloring book triumphantly while Michelle announced she was done forever with purple.Creed glanced over his shoulder, smiled, then looked back at me.And in that ordinary moment, with grease on the stove, marker on his skin, and noise filling the room, I felt something settle into place.
The phone rang while I was plating the burgers.And it wasn’t my cell.It was the house phone.
Creed glanced at it from the table, Morgan mid-story on his lap, Michelle swinging her legs beside him.
“You want me to get that?”he asked.
I shook my head.“No.I’ve got it.”
I wiped my hands on a towel and crossed the kitchen, lifting the receiver.
“Hello?”
There was a pause.Just long enough to signal intention.
Then—
“Peyton.”
My pulse didn’t spike.But something old and cold slid neatly into place.
“Francesco,” I said evenly.
He exhaled.It was a practiced sound.Controlled.Polished.“I was hoping it was you.”
“How did you get this number?”I had blocked his number on my cell phone.
“It was listed,” he replied.“I didn’t want to intrude.”
Respect.
I almost laughed.“I don’t trust unwanted calls,” I said.
A beat passed.
“I wanted to say this,” he said quietly.“What happened shouldn’t have ended the way it did.”
“Things didn’t end,” I corrected.“They stopped.”
A soft chuckle.“You’ve always been sharp-tongued.”
Behind me, I felt Creed listening, widely aware.The air shifted subtly, like a predator registering movement without breaking stillness.
