But I do.
I settle on the couch with Poppy on my lap, letting her play with the soft blocks she seems to favor. My mind runs through the plan for today, the private jet waiting at the airfield, the security team that will meet us in Portland, the hotel suite I've booked under a false name.
"Da," Poppy says, holding up a block for my inspection.
"That's a good one," I tell her seriously. "Excellent choice."
She beams at me, and suddenly something shifts in me. I've never wanted children. Never even considered it. My life has been about the brewery, about proving I'm more than just the family clown. But this little girl with her mother's eyes and determined chin has worked her way under my skin in a matter of weeks.
I hear movement from the bedroom and look up to see Sadie standing in the doorway. Her hair is tousled from sleep, her body wrapped in a robe that's tied loosely at her waist. For a moment, her eyes are soft as she takes in the sight of Poppy on my lap.
Then awareness returns, of where we are, of what we're facing, and tension creeps back into her expression. She glances at the coffee mug I've left on the side table for her, at the baby monitor placed carefully within reach, at the way Poppy leans comfortably against my chest.
I see the conflict in her eyes, gratitude warring with fear, trust battling against hard-won independence. I don't push, don't speak. Just wait, holding Poppy secure against me, giving Sadie space to process the intimacy of what she's seeing.
"Morning," she finally says, her voice rough with sleep. "You're up early."
"Didn't want to wake you," I reply, keeping my tone casual even as my heart hammers in my chest. "Coffee's fresh."
She nods, reaching for the mug I prepared. After taking a sip, surprise flickers across her face. "You remembered how I like it."
"I pay attention," I say, watching as she takes another sip, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The normalcy of this moment, morning coffee, Poppy babbling on my lap, Sadie in her robe, feels like a glimpse into a future I desperately want.
But we don't have time for domestic fantasies. Not with what's waiting for us in Oregon.
"We need to talk about today," I say, adjusting Poppy on my knee as she reaches for another block. "The jet will be ready at nine. We'll be wheels up by nine thirty, landing in Portland before noon."
Sadie's posture stiffens, the brief moment of morning peace evaporating. She sits in the armchair across from me, clutching her coffee mug like a shield.
"Tell me exactly what happens when we land," she says, her voice steady despite the fear I can see building behind her eyes.
"A security team meets us at the airfield, two men, both ex-military. They'll drive us directly to the hotel, which is booked under my cousin's name. Your lawyer will meet us there, not at his office." I keep my voice calm, matter-of-fact. "No paper trail, no way for Elliot to track our movements."
"And tomorrow? The hearing?"
"We go in through the service entrance. The security team stays with us the entire time." I lean forward, making sure she hears every word.
"Sadie, this isn't going to be a drawn-out legal battle. What I have is enough to bury him. We present the evidence to the judge, file criminal charges, and end this. One day, not months of courtroom drama. Nobody gets close to you without going through me first.”
Her fingers tighten around the mug. "You make it sound so simple."
"The plan is simple. The execution might not be." I won't lie to her, not even by omission. "But I've dealt with men like Elliot before. They're bullies who fold when confronted with real opposition."
"You don't know him," she whispers, a tremor in her voice. "When he feels cornered, he becomes… unpredictable."
"That's why we have security. That's why we move fast." I shift Poppy to my other knee, keeping my voice light for her benefit even as I hold Sadie's gaze.
"He won't see this coming. Won't have time to counter."
I can see her mind racing, looking for holes in the plan, for ways it could all go wrong. Her instinct to control every variable, to prepare for every contingency, is working overtime.
"What if he has people waiting? What if he knows we're coming?"
"He doesn't," I say with certainty. "The PI confirmed it. Elliot thinks you're flying commercial this afternoon. He's planning to intercept you at Portland International."
Her eyes widen. "How do you know that?"
"Because I know how men like him think. And because I have resources he doesn't." I reach across the coffee table, offering my hand palm up.
