Cassian's expression transformed, worry melting into warmth. "Dinosaur pancakes, huh? That's a tall order."
"Please make 'em," Leo said with complete confidence. "Good at pancakes."
I saw Cassian's throat work as he swallowed. "Alright, little man. But I'm going to need help. Think you can be my assistant chef?"
Leo's face lit up. "Yes!"
I watched them work together—Leo standing on a step stool beside Cassian, carefully pouring measured ingredients into a bowl while Cassian guided his small hands. They made a mess, flour dusting the counter and somehow ending up in Leo's hair, but neither seemed to care.
"Now we add the milk," Cassian instructed. "Slow and steady."
Leo's tongue poked out in concentration, the same expression Cassian wore when focusing on something important. The resemblance caught at my heart.
"Good job, buddy. You're a natural." Cassian ruffled Leo's hair, leaving a flour handprint.
"Mama, look! Din'saurs!
"I see that." I smiled, my chest tight with something I couldn't quite name. "You two make a good team."
Cassian glanced at me, and in his eyes I saw the same question I was asking myself.Could this work? Could we actually be a family?
The pancakes were lumpy and misshapen, only vaguely resembling dinosaurs, but Leo declared them perfect. We ate at the kitchen island, Leo chattering about his favorite dinosaurs while syrup dripped onto his shirt.
Normal. It felt almost normal.
"More pancakes," Leo said, holding up his empty plate.
"Magic word?" Cassian prompted.
"Pease. Thank you!" Leo grinned. "Mama says 'portant."
"Your mama's right." Cassian served him another pancake, then met my eyes over Leo's head. "Your mama's right about a lot of things."
Something passed between us in that look. Understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of something more.
After breakfast, Leo wanted to play with his trains. Cassian sat on the floor with him, building elaborate track systems while Leo directed with absolute authority. I curled up on the couch nearby, content to watch them.
This was the man I'd been so afraid of. The one who'd forced us to move in, who'd threatened custody, who'd admitted to killing when "necessary."
But he was also the man who patiently untangled train tracks for the third time without complaint. Who laughed when Leo crashed a train into his knee. Who looked at our son like he was the answer to every question Cassian had never known to ask.
"Mama, come play!" Leo called.
I joined them on the floor, and for the next hour, we built train empires and castle towers and bridges that collapsed with satisfyingcrashes. Leo's laughter filled the room, bright and uncomplicated, and slowly the shadows from last night began to fade.
At one point, Cassian and I both reached for the same train piece. Our hands touched, lingered. His eyes found mine, and I saw everything he wasn't saying—the fear, the hope, the desperate wish that this could be real.
I didn't pull away. Instead, I turned my hand over, letting our fingers intertwine.
"This is nice," I said quietly.
"It is." His thumb traced my knuckles. "I could get used to this."
"Me too."
The words hung between us, heavy with possibility. Leo, oblivious, continued his elaborate train narrative about dinosaurs, rockets, and knights.
I looked at Cassian—really looked at him. Not the dangerous man or the ruthless CEO. Just him. The father playing on the floor with his son. The man who'd held my hand through nightmares. The one who made terrible pancakes but made Leo laugh.
