“You want to go out and look?” Marcus asked, tone perfectly neutral.
I blustered. “Well, I mean—obviously—yes, but the, uh, snow… the—depth—of—look, it’s a safety concern right now.”
Marcus crossed his arms, a hint of amusement flickering on his face. "Sure it is.”
I hated him a little. And by hated, I meant I was already calculating how fast I could get through the next excuse and go “accidentally” find Morgan. “We won’t be able to build it now,” I said, as if I’d come to that decision myself.
“You’re right,” Marcus murmured. “It would mean a lot of shoveling.”
I threw him a snappy glance. He was teasing me; fully aware he’d caught me out and enjoying every second of it.
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, tugging my gloves off as if that somehow gave me authority, “shoveling isn’t in my job description. Or in any sane person’s winter plans.”
Marcus’s mouth twitched again. “Of course. And yet… here you are.”
I ignored that. Or tried to. “Look, the important thing is I’ve assessed the, uh, environmental limitations, and I’ll… circle back with Alex about next steps.”
“Next steps,” he echoed, deadpan. “For the swing set.”
“Yes, Marcus. The swing set.”
He raised an eyebrow as if he wanted to laugh but was being extremely kind not to. “You know,” he said casually, “group finishes in about ten minutes.”
My heart did something humiliating. “Okay? And?”
“And the kitchen gets busy after that. Guests want coffee. Staff grabbing lunch. People wandering through. If someone happened to be waiting around right now, they’d probably get a quiet moment with whoever they were hoping to see.”
He wasn’t subtle. Not even close.
“I don’t—” I started, ready to deny everything.
Marcus held up a hand, still amused, still annoyingly gentle about it. “Cole. It’s fine. You’re allowed to care about people. We’re not judging you.”
That landed somewhere deep in my chest, uncomfortable and warm all at once. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I defaulted to bluster.
“I’m literally here for the swing set,” I insisted, knowing I sounded ridiculous.
“Of course you are,” Marcus said, guiding me back out of the family area and locking the door. “Coffee? While you… stay exactly where Morgan will walk in after he picks up Gabbi from Jazz’s kitten creche when the group ends?”
“Very funny,” I said as Marcus smiled, then picked up on what he said. “Jazz’s kitten creche?”
“It’s what he’s calling it, him, Gabbi, and Rascal, over in the music room.”
“Oh… I might do a… music room investment check… or something, is that okay?”
Marcus gestured widely, and I left before he could give me any more shit.
I found Jazz and Gabbi exactly where Marcus said they’d be—the music room, warm and sunlit despite the snow outside.And I couldn’t gather myself into something resembling dignity, because within seconds, I was on the floor.
My suit jacket was tossed over a chair. My tie was damp where Gabbi had enthusiastically gummed it. Rascal was weaving between my knees as if I were his personal jungle gym. Toys everywhere—blocks, a tiny piano, some soft rattly thing that kept going off every time I shifted. Jazz chatting about his new course—some veterinary nursing module he’d signed up for because, according to him, “if Rascal’s gonna choose me as his emotional support human, I should at least know how to look after the little dude properly.”
And I didn’t care about the creases in my shirt or the baby drool soaking into expensive silk or the fact I probably looked like I’d rolled straight out of a toy store explosion.
Gabbi reached over my thigh with a determined little grunt, smacking a hand onto my stomach as if claiming the spot. Rascal thumped his kitten head against my ribs, demanding attention.
I gave it to both of them without thinking.
I didn’t care about work, or the stupid swing set lie, or how ridiculous I must’ve looked—a grown man in a custom suit sitting on the floor making animal noises to make a baby giggle.
