I hung up, set the phone down, and reached for the jeans. Not the suit. I fastened the watch last. When I looked in the mirror again, I didn’t see a weapon. I didn’t see my family money or a name; I saw a man who meant to show up—and who wanted to stay.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
The family roomwas quiet when Alex showed me in.
Morgan sat on the sofa, angled slightly away from the door, Gabbi asleep in his arms. He was fussing with her more than she needed, small, careful movements as if he were reminding himself she was real. She wore a tiny red romper, cotton, the kind that made her look even smaller. One sock had worked loose. He nudged it back into place with his thumb, slow and absent.
He didn’t look up right away.
Alex leaned in to him, murmured something I couldn’t quite hear, then glanced back at me before lowering his voice further. “Are you sure you want to do this without your lawyer here?” he asked gently. “Just you and Cole?”
Morgan lifted his head. His eyes flicked to mine for half a second—checking, not asking—and then back to Alex.
“I want her to meet her grandparents,” he said. “Not start a war.” The words were calm. The meaning wasn’t.
Alex studied him for a beat longer, then nodded. “All right,” he said. He gave Morgan’s shoulder a brief squeeze, then looked at me. A warning. Trust. Maybe both. And then he was gone, the door closing behind him. I moved closer without announcing myself, slow enough not to startle either of them. Morgan adjusted his grip, one arm around Gabbi as I stopped a few feet away. I smiled at him—not bright, not brave. Just steady.
“Hey,” I said.
He nodded once. “Hey.” Gabbi slept on, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The money. The names. The people about to walk through that door. Instead, it was just the three of us. “Thank you for being here,” Morgan added. He held out a hand. I took it without hesitation.
His eyes were bright with emotion, and he was tense. I stepped closer and pulled him into a brief side hug, careful not to jostle Gabbi, then I pressed a kiss to his forehead, and another to the curve of Gabbi’s temple.
“You’ve got this,” I murmured.
His fingers tightened around mine, and I squeezed his hand once before letting go. Then I moved toward the chair in the corner, giving him space, giving him control—but Morgan frowned.
“Can you… sit with me?” he asked. Then, rushed, fragile, “You don’t have to. And I don’t need you to—I’m not using you. I?—”
I stepped back in before he could spiral. Cupped his chin gently, thumb warm against his jaw until he looked at me. “I’m falling for you, Morgan,” I said. “Both of you.” His breath caught. “I’m here as your friend. A close one, I hope. And as someone who knows you’re the kind of man who would never use another person for anything.”
He held my gaze, eyes shining while Gabbi slept on between us, small and perfect, then he smiled, and we might have talked more, but a knock interrupted the moment.
Morgan stiffened and he shifted Gabbi higher, instinctive, protective.
“That’ll be them,” he said.
Alex opened the door and stepped aside. The grandparents came in together, moving carefully, as though they were entering a space they weren’t sure they were allowed to occupy.
They were… older than I’d expected. Well-dressed without being flashy. Guarded. The grandmother’s expression was guarded. The grandfather’s hand rested briefly at the small of his wife’s back before he dropped it, as if reminding them both to keep hold of themselves.
“Morgan,” the grandmother said after a beat, and threw him a kind smile. “I’m Margaret Hale. This is my husband, Edward.” Her voice was controlled, practiced. The kind of woman who had chaired charity committees and buried grief without letting it show. They reminded me of my parents, only stiffer and more formal.
I stood and shook their hands. “Cole,” I said, and then sat down again.
Edward inclined his head, brief and stiff, and their gazes fixed on Gabbi.
Then—to me.
“We didn’t bring our lawyer,” Margaret said almost immediately. “If Mr.… if Cole is… we weren’t sure if that was… expected.” Her eyes flicked to me again, assessing.
Morgan’s shoulders drew back. “Cole isn’t my lawyer,” he said. Calm. Firm. “He’s my… boyfriend,” Morgan said and glanced at me. A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. Morgan’s lips curved too, tentative but real. Boyfriend? Yeah. That sounded right.
Margaret pursed her lips. For a split second, my body went rigid, bracing—waiting for it. The anti-queer rant. The judgment. The dismissal.
“All right,” she said. She looked back at Gabbi and swallowed. “We wanted to ask… we’d like to keep in contact if you’re willing. Photos, perhaps. Updates.”
Morgan blinked. “You don’t want to… see her?”
