I study his profile, the way light slides across his jaw. “Do you ever think about it?”
“About what?”
“Family. Kids.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. The sound of rain fills the space where his words should be. Then he glances at me, eyes dark but calm.
“Every day,” he says. “But only with the right person.”
Something in my chest tightens, slow and sure. I look back out at the road and try not to drown in the silence's sound.
Outside, the rain blurs the city into watercolor streaks. Inside, his hand finds mine where it rests on my knee, steady, unspoken, anchoring.
And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, the world shifts again.
Erik
The next day…
She spots me immediately, hair caught in the wind, eyes bright from laughter. The sight does something to my pulse, sharpens it, and refocuses it. Every plan, every protocol, all of it fades to static.
I step out of the SUV before she can reach for the handle. The door opens under my hand, and the faint scent of basil envelops me as I get near her.
“You didn’t have to pick me up,” she says, sliding into the passenger seat, cheeks still flushed.
“I did.”
She glances sideways, a smile tugging at her lips. "That's a rule now?”
“Yes.” I say, "Rules keep people alive.”
Her laugh is soft, teasing. “You make everything sound like an op plan.”
“Old habits die hard.” I start the engine up and pull further onto the street.
The silence that follows isn’t empty; it hums. She smells like roasted tomatoes and warm bread and the faintest hint of vanilla. When her hand brushes my leg, the contact feels small, but it burns with its gravity. I keep my expression neutral, hands steady on the wheel.
“You had lunch with Grace again,” I say after a moment, low, even. “How is she feeling today?”
“Yeah, she wanted to help me boost my marketing that I’ve been racking my brain over, and she had some great ideas on expanding my social media presence. As far as how she’s doing,she’s feeling it; she says she’s starting to feel more nauseous.” Her tone softens. “But she’s excited, and I’m happy for her.”
I nod once, a flicker of pride beneath the calm. “Bjorn’s already planning a second wing for the nursery.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Of course he is. He can’t help himself.”
The sound hits me harder than expected, something bright, unguarded, cutting through the edges of my control. “How are you really feeling for them?”
“Honestly? I’m pleased for them.” Her voice quiets thoughtfully. “It just made me think about… whatIwant.”
I glance at her, the subtle tremor in her words threading into my pulse. “And what’s that?”
Her gaze meets mine, steady despite the vulnerability behind it. “A home. Kids. Sooner than later.”
The air thickens. I keep my eyes on the road, but the words land heavy in my chest.The phrase "seven sons for seven shields" resonates deeply within me.The old creed hums in my head: duty, bloodline, legacy. But when she sayshome, I don’t think of lineage. I think of her laughter echoing through walls that finally feel alive.
“You’d make a wonderful mother,” I say, quieter than I mean to.
She turns toward the window, hiding the blush in her reflection. “You think so?”
