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Not that it matters, obviously.

He’s my husband, but not my husband-husband. So who cares if he’s unbelievably attractive? Not me, obviously. Whatever.

“Again,” Shiloh says when Maverick finishes.

“No.”

“Again.”

“It’s bedtime.”

“Again,” Shiloh asks, undeterred.

“Shiloh.”

“Please?”

Maverick sighs, then turns back to the first page.

Slowly. Like a man who has lost this exact argument hundreds of times and has made his peace with it.

Shiloh picks up the tablet and holds it at a different angle. I know immediately when Maverick sees me.

His gaze catches mine through the screen.

For a second, neither of us moves.

I feel his gaze on me almost like a touch. It’s ridiculous. It’s a tablet. He’s hundreds of miles away. But it feels like being caught, like he’s walked into a room and found me somewhere I’m not supposed to be.

Then I lift my hand in a tiny wave. “Hi,” I whisper.

“Hi,” His voice is lower than it was a second ago. Rougher.

I stand from the bed. “I was just leaving.”

Shiloh sits up. “Noelle, stay.”

My heart squeezes. One word. He doesn’t even say please. He just says it like it’s obvious, like of course I’ll stay; why would I go anywhere?

“Okay.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. Shiloh immediately crawls closer until his warm little body is pressed against my side.

He tucks his feet under my thigh. They’re freezing. They’re always freezing. I don’t say anything.

On the screen, Maverick goes very still.

I pull the blanket over Shiloh’s legs.

“Okay, Daddy. We’re ready.”

His eyes meet mine again. Something passes through his expression. I can’t name it. It’s there and gone, like a car’s headlights sweeping across a dark room. Then I watch his throat bob as he swallows.

Then he looks down at the book.

He clears his throat, and then starts reading.

And I just listen. To the rumble of his voice and the rustle of the pages, and Shiloh’s breathing as it slows against my arm.