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And somehow I know that he likes the blue cup with breakfast but the green one with dinner. That he hates the seam in one particular pair of socks. That his best friend at preschool is a little boy named Oliver who apparently has questionable opinions about dinosaurs.

I’ve learned that he needs his bedroom door cracked open exactly three inches at night and that he likes someone to rub his back when he’s having trouble falling asleep.

These are little things. Ordinary things. Things that probably don’t matter to anyone else. But they matter to Shiloh. And knowing them makes me feel— Well… I don’t know exactly. I just know that for the first time since Grandma died, I wake up every morning knowing what I’m supposed to do.

Someone needs me.

And I like it. I really, really like it.

I close the book. “The end.”

“Again,” Shiloh says.

“No.”

He immediately turns to his father.

Maverick shakes his head.

“Don’t bother.”

Shiloh scowls. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I was at dinner. But your critique of my reading skills has called that into question.”

Shiloh pouts. “I’m not even sleepy.” Then he proceeds to yawn so wide I can see his tonsils.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “You look wide awake.”

“I am,” he insists.

“Clearly.”

His eyes are already drifting closed.

Maverick climbs out of bed, which is a production considering how much of him there is.

I scoot out on the other side.

He bends and kisses Shiloh’s forehead.

“Goodnight, buddy.”

Shiloh’s arms shoot around his neck.

“Don’t go away tomorrow.”

Oh. My heart.

Maverick goes completely still. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Then he wraps one big hand around the back of Shiloh’s head. “I’m not going anywhere tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” His voice is low and rough.

I look away.

Because there’s something about watching this enormous, intimidating man be so gentle with his little boy that makes my chest feel funny. And I’m pretty sure my ovaries are fluttering. If that’s even a thing.