Page 132 of Ransom

"I studied you." His thumb brushes my elbow. "Every micro-expression. Every tell. I didn't want to miss anything."

"I didn't know." The words come out breathier than I intend. "That you watched me that closely."

"How could I not?" His fingers trail up my arm. "You were the most fascinating person I'd ever met."

My skin prickles under his touch. "I watched you too." The confession slips out before I can stop it. Maybe I don’t want to stop it. "At school. In the hallways. At home, when we were supposed to be watching a movie. At the garage, when I was supposed to be concentrating."

Ransom steps closer, his hand sliding around my ribs. The touch sends electricity through my body, making my knees weak. It would be so easy to lean into him, to let his warmth chase away the cold fear that's been gripping my chest since Maggie collapsed. To forget about hospitals and tests and all the what-ifs crowding my mind.

"Blair."

My name on his lips is almost my undoing. I want to disappear into this feeling. Into the way my body remembers histouch, even after twenty-five years. Into the safety of his arms and the heat in his eyes.

"I'm hungry." Max's voice breaks through the moment, shattering the tension. Mia stands next to him, nodding in agreement.

Heat floods my face as guilt crashes over me. How could I forget about Max? About dinner? Some guardian I'm turning out to be.

Ransom's thumb brushes my cheek, then he turns to the kids. "Let's see what we can rustle up."

I follow them to the kitchen, where Ransom pulls open a massive stainless steel fridge. "Alright, troops, let's see what we've got. If we can't find anything good, we'll raid Uncle John's place. He's got the best food."

"Can we have pizza?" Max peers around Ransom's leg.

"Look at all these containers." Mia points at stacks of takeout boxes. "Uncle John brought those."

"Smart man." Ransom pulls out container after container. "We've got chicken, some kind of pasta... ah, vegetables."

"Yuck." Max wrinkles his nose.

"Hey now, vegetables give you superpowers." Ransom winks. "How about we make a deal? Three bites of broccoli, and you can have extra chicken?"

"Two bites," Max counters.

"Four bites now because you tried to negotiate." Ransom's eyes sparkle. "Want to try for five?"

Max's mouth drops open. "Okay, three."

My throat tightens watching them. The scene feels so domestic—Ransom dishing out food, the kids climbing onto barstools, everything so natural. But wrong. This should be happening in Maggie's kitchen. She should be here, rolling her eyes at Max's vegetable negotiations, stealing bites off his plate just to make him laugh.

"Blair?" Ransom's voice pulls me back. "You want the pasta or the chicken?"

I blink hard, forcing back tears. "Whatever Max doesn't want."

"I want chicken!" Max announces.

"Then pasta it is." Ransom loads a plate, his movements sure and practiced. Like he does this every day. Like this is normal.

But nothing about this day has been normal.

The evening blurs past in flashes of sound and color. A movie plays—something animated with talking animals. Max and Mia sprawl on their stomachs, giggling at jokes I can't focus on. Ransom's warmth radiates from beside me on the couch.

Colton arrives at some point, his massive frame filling the doorway. Mia hugs Max goodbye, whispering something that makes him smile.

Then I'm sitting on the edge of a bed that could sleep four, watching Max trace patterns on the navy duvet cover.

"Blair?" His small voice cuts through the fog in my head. "Is Mom really gonna be okay?"

My chest tightens. "The doctors are helping her get better right now."

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