Page 133 of Silver Fox Puck

I don’t belong in someone else’s life.

But when I look at the warm glow spilling from Grant’s front windows, when I think about the way Olivia hugged against him today, her sleepy voice calling him Daddy as he held her like she was his whole damn world—

I know I’m already too far gone.

I belong here.

And I don’t want to run anymore.

I exhale sharply, forcing my limbs to move, grabbing my purse and stepping out of the car before I talk myself into turning around.

By the time I reach the front door, my pulse is pounding.

I don’t even get the chance to knock before it swings open.

And there he is.

Grant Maddox.

Looking entirely too good in a fitted long-sleeve tee and sweatpants, his hair a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it all night.

Like he’s been thinking about this just as much as I have.

His gaze sweeps over me, lingering in places that make my stomach tighten, before settling back on my face.

I should say something.

Make a joke. A teasing remark. Something to lighten the weight in the air.

But I don’t.

Because his eyes?

They’re soft.

Not guarded. Not teasing.

Just… real.

Like he’s seeing me for exactly what I am—and he’s not looking away.

The moment stretches, thick with words neither of us are brave enough to say yet.

Then, finally, he steps back and murmurs—

"Come inside, Flight."

And just like that, I do.

Minutes later, Grant watches me over the rim of his glass, his expression unreadable, but I can feel the shift in the air between us. I set my drink down, mirroring his stance as I lean against the counter. My fingers trace the smooth edge of the marble, grounding myself before I say the thing that’s been sitting heavy in my chest all night.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” I admit. “Not with you. Not with Olivia.”

I glance around. “Is she asleep?”

His eyes darken slightly, something flickering beneath the surface. “Don’t change the subject. Lauren came and picked her up.” He places his glass beside mine, then presses his palms against the counter on either side of me, caging me in without touching me. “You won’t,” he says simply.

It should be that easy. Just a decision, just a choice. But I’ve never been good at choosing something that wasn’t temporary. That didn’t come with an expiration date. My whole life has been a series of exits, a list of places I’ve passed through without ever staying long enough to get comfortable.

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