Page 74 of Duty Unbound

She set down her cup, her fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth. “You’re different than I expected.”

“How so?”

“When we first met, you seemed so…hard. All business. But you’re not like that at all. Not really.” She looked up at me. “You’re patient. Gentle. Even with Nova, when she’s being impossible.”

I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable with the assessment. “It’s part of the job.”

“No, it’s not.” She reached across the table, covering my hand with hers. “It’s who you are. You’ll make an amazing father someday.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh God, I didn’t mean— I’m not trying to— After last night, I don’t want you to think?—”

“Mel.” I turned my hand over, lacing our fingers together, laughing. “Breathe. I didn’t take it that way.”

She took a shaky breath. “I just meant you have those qualities. Protective but not overbearing. Strong but gentle. Patient.”

I stared at our joined hands, processing her words. “I never thought about it like that. Always figured I was too…distant. Too closed off.”

“You’re not distant with the people who matter to you.”

The certainty in her voice made something loosen in my chest. Samantha had called me emotionally unavailable, said I’d make a terrible father because I couldn’t connect. Part of why we’d broken up was her complete lack of interest in children—understandable, given her career ambitions—while I’d always assumed I’d have kids someday.

“Do you want children?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

She withdrew her hand, reaching for a croissant. “Someday, maybe.”

Her noncommittal response surprised me. Given the domestic scenes in her paintings, I’d expected more enthusiasm. Maybe she was like Samantha after all, more interested in her career than family. Or maybe she just didn’t see that future with me.

Either way, I wasn’t going to push. Not now. Not when everything between us was still so fragile.

“More coffee?” I asked, lifting the pot.

She nodded, holding out her cup. “Thanks.”

We ate in comfortable silence, the morning sun warming the room. Outside, I could hear the city waking up—traffic noise, distant sirens, the rumble of delivery trucks. Inside, everything felt suspended, separate from the chaos that would soon reclaim us.

“The break’s coming up,” she said eventually. “After the next two shows.”

“Looking forward to it?”

She shrugged. “Nova wants to use the time to work on new material. Dexter’s already planning intensive rehearsals.”

“What about you? What do you want?”

That defensive look flashed across her face again. “What I want doesn’t?—”

“Matter,” I finished. “Yeah, you keep saying that.”

She stood abruptly, gathering plates. “I should get dressed. Check on Nova.”

I caught her wrist as she reached for my empty cup. “Mel.”

She froze but didn’t pull away.

“Your wants matter,” I said quietly. “To me, they matter.”

She stood there for a long moment, dishes forgotten, her pulse jumping beneath my fingers. Then she leaned down and kissed me—soft, sweet, with a hint of desperation that made my chest ache.

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