Page 81 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"But he's willing to work on it. For the sake of the family."
Duncan nodded, turning back to the stove. "That's all I can ask for."
I moved to stand beside him, watching him pour batter into the pan. "You're getting good at this."
"I had good motivation to learn."
He flipped the pancake, revealing a lopsided butterfly shape that made me grin. "Very artistic."
"I'm branching out from circles."
The normalcy of the moment felt precious. Duncan cooking breakfast, the children chattering in the background, the warm kitchen filled with the scent of home. For the first time in weeks, the tension that had been coiled in my chest began to loosen.
Then Duncan's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, and I watched his expression change completely. The easy contentment disappeared, replaced by something that looked almost like dread.
"I need to take this," he said, already moving toward the door.
"Duncan—"
But he was already walking out, pulling the door closed behind him. I heard the click of the lock, and my stomach dropped. He'd shut me out. Literally.
I moved closer to the door, straining to hear his voice through the wood. The tone was tense, frustrated, but I couldn't make out the words. Whatever Nick was saying, it was making Duncan upset. Very upset.
The easy peace I'd felt moments before evaporated. What secret was he keeping? What was so important that he couldn't let me hear it?
I stood there, staring at the closed door, while the children continued playing behind me. The pancakes began to burn on the stove, forgotten in the wake of whatever crisis was unfolding on the other side of that door.
And I wondered if Dad had been right to question whether Duncan would stay.
32
DUNCAN
Monday morning arrived with the kind of crisp autumn air that made the city feel alive. I'd been awake since five, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise paint the skyline. For the first time in months, I felt eager to get to the office—not because of deals or meetings, but because Ivy would be there. She'd been there every day, but the excitement never grew old. It was how I knew I had made the right decision.
The building was quiet when I arrived, the lobby empty except for security and the cleaning crew finishing their rounds. I took the elevator up to my floor, savoring the anticipation of seeing her walk through the door in an hour, professional and composed, pretending we hadn't spent the weekend building pillow forts and reading stories about talking animals.
My office felt different now. The space that had once been a refuge from the world had become something else entirely—a place where Ivy organized my calendar, answered my calls, and occasionally looked up from her computer to catch me staring at her. The mahogany desk that had witnessed countless business negotiations now held reminders of the life we were building together: a crayon drawing from Sammy tucked undermy monitor, a photo of the triplets in the corner, a coffee mug with a chip in the rim that Ivy refused to let me throw away.
I settled into my chair and opened my laptop, but my attention kept drifting to the outer office where her desk sat empty. The morning light streamed through the windows, illuminating the space where she would soon be typing emails and fielding calls, her auburn hair catching the sun whenever she turned her head.
At seven-thirty, I heard the elevator doors open and footsteps echoed in the hallway. I looked up as my office door opened, and there she was—Ivy in a navy dress that hugged her curves, her hair pulled back in a low bun, looking every inch the professional assistant she'd become.
"Good morning," she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
"Good morning." I started to stand, but she was already moving toward me, her professional demeanor melting away as she approached my desk.
"The building's still empty," she said, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "We have maybe ten minutes before anyone else shows up."
"Ten minutes for what?"
Instead of answering, she walked around my desk and turned my chair to face her. Before I could process what was happening, she had straddled my lap, her hands framing my face as she leaned down to brush her lips against mine.
The kiss was soft and unhurried, nothing like the desperate encounters we'd shared in the past. This was playful, sweet, full of promise for the future we were building together. I could taste the coffee she'd had on her way to work, could smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo, could feel the weight of her body settling against mine as if she belonged there.
"I've been thinking about doing that since I woke up," she murmured against my mouth.
