Page 80 of Wildflower and Whiskey
I blinked. “You have a guest room next to yours?”
“Technically, it’s a home office. But I have another two extra empty rooms in addition to that one,” A tiny quirk tugged his mouth. “But today it’s Braden’s. If that’s okay.”
I couldn’t believe that Mr. Bachelor of the Year had built himself a home with so many rooms, but I wasn’t surprised either. Maybe he was waiting for the right woman to come along and just didn’t want to admit it out loud. What put me at ease was that he’d thought this through, he was Phoenix, strong, stable, he didn’t do anything without serious consideration first. A lump formed in my throat that wasn’t fear. I slid my hand across the blanket until my fingers found his.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll… we’ll try it.”
He exhaled like I’d been holding his lungs hostage. “Thank you.”
The baby monitor rustled, and then Braden’s bright chatter filled the loft. Phoenix went for him without my asking, scooping him up and breathing him in like he did every morning now, that small private ritual he probably didn’t even realize he’d created. “Good morning, little man,” he murmured. “You ready to supervise moving day?”
Braden patted his cheeks and shouted, “Da!” to the ceiling.
“You hear that?” Phoenix said, deadpan, turning to me. “He’s a schedule manager. He can carry the screws.”
I laughed an actual laugh, not one of the brittle ones that cracked on the edges. Somehow in this moment, the move didn’t feel like I was retreating from a threat. It felt like stepping toward something. We moved like a team without talking about it. I fed Braden, wiped his chin, then put him on a floor mat with his toys. Phoenix broke down the crib he’d built, keeping the bolts in a baggie while sliding each rung carefully into the box like the wood could bruise. I folded clothes into one big suitcase, Braden’s tiny jeans, flannel onesies, socks that still refused to stay paired. All the while Phoenix carried boxes down the stairs, two at a time.
Half an hour in, a soft knock rattled the door. “It’s me,” came the voice I’d recognize anywhere.
Pierre.
I opened the door to the Director in his usual jacket, scarf tucked neatly at his throat, hair still damp from a shower. He had a toolbox in one hand and a paper bag stamped with the coffee shop logo in the other.
“Breakfast,” he said, holding the bag up like a peace offering. “And a few more tricks for the stairs.”
“Pierre, you don’t. . .”
“I do,” he said, already stepping inside. “Becket called. I do not like what I am hearing near Route 12.”
He set the bag on the counter. Inside were two warm butter croissants and two steaming hot coffees.
“I’m moving them to the house,” Phoenix announced as he stacked boxes.
“Bon.” Pierre’s gaze swung to me. “Are you okay?”
The question unraveled me a little in the best way. “Better,” I admitted. “Thank you.”
He nodded, eyes softening a fraction. “We will keep you that way.” Then, because he was who he was, he rapped a knuckle on the doorframe like he was scolding it. “You protect them until we finish the move, hmm?”
“Oui, Directeur,” Phoenix deadpanned. Pierre snorted. I tried not to smile around the lump in my throat.
Braden was using the coffee table to walk and when that ended he started to crawl across the floor until he reached Pierre’s pant leg and squealed. Pierre scooped him up like he’d been doing it his whole life, settling him on his forearm. “You come with me,” he told Braden gravely. “We supervise.”
Phoenix returned, saw his father with my son, and something complicated and soft passed between the two men. He crossed to us, nudged a coffee toward me, and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear in the same breath like it was nothing.
We ate standing at the counter, croissant flakes dusting Braden’s curls. Pierre ran through logistics in that calm cadence that always bled the panic out of a room.
“Patrol will sit on the far gate for the next few nights,” he said. “We’ve got two plainclothes making rounds at the bars and another car near Birch Street during pickup and drop-off. You gave the daycare that password?” He glanced at me.
“Sunflower,” I said. “And photos. They have your number and Becket’s if they can’t reach me.”
“Très bien.” His gaze flicked to Phoenix. “You’ll set cameras at the house?”
“Already charged,” Phoenix said. “One at the front porch, one at the kitchen door, one on the back deck over the orchard. I’m mounting motion lights on the north side.”
Pierre grunted, satisfied. “I will come later with a sensor for the mudroom window.” He paused. “And, Elyna?” He waited until he was sure I was looking at him. “If anything feels wrong,even for a second, you call. I do not care if it is three in the morning and turns out to be the raccoons.”
My throat got tight again. “I will. Thank you.”
