Page 34 of The SEAL's Duchess
This was what mattered. His Ellie.
Not the memory of Ivy’s lips against his, not the way she’d felt in his arms like she belonged there.
The grocery store was quiet, most of the after-work rush having cleared out. Ellie rode in the cart, hands clasped on the handle like a tiny co-pilot, hopefully suggesting chocolate cereal and giggling that the bananas looked like big smiles.
This was his life, and he was good with it.
Groceries unpacked,Ryder drove the thirty minutes out of town to his parents’ cabin. The porch light cast a warm glow over the front steps, where his dad’s muddy boots sat next to a pair of Ellie’s tiny sneakers from previous visits.
The door opened before they’d even reached it, spilling laughter and the scent of garlic and melted cheese into the cold air.
“There’s my biggest granddaughter,” his mom called, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
“Gramma!” Ellie launched herself upward.
His mom caught her, spun her in a circle and peppered her with kisses. “Come, sweetie. Let’s see what I have for you.”
“Hey, Mom.” He kissed her cheek and followed them into the kitchen. “Smells great.” The house buzzed with familiar chaos.
Caleb was giving Wyatt grief, gesturing wildly with a beer bottle. “Robotic lawnmower, Wyatt? You getting soft?”
Wyatt didn’t rise to the bait. He lounged back in his chair, long legs stretched out, a beer balanced loosely in his hand. His gaze flicked to Ryder before returning to Caleb. “You’re just jealous it cuts straighter than you ever managed.”
Caleb barked a laugh. Grace rolled her eyes, baby Josie propped against her shoulder, patting the baby’s back.
Ryder caught the faint glint in Wyatt’s eyes. The same look he’d worn many times since leaving the marines, as if he saw more than he’d ever say.
Ellie migrated to Grace’s side, peering at the baby with fascination. “Yosie little. Me hold?”
“Maybe after dinner, sweet pea,” Grace said. “She just ate.”
As if on cue, Josie let out a tremendous burp.
Ellie screamed in delight. “Yosie, frog!”
The sound of his daughter’s giggles should have eased the tension riding his shoulders. Usually, this house felt like an anchor—the one place where everything made sense, where the weight of single parenthood felt manageable. Tonight, though, Ryder couldn’t shake the restlessness clawing at his chest.
His mom called them to eat. Her homemade lasagna dominated the table, with bowls of salad and garlic bread. His stomach cramped. He’d not eaten since the sandwich with Ivy.
Ivy.
He’d forced his mind back to the here and now and was cutting Ellie’s lasagna into bite-sized pieces when the front door opened with Sarah’s characteristic lack of ceremony.
“Sorry I’m late,” she called, shrugging out of her uniform coat and hanging it on the back of her chair. “Had to finish some paperwork.”
His mom was already up, fixing Sarah a plate while his dad poured her a glass of wine.
“Long day?” his dad asked, as Sarah settled into her seat and helped herself to garlic bread.
“Interesting day.” Sarah tore the bread in half, eyes sliding to Ryder. “Met the new heiress in town. Ivy Lambourne. You know—the English rose?”
Ryder’s fork slipped, clattering against his plate.
“I can see why you mentioned her, Ryder,” Sarah continued, tone deceptively casual.
Wyatt tipped his chair back, eyes locked on Ryder. “She rattled off specs on the GX like she’d flown it herself.” His mouth quirked. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Grace adjusted Josie against her shoulder, patting the baby’s back. “I was at the library this afternoon for Baby Story time, and Mrs. Klinkhart mentioned seeing Ivy there too. Said she was buried in the archives, researching BlackRock. Sounds like she came prepared.”
