Page 16

The song ends in a pile of giggles. Grace collapses onto the carpet with them, flushed and breathless, her laughter bright and effortless, and I watch her, feeling unsettled.

She isn’t what I want. I thought I was looking for someone who would slot neatly into our family machine.

Someone quiet and predictable. Someone contained.

But maybe… maybe this messy, sparkling kind of energy has a place here, too.

“Victory,” she says to no one in particular, her chest rising and falling with each quick breath.

I stand by the bookshelf, arms still folded but looser now. My jaw unclenches before I even notice. The laughter still echoes off the walls, encroaching into space that is usually filled with my instructions or silence.

Grace sits up, smoothing Junie’s flyaway hair with gentle fingers. She catches me watching.

“What?” she asks, playful, a little smug. “Told you movement improves focus.”

I arch a brow. “We’ll see if they remember their math facts after this… stampede.”

She chuckles and pulls herself to her feet, brushing invisible hay from her jeans. “You’re allowed to admit fun exists, you know.”

I don’t answer, but I have to admit that her bright presence and absolute comfort in this chaos gets under my skin. The kids weren’t just noisy. They were happy. Engaged. Connected.

I realize, with quiet discomfort, that I envy her ease. Her ability to be with people. I look down at my neatly stacked lesson plans and tidy column of checkmarks and think about all the ways I’ve kept things moving, predictably and safely.

Maybe my models could use some disruption after all.

I glance up again. Grace is helping Eli find a missing crayon under the table, her voice calm and warm as she reassures her it’s no big deal.

I sigh under my breath. “Maybe.”

The kids finally settle into quiet drawing, their energy spent for now. Grace kneels next to Junie, helping her braid a scrap of yarn into her drawing of the magical cowboy chicken. Her voice stays low and soft in a way that’s perfect for reaching the little girl.

I hover near the bookshelf, pretending to rearrange supplies, but my eyes keep drifting back to her.

Grace is unexpected. She’s warm where I crave structure, messy where I demand order, and for reasons I can’t explain, I can’t seem to pull my focus away from the way a loose strand of hair brushes against her cheek when she leans in to guide Junie’s hand.

Or the way her lips curve into the smallest, unguarded smile when Matty proudly holds up his half-finished drawing for approval. The room feels better when she’s in it.

I clear my throat, forcing my attention back to the box of sharpened pencils in my hand.

But Grace stands and crosses the room toward me. I stiffen automatically, but she stops just inside my personal orbit, close enough for me to catch the faintest trace of a warm, floral scent on her skin.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she murmurs, eyes searching mine.

I hold her gaze steadily. “You pushed the boundaries of acceptable learning structure.”

Her mouth quirks. “I like pushing boundaries.”

I let out a low breath. “You do?”

We stand like that for a beat longer than we should, the air between us charged with unexpected, disorganized electricity. I should step back. Say something dry and safe.

Instead, I say, “You’re… good with them.”

“Kids just want someone to relate to them.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Her fingers brush my sleeve lightly—accidental, probably—but it sends a flicker of heat up my arm. I inhale sharply, and Grace’s eyes lift to mine again, and for one dizzy second, I wonder if she feels it, too.

I clear my throat and blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you want a big family?”

Jesus. The words hang between us like an open proposition to breed her. And damn, even thinking that word—breed—thickens my cock.

She arches an amused brow. “I don’t think so. I grew up in chaos. I think I need… something simpler. Anyway, I’m kind of married to my job, and I don’t see it procreating with me anytime soon.”

The answer comes easy, too easy. She smiles, but it feels off, like a well-rehearsed line, polished and practiced enough to keep me from pressing further .

“So, no boyfriend?”

What the hell is wrong with me? Now it sounds like I’m angling for first in line. Levi already staked his claim; even if she doesn’t know, I know.

“Boyfriend?” she echoes, tilting her head. “No.” She says boyfriend with a faint question mark, like the word doesn’t quite belong in her world. “I’m not good with commitment,” she adds softly.

Her gaze shifts to the kids. I may be an analytical bastard who’s better with numbers than people, but there’s longing there. Subtle and unspoken. Her mouth says one thing; her body says another.

Grace is infuriating that way. So damn open, so willing to live out loud, and yet I’m certain I’ve never met anyone so carefully guarded. What the hell is she hiding under all that sparkle and easy confidence?

I don’t get the chance to ask.

“Grace!” Junie calls from across the room.

The moment fractures. Grace steps back, offering me a small, knowing smile that hits deeply and uncomfortably. Then she turns away.

I watch her go, the faint trace of her scent lingering.

She doesn’t fit. She shouldn’t fit.

But God help me… part of me wants her to stay longer than this article will take to write, so this ranch and the people in it can prove we’re better than whatever life she’s planning on running back to.