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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Y ou brought him here?” Birdy folded her arms tight across her chest like she could hold back the heat rising up her neck.

Paul’s jaw twitched, his voice calm but firm. “He has a right to see the baby.”

Before she could snap something back, she grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the doorway and into the hall.

“Seriously?” she hissed, eyes flashing. “You thought now was the time to bring the maybe-father into the mayor’s house? While Beverly is still barely holding herself together?”

She didn’t let go of his arm. She should’ve. But her fingers had wrapped around the soft cotton of his shirt sleeve, and underneath—dear God—he was solid. Not just fit. Not just toned. Solid. All quiet strength and military stillness.

She caught a whiff of something clean and dark—cypress, maybe, and coffee. And heat. He radiated it. Like the kind of man a woman could lean into on a cold night.

Her breath stuttered. She didn’t want to nap against his chest. She wanted to be wide awake. Curled into him. Pressed to that steady heartbeat. Warm and anchored and—no.

What was she doing? Birdy dropped his arm like it had burned her. What was that?

Paul didn’t move. He just watched her, still and grounded, like he hadn’t felt the jolt too—but she knew he had. She saw it in the way his eyes softened as they swept over her face. Birdy took a step back, crossing her arms again to hide the tremble in her fingertips.

“You’re on his side,” she accused. “I knew it. You always were. From the second you stepped into that office.”

Paul didn’t take the bait. “I’m on the baby’s side. You’re the one who made this about sides.”

Birdy opened her mouth, then shut it. Last night, in their texts, he’d baited her then, too. Intentionally. With charm and intelligence and just the right amount of push. And she’d liked it. She couldn’t remember the last time a man hadn’t backed away from her sharp edges—or tried to dull them.

But Paul? He kept walking toward her. Even now, she could feel his gaze—steady, patient, like he was offering her space and a challenge at the same time. She hated how much she wanted both.

“We don’t even have a paternity test yet. My client?—”

The baby’s sudden, startled cry cut through the air like a fire alarm.

Birdy’s spine snapped straight. Instinct took over.

She turned on her heel and strode back into the living room.

She had kept Beverly in her line of sight, but that was before she'd copped a feel of Paul Winter's biceps and he'd addled her brain.

Beverly’s voice rose—panicked, shaking—and then there was Zeke, one hand gripping Beverly’s upper arm, his fingers pale against her coat sleeve.

Zeke stood too close. One hand gripped Beverly’s upper arm, his knuckles white, fingers digging into the fabric of her coat like he was anchoring himself—and her—with force. The baby wailed louder in her mother's arms, the sound raw and frightened.

“Let go of her!” Birdy snapped, already moving.

But Paul was faster. He crossed the space in a blur, inserting himself between them with military precision. His hand shot out and gripped Zeke’s wrist, yanking him back with just enough force to make the message clear.

“What are you doing?” Paul said, his voice low and hard.

Birdy was already at Beverly’s side, scooping both mom and the baby from her arms and holding them against her shoulder, bouncing gently to soothe their sobs. The baby hiccupped, clutching a fistful of Birdy’s hair, her tiny frame trembling.

Beverly looked like she might collapse. And Zeke? Zeke wasn’t done.

“They’re mine,” the boy hissed. “You don’t get to take them from me. If Beverly doesn’t want me back, fine—she can run. But the baby? My mother’s got the money, lawyers. She will win.”

Birdy’s blood went ice cold. The baby whimpered again, pressing her damp cheek to Birdy’s collarbone. She looked at Paul, who stood between them all like a wall.

For once, Birdy didn’t argue. Because the only thing more terrifying than the boy who made threats was the man standing between them.

Paul didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t puff up his chest or step closer to Zeke. He just looked at the boy and said, low and even, “You need to go. Now.”

Zeke’s jaw twitched. The corner of his mouth pulled into a sneer. He turned to Beverly and snapped his fingers. “Let’s go.”

Beverly flinched. That tiny, involuntary recoil punched through Birdy’s chest like a fist. Without thinking, Beverly moved—not toward Zeke, but toward Birdy. She dove closer into Birdy's side, closing the distance like she was seeking shelter.

Birdy shifted the baby onto her hip and stepped forward, blocking Zeke’s line of sight. Their eyes met. Birdy didn’t look away. Her gaze locked on his, sharp as glass, cold as law. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t showy. But it was deadly clear.

Zeke faltered. His bravado cracked. It was just a hair. But that was enough to show the boy underneath the threat, the one who’d never had anyone glare back with more power than his punch.

He looked at the baby in Birdy’s arms. Then at Paul, who hadn’t moved but somehow seemed larger now—anchored, immovable.

And finally, Zeke looked at Beverly, who stood quiet and trembling but not alone.

He swore under his breath and turned on his heel, storming out the front door without another word. The screen door slammed behind him.

Paul exhaled slowly, as though grounding himself in the quiet after the storm. His muscles were still coiled, like adrenaline was pulsing through his veins. But his demeanor shifted the moment his eyes landed on Beverly.

She stood frozen, her shoulders rigid, eyes locked on the door like she was waiting for it to fly back open. Like Zeke might come charging through again and this time wouldn’t stop at words.

“Did he hurt you?” Paul asked.

Beverly’s gaze dropped to the floor. She didn’t speak. Her fingers curled tightly around the hem of her coat, knuckles white with the effort. That silence was answer enough for both Paul and Birdy.

“Hey.” Paul knelt slightly to meet her eye level. “You don’t have to protect him anymore. I’ll protect you. Both of you.”

Beverly’s lower lip trembled. Her chin dipped in the smallest of nods.

Birdy stood there, cradling the baby against her shoulder, one hand rubbing small, soothing circles on the infant’s back. But her eyes were on him. He didn’t say a word to her. He didn’t need to.

Because Birdy felt it. The quiet vow in his gaze. The promise humming between them louder than any declaration.

He’d protect Beverly. He’d protect the baby. But he’d protect her, too.