Page 68 of Desperate Games

“No! Princesses don’t drink that. We drink milk,” she declares, crossing her arms with the kind of sass only she can deliver with authority.

Andy blinks, then snorts. “You’re so right, Princess Callie. What was I thinking?”

She trades the mug for a glass of milk like it’s a royal decree, and I have to turn away so she doesn’t see me grinning like a goddamn fool.

She’s so good with her. And it’s not fake.

It’s effortless.

Which is dangerous.

And also, everything.

“I, um, have to go to work today,” Andy says after a moment, leaning on the counter like the sleep hasn’t totally left her system.

“Me too,” I say casually, sipping my own mug. “We can drive in together.”

She gives me a sideways glance, a little wary, a little unsure. “Okay. What about Callie?”

“She goes to preschool until four. Then the sitter picks her up and brings her back here until we get home.”

Andy frowns, and I hate that I see it. That flash of something like guilt or discomfort.

“Something wrong?” I ask carefully.

“No, I just—nothing.” She shakes her head, takes a sip of milk like it’s suddenly the answer to everything.

But I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking the same damn thing I am.

Because as much as I hate the idea of a stranger watching Callie every afternoon, I don’t have much of a choice.

I’m a working father now, and I have responsibilities that don’t end at my front door.

Unless? Unless maybe Andy wants the job.

Wants us.

Wants this.

I don’t say it. Not yet. But the idea plants itself like a seed I’m determined to water. Nurture. Grow into something that matters.

She might’ve come into this thinking she was the one making the choices.

But I’m a tactical operator with a plan now.

And Andrea Ramirez?

She’s my mission.

My woman.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

But she will.

“Here.”

I set the tray down in front of her, still warm from where I kept it covered on the stove.