Page 87 of Hold Me Tight

I’m still caught in that moment as River slips an arm around my waist.

He leans in. “You made it out of the bathroom. I’m proud of you.”

I roll my eyes as a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “I would’ve climbed out the window if this wasn’t the penthouse.”

He chuckles, and the sound of it ghosts over my skin before he presses a kiss to my cheek. “Come meet Willow and her family.”

The blonde straightens, wiping her hands on her jeans, before crossing the room with easy confidence. She’s beautiful in a natural, effortless way. Sunshine hair and clear blue eyes. It’s the same quiet steadiness I’ve come to recognize in River.

“Hi, I’m Willow,” she says, stepping forward without hesitation and wrapping me up in a genuine hug. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

I blink, caught off guard by her warmth. “Oh. Hopefully it wasn’t all bad.”

The easy sound of her laugh settles something in me. “Only the parts about you being stubborn.”

“Guilty,” I say with a small smile, feeling the slow loosening in my shoulders, as if a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying has finally been set down.

And then I see him.

Maverick McKinnon.

The Maverick McKinnon.

Right here.

In the flesh.

Dressed casually in joggers and a hoodie, all relaxed charm and megawatt smile as he crouches beside my daughter on the kitchen floor like he doesn’t have the entire hockey world at his feet.

And that smile?

It’s just for her.

“All right,” he says, holding up two markers. “Which color should we use for the unicorn’s hair? Pink or purple?”

“Both!” Nora yells, clapping her hands in delight.

My jaw actually drops open.

Willow catches the look on my face and grins. “He’s amazing with kids.”

I nod slowly, still stunned. “That’s… not what I expected.”

“Most people think he’s all about hockey, but Mav’s a total softie with the little ones. He’d never admit it, of course. But he’s the first one on the floor and the last to leave.” She leans in, tone turning conspiratorial. “Don’t tell him I said that. He’d deny it to his grave.”

“Lies,” Maverick says with a smirk and a loving glance at his wife. “All lies.”

We share a laugh, and the sound feels easy, almost like I belong here with these people in this kitchen. Something about that realization slides quietly into place, threading warmth through me.

I drift toward one of the island stools, my movements almost cautious, as if I’m afraid to jinx the moment. River beelines for the fancy coffee machine before tapping a few buttons with practiced ease. A minute later, he sets a mug in front of me and rests his hand lightly on the back of my neck.

The touch is grounding in a way that makes me feel like it belongs there.

Like we belong.

I wrap my hands around the mug and glance at him. His attention is focused on Nora, and his mouth is curved in that crooked smile I realize only appears when he’s watching her. There’s something in that look that leaves me reeling.

This man brushes my daughter’s hair without hesitation. He lets her stir pancake batter, even when it ends up everywhere. He remembers her favorite fruit snacks and how she says pish instead of fish. He bought her toys, not to win her over, but because he knew they’d make her light up.