Page 113 of Under His Control

“Uncle Chris!” Charlotte screams, bolting toward him with bare feet and wild hair.

Chris bends down to catch her, spinning her once before setting her on his shoulders. “Good thing I came prepared,” he says, pulling out the bubble wand.

“Bubbles!” she shouts.

Charles chuckles and ruffles her hair. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“It’s my birthday,” she says, grinning.

Then she spots Mrs. B and gasps like she’s seen a celebrity.

“Mrs. B!” she squeals, bolting across the yard with all the grace of a rocket-propelled bunny.

Mrs. B—impeccable as always in her cream linen blazer and impossibly perfect updo—actually bends down to catch her.

“Charlotte,” she says, voice clipped but warm beneath the surface, “if you’re going to run like that, tuck your chin. Better wind resistance.”

Charlotte nods solemnly like this is top-level advice, then throws her arms around her waist.

Igor steps up behind them, offering a rare, but gentle, smile.

“Little bear,” he rumbles, patting Charlotte’s head with care. “Happy birthday.”

Charlotte beams up at him. “Thank you, Uncle Igor!”

Chris hands Taylor the grocery bag, then joins Charlotte in the yard to blow bubbles. Taylor follows them, laughing. Charles lingers by the steps with a two-finger salute in my direction.

“Thought we’d get started early. Hope that’s alright.”

“Perfect,” I say, holding the screen door open. “Coffee?”

“Always.”

Inside, I pour us both a bit of coffee before heading to the shaded end of the deck, away from the bubble chaos and squeals.

“You’ve got a nice setup here,” Charles says, sipping slowly. “Feels like a home.”

“It is,” I say simply.

We sit in companionable silence for a moment, listening to Charlotte demand that Chris build her a birthday cake from mud.

Charles finally speaks again, glancing at me over his mug. “He’s doing well, you know.”

I nod. “I know.”

“Been clean. Shows up early. Stays late. Polite, professional—even when a guest threatens to vomit on his shoes. He handled a drunk bachelorette party last week like a damn diplomat.”

That gets a laugh out of me. “Didn’t throw anyone into the fountain?”

“Nope. Not even tempted, far as I could tell.” Charles finishes his coffee. “He’s gunning for floor manager.”

I look over at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. And between you and me, I think he might get it. He’s hungry. For the right things now.”

My chest tightens with something like pride. “Good.”

Charles nods, but I can tell there’s something else on his mind. I respectfully wait.