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When he’s dressed, he scoops up his dinosaur stuffed animal from the ground and climbs into bed.

I’m momentarily frozen in place when he scoots over to make space for me.

This is the first time he’s done that. Usually, he takes the center of the bed, leaving me to sit on the edge, trying not to crowd him.

After the initial shock wears off, I settle beside him, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I wrap my arm around his shoulders, relieved when he doesn’t move away.

Caleb’s favorite part of our nightly routine is story time. He picks a book from the shelf, and I read it aloud. He’s never asked for more, but I’d read every last one if he asked me.

Tonight’s pick is Dragons Love Tacos .

I can’t help but wonder if he did this with Amelia. Would she do the voices, and would he laugh at the silly parts? Did he have a favorite story they read every night? And does he think about her when I’m flipping through the pages of a book they read together?

I push the thoughts aside. There’s no use in dwelling on what I can’t change. What matters now is creating new memories and being here when he’s ready to share the ones he had with his mom.

Once I’ve finished reading, I set the book on the nightstand, leaning down to kiss Caleb’s forehead. “Good night, buddy. I love you.” I’ve never meant anything more.

He doesn’t respond. The only sound is the soft rustle of his sheets as he lies in bed, waiting for me to turn off the overhead light. The night-light in the corner glows enough to keep the darkness at bay.

I didn’t believe in love until now. My parents never showed it, and I didn’t stick around long enough in any relationship to experience it myself.

Then came Caleb, proving that love does exist. It’s fierce, exhausting, and unrelenting.

I’m constantly questioning myself, convinced I’m not getting anything right.

Still, when he looks at me with those innocent brown eyes, there’s no question that being his dad is worth it all.

“Sweet dreams,” I murmur, shutting the door behind me.

I close my eyes, letting out a sigh. Even though I wouldn’t change any of it, being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Leaving my hometown without a penny to my name? Challenging.

Teaching myself to code? Brutal.

Launching a startup in New York with zero funding? Flat-out reckless.

All of it pales compared to raising a kid and the challenges that come with it. Still, now that I’ve had a glimpse of fatherhood, I realize I’d trade it all for more time with Caleb when he was younger.

It’s a quarter past nine, and I should call it a night, but instead, after changing into sweats and a T-shirt, I venture downstairs to stretch my legs. Not because I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain brunette.

Definitely not that.

The only light on is above the kitchen sink, and a sharp twinge of disappointment hits me when I realize Briar has probably already gone to bed—until I look out the window facing the front yard and see her sitting on the porch swing.

Her legs are tucked beneath her, a steaming mug cradled in her hands.

In the brief time we’ve been in Bluebell, she’s been constantly on the go. It’s nice to see her relaxing and enjoying the peace and quiet.

A kettle is on the stove and the faint aroma of hot chocolate wafts in the air. I pour myself a cup, adding a generous pour of the whiskey on the counter. Looks like I’m not the only one needing a drink tonight.

Briar glances up when I come outside and join her on the swing.

She smirks. “I see you found my spiked hot chocolate.”

I lift the mug to my lips and take a sip. “My whiskey-to-cocoa ratio highly favors the whiskey, but I’m not sorry about it.”

She chuckles, scooting a little closer to nudge my leg playfully. “Maybe it’ll soften that serious expression of yours.”

“Let’s hope so,” I tease before glancing out at the fields ahead of us.

A deep breath fills my lungs with fresh air, the silence settling around me like a blanket. After the constant buzz of the city, I realize I missed the peace and quiet far more than I thought I ever would.

My body tenses when Briar’s hand brushes mine as she pulls away. The warmth of her touch shoots straight through me, and when I meet her gaze, she’s studying me—a silent acknowledgment that we both felt the shift between us .

She’s the first to break eye contact, yet I can’t look anywhere else.

Her hair dances in the breeze, and the intoxicating scent of sun-warmed leather fills the air.

Briar Halstead is undeniably beautiful, but part of what makes her so captivating is the warmth in her voice when she speaks to Caleb and the unapologetic boldness when she stands her ground.

“Am I making you feel like you can’t be in your own house?” It’s been on my mind since earlier this afternoon.

Her gaze softens, an inquisitive frown tugging at her brow. “What makes you think that?”

“You haven’t been around much in the evenings, and I figured the cottage would be where you’d want to spend your time after a long day.”

A smirk crosses her face. “Jensen Harding, have you been keeping tabs on me? If you wanted my attention, there are easier ways.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I tug my shirt collar loose. “What? No. I just don’t want you to feel like Caleb and I are crowding your space. We’re guests and don’t want to overstep our welcome this early on.” I stumble over my words, and I can see Briar hiding a small smile behind her mug.

God, this is embarrassing. I’ve never had trouble talking to women, but now I’m tripping over my tongue with zero finesse while Briar watches, clearly entertained by every second.

“I wanted to give you both the chance to settle in without getting in the way.” She raises her hand when I open my mouth to speak. “But rest assured, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on.”

“Good.” I pause, trying to maintain a neutral expression. “Caleb will be glad to hear that.”

So am I.

Briar wraps her blanket tighter around her waist, resting her cocoa in her lap as she meets my gaze. When she speaks, her voice is low. “Can I ask you something? ”

“Sure,” I reply.

“How are you doing? I know your world has been turned upside down.”

My first instinct is to shut her down and say I don’t want to talk about it. But she’ll only feel more comfortable with me if I’m willing to meet her halfway and let down my guard. Besides, I appreciate her wanting to better understand my situation and how Caleb and I ended up here.

“That’s a loaded question,” I admit, pausing to knock back a long swallow of spiked hot cocoa, welcoming the heat hitting the back of my throat.

“Finding out I’m a dad has been incredible, but it’s also painful knowing that Amelia kept it from me for so long.

Now I’m just trying to figure out fatherhood and find ways to connect with my son until he’s comfortable speaking again.

It’s a lot to process.” I run my thumb along the rim of my mug.

Briar rests her hand on my leg, her expression filled with compassion. “I’m sorry, Jensen. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve gone through or how devastating it must have been to find out you’d missed the first five years of Caleb’s life.”

I scoff, a dull ache settling in my chest. “That would have been the normal response. Yet all I felt was frustration and confusion toward the woman who kept my son from me. She robbed me of precious time with him, and I’ll never get it back.”

Maybe it’s unfair of me to hold on to the disappointment. Amelia must have had a good reason to make the choices she did, but the fallout of those landed on my shoulders. I don’t know the specifics of her cancer battle or exactly how long she was sick, but I do know this much: she had time.

Time to call.

Time to explain.

Time to give Caleb a chance to meet his father.

Hell, I would’ve been there for her during her battle with cancer, taking care of Caleb while she fought. I may never know why she didn’t reach out for help, and that haunts me.

There’s so much I would’ve asked if I’d had the chance. When did Caleb’s love for dinosaurs begin, what’s his favorite color, and why does he prefer Swiss cheese over cheddar? All are things I may never get the answer to because Amelia kept my son from me, and Caleb may never tell me himself.

I wish I could make peace with what Amelia did, but every time I look at Caleb, I’m reminded of everything I missed—and the silence she left behind is utterly deafening.

Briar’s voice draws me out of my haze, steady and soft, sensing that I’m seconds away from unraveling.

“Caleb’s a bright, kind, and curious kid who didn’t become that way by accident.

His mom loved him with all she had, and it shows in every part of who he is,” she states, her tone gentle.

“Whatever her reasons for keeping Caleb to herself, he was her whole world, and in the end, she chose you to take care of him even after she was gone. That has to count for something.”

She’s right.

There’s no doubt Amelia loved Caleb beyond measure, and the proof is in the small things.

The handwritten notes in the children’s books from her house, the way Caleb can color inside the lines, and the fact that he can tie his shoes already.

All of it speaks to the hours Amelia must have spent with him perfecting those skills.

It doesn’t erase the pain and frustration, but it does offer a new perspective—the hope that one day I might be able to forgive Amelia, even if I never get the closure I desperately wish for.

I rest my hand over Briar’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I haven’t thanked you properly.”

“For what?” she asks.

“Caring about Caleb as much as I do.”