Chapter 35
Elyna
Morning slipped into the loft like a hush, the kind that only comes after a night of watching and waiting. I lay on my side for a long minute, staring at the gap in the curtains where the orchard was washed in pale sunlight. For once, the first thing I felt wasn’t dread.
It was him.
Phoenix was sitting in the chair near the door, boots off, socks braced on the floor, elbows on knees.
He’d put the chair there after the second motion alert and said, “It felt right to keep eyes on the entry.” He looked like he hadn’t slept, and yet his face was clearer than I’d seen it in days, like he’d been happy to stand guard all night.
“Morning,” I whispered.
His head lifted. Those dark cobalt eyes softened. “Hey.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and stood, crossing the floor with that contained grace that made something low in my stomach go warm. He crouched by the futon, brushing a thumb under my eye. “You slept.”
I nodded. “You didn’t.”
He huffed. “I’ll nap after I get a good dose of caffeine.”
“I make a mean instant coffee,” I threatened.
That pulled a smile out of him. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, a quiet, steadying press. “We need to talk.”
Which I learned in Phoenix language meant he’d been rehearsing this conversation all night.
I pushed up, tucking my knees under the blanket. “Okay.”
His hands went to the edge of the futon, fingers curling like he needed to hold something. “We move you and Braden into my house. Today.”
My instinct was to say no. To point at the cameras and the lock he’d reinforced and the way I’d finally slept. To cling to the thin scaffolding of normal I’d built in the loft. But his jaw was set in that way I’d learned meant he wasn’t pushing me; he was protecting me.
“I don’t want to run,” I said quietly.
“You’re not.” His voice gentled, but his eyes didn’t waver.
“You’ll still be at the brewery. You’ll still drop Braden at daycare.
You’ll still roll your eyes at Cooper when he tells bad jokes.
But at night. . .” He tipped his chin toward the door.
“At night you’ll have walls thick enough to slow anyone down, and a floor plan I can lock down like a puzzle.
More cameras. Better sightlines. My dad is happier if you’re in my house until we know what we’re dealing with. ”
“Pierre asked?”
“He suggested,” Phoenix said. Then, after a beat, “And I want it.”
Something in me softened at that. Want. Not obligation. Not duty. Want. “Phoenix. . .I can’t just move into your place.”
“I know nothing about this relationship has followed a traditional path, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want you in my house, Elyna, I want you in my bed. Braden can have his own room. . .”
“It’ll be temporary,” I said because I needed the word, even if I didn’t know why.
Phoenix frowned and it was then I knew I’d hurt him. He also wanted this for us, not just to protect me. That did something to my insides, but with everything going on it seemed like bad timing to tell him how hard I was falling for him. How I didn’t see my life without him in it anymore.
“Temporary,” he agreed. “We pack what you need for a few weeks. Braden’s crib comes with us. I can set it up in the guest room next to mine.”
I blinked. “You have a guest room next to yours?”
“Technically, it’s a home office. But I have another two extra empty rooms in addition to that one,” A tiny quirk tugged his mouth. “But today it’s Braden’s. If that’s okay.”
I couldn’t believe that Mr. Bachelor of the Year had built himself a home with so many rooms, but I wasn’t surprised either.
Maybe he was waiting for the right woman to come along and just didn’t want to admit it out loud.
What put me at ease was that he’d thought this through, he was Phoenix, strong, stable, he didn’t do anything without serious consideration first. A lump formed in my throat that wasn’t fear.
I slid my hand across the blanket until my fingers found his.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll… we’ll try it.”
He exhaled like I’d been holding his lungs hostage. “Thank you.”
The baby monitor rustled, and then Braden’s bright chatter filled the loft.
Phoenix went for him without my asking, scooping him up and breathing him in like he did every morning now, that small private ritual he probably didn’t even realize he’d created.
“Good morning, little man,” he murmured. “You ready to supervise moving day?”
Braden patted his cheeks and shouted, “Da!” to the ceiling.
“You hear that?” Phoenix said, deadpan, turning to me. “He’s a schedule manager. He can carry the screws.”
I laughed an actual laugh, not one of the brittle ones that cracked on the edges.
Somehow in this moment, the move didn’t feel like I was retreating from a threat.
It felt like stepping toward something. We moved like a team without talking about it.
I fed Braden, wiped his chin, then put him on a floor mat with his toys.
Phoenix broke down the crib he’d built, keeping the bolts in a baggie while sliding each rung carefully into the box like the wood could bruise.
I folded clothes into one big suitcase, Braden’s tiny jeans, flannel onesies, socks that still refused to stay paired.
All the while Phoenix carried boxes down the stairs, two at a time.
Half an hour in, a soft knock rattled the door. “It’s me,” came the voice I’d recognize anywhere.
Pierre.
I opened the door to the Director in his usual jacket, scarf tucked neatly at his throat, hair still damp from a shower. He had a toolbox in one hand and a paper bag stamped with the coffee shop logo in the other.
“Breakfast,” he said, holding the bag up like a peace offering. “And a few more tricks for the stairs.”
“Pierre, you don’t. . .”
“I do,” he said, already stepping inside. “Becket called. I do not like what I am hearing near Route 12.”
He set the bag on the counter. Inside were two warm butter croissants and two steaming hot coffees.
“I’m moving them to the house,” Phoenix announced as he stacked boxes.
“Bon.” Pierre’s gaze swung to me. “Are you okay?”
The question unraveled me a little in the best way. “Better,” I admitted. “Thank you.”
He nodded, eyes softening a fraction. “We will keep you that way.” Then, because he was who he was, he rapped a knuckle on the doorframe like he was scolding it. “You protect them until we finish the move, hmm?”
“Oui, Directeur,” Phoenix deadpanned. Pierre snorted. I tried not to smile around the lump in my throat.
Braden was using the coffee table to walk and when that ended he started to crawl across the floor until he reached Pierre’s pant leg and squealed. Pierre scooped him up like he’d been doing it his whole life, settling him on his forearm. “You come with me,” he told Braden gravely. “We supervise.”
Phoenix returned, saw his father with my son, and something complicated and soft passed between the two men. He crossed to us, nudged a coffee toward me, and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear in the same breath like it was nothing.
We ate standing at the counter, croissant flakes dusting Braden’s curls. Pierre ran through logistics in that calm cadence that always bled the panic out of a room.
“Patrol will sit on the far gate for the next few nights,” he said. “We’ve got two plainclothes making rounds at the bars and another car near Birch Street during pickup and drop-off. You gave the daycare that password?” He glanced at me.
“Sunflower,” I said. “And photos. They have your number and Becket’s if they can’t reach me.”
“Très bien.” His gaze flicked to Phoenix. “You’ll set cameras at the house?”
“Already charged,” Phoenix said. “One at the front porch, one at the kitchen door, one on the back deck over the orchard. I’m mounting motion lights on the north side.”
Pierre grunted, satisfied. “I will come later with a sensor for the mudroom window.” He paused. “And, Elyna?” He waited until he was sure I was looking at him. “If anything feels wrong, even for a second, you call. I do not care if it is three in the morning and turns out to be the raccoons.”
My throat got tight again. “I will. Thank you.”
He handed Braden back, pressed a kiss to my hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then headed for the stairs. “I will watch the road while you walk the boxes over,” he said. “Text Becket when you leave. He will have eyes along the lane.”
The minute he was gone, Phoenix looked at me. “Ready?”
I glanced around the loft, at the futon we’d turned into a bed more nights than not, at the small table with the wildflowers Phoenix had insisted I deserved, at the crib space that would be empty for a few hours.
My chest ached the way it did when you knew you were leaving something you’d built with your own hands, even if you were walking toward something better.
“Ready,” I said and meant it.
We did the move in loops. I was used to walking past Phoenix’s house daily so I’d taken in all its features.
The tall maples in the front yard. The stone and wood and tall windows, but I’d never been inside before.
This place didn’t exist when we were growing up.
Phoenix had commissioned the build himself.
We walked over side by side. Me pushing Braden in his stroller and Phoenix using a wheelbarrow to move the boxes over.
The porch smelled like wet leaves and cut cedar.
He shouldered the first box and led us in.
“Welcome home,” he said simply.
If he’d made a speech, I might have laughed or cried. But the two words, unadorned, were the exact size of what I could carry.