That pulls a small laugh from me. "You can say that again."
“But he's also the best man I know. And he's never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. I just want you to know where it comes from." She places a hand on my arm, her touch gentle. "He's terrified of being like our dad. Of not being there. Of letting people down."
"He won't," I say, the certainty in my voice surprising even me. "Not our son and not me."
Clover's smile is warm. "I know. And I think, deep down, he knows it too." She picks up the tray she’s been stacking the bowls on. "Now, let's get this dessert out there before they riot."
As we rejoin the others in the backyard, my eyes find Kasen immediately. He's laughing at something Banks said, his head thrown back, that rare, unguarded smile lighting up his face. When he sees me, the smile shifts. It becomes something softer, more intimate.
Something just for me.
And in that moment, I understand what Clover was trying to tell me. This man—this stubborn, protective, aggravating man—has given pieces of himself to everyone he loves. His sister. His nephew. His brewery.
And now, maybe, to me.
The drive home is quiet, but it's a comfortable silence. Kasen's truck rumbles beneath us, the radio playing softly in the background. His hand rests on my thigh, thumb drawing idle patterns through my dress.
I keep stealing glances at his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his eyebrows pull together slightly when he's concentrating on the road. In the dim light of passing streetlamps, he looks both familiar and new.
"Your sister's nice," I say finally, breaking the silence. "I like her."
"She likes you too." He shoots me a quick smile before returning his eyes to the road. "They all do."
"I thought she’d be more suspicious."
"She’s protective of the people she cares about," Kasen says. "She's just making sure you're not going to break my heart."
The casual way he says it makes my breath catch. As if the possibility of me breaking his heart is a given. As if he's already acknowledged that I have that power.
"Is that what this is?" I ask quietly. "Something that could break hearts?"
His hand tightens on my thigh, then slides up to find mine, weaving our fingers together. "I think we both know it's not just about the baby anymore, Pink."
The admission hangs between us, neither of us ready to define it further but both acknowledging that something has shifted.
"I'm scared," I admit, the words barely audible over the engine and the music. "Of how quickly everything is changing. Of how much I want things I never thought I would."
"Like what?" His voice is gentle.
"Like this." I squeeze his hand. "Like family dinners and living together and... feeling like I belong somewhere. With someone. Letting my guard down."
He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "You do belong, Wren. With me. With our son." He pauses. "If you want to."
The vulnerability in his voice undoes me. This is Kasen James—the man who rebuilt his brewery from ashes, who raised his sister, who never backs down from a challenge. And here he is, asking if I want to belong with him.
"I do," I whisper. "I think I have for a while now."
His exhale is shaky, his grip on my hand tightening. "Good. That's... good."
We drive the rest of the way in silence, but it's a different kind now. Charged with possibilities. With acknowledgments we both feel.
When we pull into the driveway of his house, I don't immediately move to get out. Neither does he. We just sit there in the dark, hands still joined, the engine ticking as it cools.
"I know we still have a lot to figure out," he says, turning to face me. "With the baby. With our companies. With Miller breathing down our necks."
"With us." I say. "But that's what we do, right? Fight until we win."
His smile in the darkness is warm and genuine, not the cocky smirk I'm used to. "Yeah. Except this time we're fighting on the same side."
