Something cracked—barely—in the boy’s expression. A flicker of something between guilt and longing.
Paul stood slowly. “I’ll wait outside.”
He didn’t wait long.
They drove to the mayor’s house in silence, snow crunching underfoot, the world muffled and pale. At some point, the kid gave him his name but nothing else.
They pulled up to the mayor's house and got out. Paul knocked on the door while the kid made slow work of the steps. It wasn't Bunny that opened the door, nor the mayor. The child's mother was the one who pulled the door open, the baby cradled lovingly in her arms. The smile on her face lit up her features, highlighting a tear at the corner of her eyelids. All that happiness dried up the moment she glanced behind Paul.
“Zeke?”
She took one look at the boy, then the baby—and something in her posture curled inward. Like she was bracing for a hit.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
“You brought him here?” Birdy folded her arms tight across her chest like she could hold back the heat rising up her neck.
Paul’s jaw twitched, his voice calm but firm. “He has a right to see the baby.”
Before she could snap something back, she grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the doorway and into the hall.
“Seriously?” she hissed, eyes flashing. “You thought now was the time to bring the maybe-father into the mayor’s house? While Beverly is still barely holding herself together?”
She didn’t let go of his arm. She should’ve. But her fingers had wrapped around the soft cotton of his shirt sleeve, and underneath—dear God—he was solid. Not just fit. Not just toned. Solid. All quiet strength and military stillness.
She caught a whiff of something clean and dark—cypress, maybe, and coffee. And heat. He radiated it. Like the kind of man a woman could lean into on a cold night.
Her breath stuttered. She didn’t want to nap against his chest. She wanted to be wide awake. Curled into him. Pressed to that steady heartbeat. Warm and anchored and—no.
What was she doing? Birdy dropped his arm like it had burned her. What was that?
Paul didn’t move. He just watched her, still and grounded, like he hadn’t felt the jolt too—but she knew he had. She saw it in the way his eyes softened as they swept over her face. Birdy took a step back, crossing her arms again to hide the tremble in her fingertips.
“You’re on his side,” she accused. “I knew it. You always were. From the second you stepped into that office.”
Paul didn’t take the bait. “I’m on the baby’s side. You’re the one who made this about sides.”
Birdy opened her mouth, then shut it. Last night, in their texts, he’d baited her then, too. Intentionally. With charm and intelligence and just the right amount of push. And she’d liked it. She couldn’t remember the last time a man hadn’t backed away from her sharp edges—or tried to dull them.
But Paul? He kept walking toward her. Even now, she could feel his gaze—steady, patient, like he was offering her space and a challenge at the same time. She hated how much she wanted both.
“We don’t even have a paternity test yet. My client?—”
The baby’s sudden, startled cry cut through the air like a fire alarm. Birdy’s spine snapped straight. Instinct took over. She turned on her heel and strode back into the living room. She had kept Beverly in her line of sight, but that was before she'd copped a feel of Paul Winter's biceps and he'd addled her brain.
Beverly’s voice rose—panicked, shaking—and then there was Zeke, one hand gripping Beverly’s upper arm, his fingers pale against her coat sleeve.
Zeke stood too close. One hand gripped Beverly’s upper arm, his knuckles white, fingers digging into the fabric of her coat like he was anchoring himself—and her—with force. The baby wailed louder in her mother's arms, the sound raw and frightened.
“Let go of her!” Birdy snapped, already moving.
But Paul was faster. He crossed the space in a blur, inserting himself between them with military precision. His hand shot out and gripped Zeke’s wrist, yanking him back with just enough force to make the message clear.
“What are you doing?” Paul said, his voice low and hard.
Birdy was already at Beverly’s side, scooping both mom and the baby from her arms and holding them against her shoulder, bouncing gently to soothe their sobs. The baby hiccupped, clutching a fistful of Birdy’s hair, her tiny frame trembling.
Beverly looked like she might collapse. And Zeke? Zeke wasn’t done.
