Hard.
“What if,” Birdy said slowly, tapping the notepad, “it was Beverly that went into guardianship? Voluntarily. That would protect her from being declared unfit. It keeps her close to the baby, too.”
Marla’s eyebrows lifted. “With who? Her mother is in and out of recovery. We can’t find her father. She’s been alone for months.”
“The mayor and Bunny?” Birdy offered. “They’d take her in. You’ve seen how they are with the baby?—”
Marla shook her head. “They’re not married. And with the election coming up, anything that looks even slightly unofficial would likely dampen his chances. We can't ask that of Mayor Carter.”
Silence settled over the room like dust. Birdy exhaled and slumped back in her chair, finally still. Paul stared at the scratched surface of the table. A small chip in the laminate caught the light. He tapped it once. He wasn’t really seeing it, though.
His mind kept drifting—to the mayor and Bunny. To the way the man said ‘fiancée’ like it was a title he’d earned. To Fish and his wife Jules, whose quiet affection filled every corner of whatever room they were in. To Jed, who grumbled and cursed and made it sound like a hardship to be married to Jami Chou—but whose eyes said something else entirely whenever she came into a room.
All of them were married—or nearly.
All of them got to wake up every morning beside a Chou woman.
And Paul… he’d gotten a three-line text from Birdy Chou that morning. All business. Terse. Professional.
It wasn’t cold, exactly. But it wasn’t warm either. Not like their banter from the night before. Not like that easy, teasing rhythm they’d slipped into like an old dance. No jokes. No jabs. No sparks. Just facts.
Birdy:
Custody hearing is scheduled for 2 p.m. I’ll meet you there.
He read it three times,anyway. If they were married, they wouldn’t need chat features. Wouldn’t need email chains and court calendars and office drop-ins.
He could just… talk to her. In real time. Over breakfast. In the car. Late at night, when she was pacing the kitchen in her robe, rambling about legal strategies and case law while he brewed her another cup of tea.
He could tell her she was brilliant when that crease of doubt appeared between her brow. He could kiss her when she got anxious. He could stay—not leave when things got hard, not shut down when she got sharp. He could be the one man who stood happily in the glow of the light that was her.
He could be hers.
That thought bloomed low and steady in Paul's chest. It didn’t feel impulsive. It felt true.
He looked up at Birdy. The slump was gone. Her back was once again straight as she scanned her notes. Her brow was furrowed, but not with worry. It was heavy with concentration. She was already thinking ten moves ahead.
And something clicked. Something that felt less like a strategy… and more like a vow.
“What if we were the guardians?”
Birdy lifted her head from the paperwork. She blinked up at him as though she'd forgotten he was sitting there. “What?”
“You and me,” Paul said, heart thudding. “What if we get married? What if we adopt Beverly and the baby? What if we give them a stable household, legal standing, community support? You have the legal knowledge. I have the case history and agency access. It would work.”
The room went completely still. Not the quiet of resolution, but the breath-held silence of a courtroom just after someone dropped a bombshell confession.
Marla blinked, her pen pausing mid-scribble. Her mouth opened, then closed. The legal pad in her lap slid a fraction before she caught it. “I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “Did you just… propose marriage?”
Birdy turned her head toward him slowly, like it took effort to swivel her disbelief in his direction. Her dark eyes locked with his. Yes, her expression said. He had lost his mind.
Paul felt clear. Clearer than he had in weeks. Maybe ever.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Kitty had commandeered the big bay window again. Her canvas was propped on the easel. Her brush flicked in little arcs as she brought two lovebirds to life in a tree.
“They mate for life,” Kitty said dreamily, adding a bit more blush to the birds’ bellies.
