Paul let out a quiet chuckle, rough with affection, and brought both hands to cradle her face. Her skin was soft against his palms, but he could feel the tension humming beneath it. Energy. Fire. The storm of her.
“I will always have your back,” he said. “Even when I disagree with you.”
“I’m never wrong.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
His thumbs traced the curve of her cheekbones. Her lashes lifted, and their eyes locked. Her mouth was a breath away from his.
Paul leaned in, a fraction closer, drawn like a tide to the shore. Like her mouth was the answer to every ache in his body. Her hands slid up his chest, curling into his lapels.
A crash of the front doors broke the moment. Zeke’s mother stormed into the lobby like a winter squall. “You called the police on my son! My son is trying to protect his child. And you—you people—are conspiring to take her away. I’ll have all your jobs! Every single one of you!”
Birdy stepped forward first, spine straight, chin high. Paul followed instantly, his instincts screaming to put himself between her and the fury barreling through the doors. But this wasn’t a war she needed shielding from—this was a stand they needed to take together.
So he didn’t step in front of her. He stepped beside her. He reached out and laced his fingers with hers. Her hand, warm and steady, tightened around his without hesitation.
Before either of them could speak, the mayor stepped forward, his voice calm but iron-clad.
“Ma’am,” Teddy said crisply. “You are in a public building. A place of civil service and support. If you raise your voice again or continue to threaten these professionals, I will personally escort you out. And I won’t need a badge to do it.”
The woman sputtered, her gaze bouncing around the room, searching for backup—and finding none. Everyone stood firm. Everyone stood with Paul and Birdy.
The next sound in the room was a shrill one. It wasn't Zeke's mother. It was Paul's phone.
Some instinct told him it was best he took a look at the caller ID. So he did. The name on the face of the phone readUnknown Caller.
That same instinct that told Paul to look at the phone told him to answer it.
“Winters,” he said, voice tight.
There was a beat of silence. Then a voice, low and tense.
“It’s Zeke,” the boy said. “I—I need help.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Birdy gripped the passenger door handle tighter as the narrow road turned from paved asphalt to a rutted dirt path. The woods thickened around them. Branches hung low, weighed heavy with snow. The world turned muffled and silent except for the crunch of tires over salt-dusted gravel.
Beside her, Paul drove with calm focus. His big hands were steady on the wheel. But she could feel the tension rolling off him. The worry was sharp enough to taste in the cold air that seeped through the closed windows.
They hadn't told anyone at the courthouse where they were going. That had made Zeke's mother rant and rage. But they'd left the mayor and the police behind to deal with her. The more she screeched, the more it was clear to see that she was a major part of the problem. Not that that excused Zeke's behavior one bit.
“She threatened you.”
Birdy turned to Paul. “Who?”
“Zeke’s mom... she threatened your business. If we went through with the guardianship.”
Birdy blinked. The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. “That’s why you called off the wedding.”
“I thought I was protecting you. You told me how much your business meant to you. I couldn't?—”
“You thought you couldn't compete with my career?”
He lifted one shoulder as she turned the steering wheel.
“Well, you know you kinda saved my career when we first met.”
