In Violette Ellis’s memory, the last time she saw that older woman, she was still a timid, subservient wife. Today, though her hair was grayer and her palms were rougher, she carried herself with a newfound crispness and resolve.

She had earned her driver’s license last year and bought a used Wuling minivan. At fifty-six, she had decided to step out of the shadow of her family and finally live for herself.

"Before I hit sixty, I want to drive along every coastal city near here," the woman said with a beaming smile. "I don’t want to stay in Deepwater anymore! I’ve spent my whole life here. You were right—the world is huge. I’m finally able to live for myself."

It was wonderful.

All of Violette’s emotions converged into that one thought: *It’s wonderful.* Beyond that, she didn’t know what else she could possibly say to Roman Griffin.

But Roman seemed to understand everything. As he parked the car, he reached over and gave her hair a gentle, affectionate ruffle.

"You’ve messed up my hair," Violette complained, though her tone held no real bite.

Roman steered the conversation toward more pressing matters. "We’re going to be late for the concert."

That effectively derailed any further focus on her hair. They hurried through the ticket gate, hunched over, and tiptoed to their seats.

Violette glanced at Roman.

The exertion of their rush had his chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath his shirt. The stage lights washed over his features, lending him a softness that blended perfectly with his underlying intensity—a dangerous, intoxicating mix of tenderness and sex appeal.

Sensing her gaze, he turned toward her, his Adam's apple bobbing with a subtle swallow.

They were in the middle of a row, middle of the section; arriving late was already a social faux pas. By silent agreement, they didn't speak. Violette reached out, and Roman took her hand. As her fingers were swallowed by his larger palm, it felt like a drifting boat finally finding the harbor.

Violette lowered her head and smiled.

She felt as if her own life was just beginning.

...

The concert ended at 8:30 PM.

There was a long line for the ladies' room, so Violette waited for about ten minutes. When she finally stepped out, she found Roman standing near a young boy with a bowl-cut and a miniature suit. The boy was gesturing wildly, babbling away, while Roman was crouched on one knee, resting an arm on his leg, listening with rapt attention.

Violette blinked, surprised. "Is he… lost?"

"I am not!" the boy said, chin held high. "I’m just waiting for my mommy to come out of the bathroom! And I have a smartwatch, so I won't get lost!"

Without waiting for a reaction from Violette, the boy turned back to Roman.

"Zero’s helmet has two horns, not like Leo’s! Leo is his mentor, and they’re so cool when they fight monsters! They have super-light ray skills, like this—*pew, pew!*"

Violette stood there, completely bewildered. She looked at Roman, who nodded in solemn agreement, and then back at the boy, who was busy performing laser blasts in the air.

She had no idea how these two had managed to find a common language.

When the boy’s mother finally appeared, he still refused to leave, tugging on Roman’s sleeve to swap WhatsApp contacts. "I have a smartwatch. I can message you."

In any other context, the request would have been absurd, but Roman actually agreed. He pulled out his phone, and the boy scanned the QR code with a satisfying beep. He sent a voice note immediately: "Hello, hello, I am Zero."

Roman replied, "Hello, Zero. I am Roman."

"No, you’re not! You have to say you’re Leo."

"Fair enough." Roman let out a low chuckle, deleted his previous message, and resent it: "Hello, Zero. I am Leo."

The boy was satisfied at last.

His mother leaned in toward Violette, looking sheepish. "I am so sorry. My son doesn't usually act like this."

It was a rare side of Roman that even Violette had never seen. The "older brother is like a father" dynamic she had heard his siblings, Adelaide and Kaisen, talk about suddenly had a concrete, visual image.

Once they were back in the car, Violette asked, "You’re quite the hit with kids, aren't you?"

"Am I?"

Roman hadn't thought much of it. He’d just run into the boy while buying hot chocolate in the lobby. The kid had been on his tiptoes trying to reach for a straw, and Roman had grabbed it for him. The boy had said, "Thank you, mister," and then noticed the watch on Roman's left wrist.

"Wow, mister. Your watch is so cool, it looks like a transformation device!"

That was all it took to start the conversation. The boy only had a few core interests—race cars, excavators, superheroes, and space rangers. Roman hadn't grown up with those things himself, but that didn't stop him from having shared topics with Kaisen.

As Roman explained, it clicked for Violette. He always responded to people with genuine intent, no matter who they were. It was no wonder the boy was so drawn to him. To have an adult treat a child with that level of equal respect—Violette thought about her own childhood. She had always craved that—to have her thoughts listened to with gravity rather than dismissed with a blunt, "You’re too young to understand."

Violette remembered what the boy's mother had whispered before they left and relayed it to Roman: "His mom said if it’s a bother, you can just delete the contact later."

She already knew his answer.

Sure enough, he replied dismissively, "It’s fine. It’s not like it takes up any space."

The streetlights flickered against him one by one, light and shadow dancing across his face. The soft night air couldn't compete with the gentleness he emanated—a deep, visceral warmth that made one want to drown in it.

It was like the hot chocolate he’d bought for her; his kindness was always in the details.

Violette leaned her head back against the neck pillow and suddenly asked, "The matter from last time—has Mom brought it up again?"

"Which one?"

Violette turned her face toward the window. "The one after we had our check-up."

"No." Roman glanced at her, his voice quiet. "Did she say something to you?"

"No, I was just thinking about it."

A thought was lodged in Violette’s throat. She interlaced her fingers, rubbing her knuckles nervously, and after a long beat, she tried to sound casual. "I think you’d be pretty good with kids."

Roman was startled. He desperately wanted to unpack the layers behind that single sentence.

But his logic reigned supreme.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, pondering for a moment. "There's no rush."

Before Violette, Roman had imagined what a life with her would look like. Since having her, he had also imagined what a home with one more person would look like. But that version of the future still felt further away than Violette herself.

For the first time in his life, he found himself wavering.

One moment, he wanted to maintain the perfect balance of their two-person world; the next, he thought a little rascal running around wouldn't be so bad. Then, in the next breath, he was back to being hopelessly possessive of their solitude.

It wasn't that he didn't want it—it was that he wasn't ready.

He was a man who never fought a battle without a plan. He meant it when he said there was no rush; he needed a long, elaborate foundation before a beautiful fantasy could turn into reality. And he, more than anyone else, possessed the patience for it.

The mood tonight was simply too perfect.

There was the quiet glow of having done the right thing years ago, the haunting melodies of the concert, and the sheer, gentle presence of the man beside her.

The moment they stepped through their front door, Violette reached up, hooked her fingers around Roman’s neck, and pulled him into a kiss. His Adam's apple bobbed beneath her touch, a reflexive, restrained movement he wasn't even aware of.

The more he held back, the more magnetic he became.

There was nothing more seductive than the sound of stifled breath in the back of a throat.

Violette cupped his face, pulling him higher, and leaned in to kiss his throat. She nibbled at the skin, and then, she heard the soft click of a metal fastener being undone.

Roman lifted her leg, pulling her close.

*Meow.*

A fluffy, yellow ball of fur abruptly jumped right between them.

Violette shrieked, stumbling back against the foyer cabinet.

Roman steadied her, his eyes darkening with frustration. He looked down to see Sunny, their cat, clinging to their ankles with a pathetic, high-pitched meow. Having missed his owners all day, Sunny was demanding affection, blinking his big, round eyes at the two of them with calculated innocence.

The cat had no idea why "Daddy" was currently looking at him as if he wanted to eat him.