I just stood there holding it.
“I cannot believe you just did that.”
He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe like this was not the most insane thing I had ever watched happen before eight in the morning. “Baby girl, I am too old to play games where we hide this behind your father’s back and pretend it is something else.”
I stared at him. “Yeah, but you just came right out and said it. Do you understand how awkward everything is about to be?”
He looked completely unbothered. “It will clear up faster than you think.”
I laughed once, short and disbelieving. “That is very easy for you to say when you aren’t the one who has to deal with him.”
His expression softened just a little. “Your father loves you. He is angry now, yes, but he will cool off.”
I tightened my grip on the phone. “And then what? What happens next?”
That was the real question, and the second I asked it, everything that had been warm and sleepy and perfect started to feel a little too thin. Because my dad did overreact first and calm down later. Because the house repairs were almost done. Because London was not forever. Because real life had a way of barging in at the worst possible moment and reminding me there was always something waiting on the other side of feeling good.
“He will probably kick me out or something,” I muttered. “He always does the most before he gets around to acting normal.”
Jonas straightened then and stepped all the way into the room. “If he kicks you out, then I guess you stay here.”
I looked up at him.
He said it so simply that it took a second to register what he had actually meant. Not as some joke. Not as a flirty line.Like he had already thought that possibility through and decided what his answer would be.
“You really mean that,” I said.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No softening it.
Just yes.
Then he crossed the rest of the space between us, took the phone out of my hand, set it down on the dresser, and pulled me into him.
I went without thinking.
He kissed me slow and deep, one hand at the back of my neck, the other warm at my waist, and just like that the panic in my chest stopped racing long enough for me to breathe again. I was standing there completely naked, he was in nothing but boxers, my dad had probably just exploded somewhere over the Atlantic, and none of that should have felt remotely manageable.
And yet.
Held there in his arms, I had the ridiculous, undeniable feeling that it was going to be okay.
Maybe not easy.
Probably not clean.
But okay.
When he finally pulled back, I looked up at him and heard myself say, “Fine. I’ll trust you, Daddy.”
His mouth twitched.
I glanced toward the hall. “Breakfast first? I’ll cook.”
That got an actual laugh out of him.