He's inviting me in. Into the thing that matters most to him.
The same way I let him into my bakery. Into my kitchen. Into my mornings with Morgan.
And the voice in the back of my head whispersbe careful.
Because Morgan's question from two nights ago is still echoing in my skull.
Will he still come around? After this is over, will he stay?
"Colt, I think it's great your recovery is progressing… but I don't know ifthisis such a good idea."
I wave the tickets between us.
"Don't overthink it, Morrison." His voice goes quiet, and those blue eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my knees soften. "Just come watch some hockey. No strings."
But before I can say anything more, Morgan barrels down the stairs in sparkly sneakers I've told her she absolutelycannotwear to school.
"IS THAT COLT'S CAR OUTSIDE?! MOM! IS COLT HERE?!"
She rounds the counter at full speed and skids to a stop between us, eyes darting from me to Colt and back again.
Then she spots the tickets in my hand.
And her jaw drops.
"Are those—" She snatches them from my fingers before I can hide them, holding them up to the light like a jeweler inspectingdiamonds. "HOCKEY TICKETS?! BEHIND THE BENCH?!SATURDAY?!"
"Hey, Morgs." Colt drops into a crouch, eye level with her, that easy grin spreading across his face. "How do you feel about watching the Snow Leopards crush Seattle this weekend?"
The sound Morgan makes is not human. It's a pitch so high and sustained that I'm fairly certain dogs three streets over are losing their minds.
"OH MY GOD! MOM! MOM! WE'RE GOING TO A GAME! A REAL GAME! BEHIND THE BENCH! I CAN SEE THE PLAYERS! I CAN SEESAMUEL VOSS! I'M GOING TO BRING MY LUNCHBOX AND GET EVERYONE TO SIGN IT! CAN I WEAR MY JERSEY? CAN I MAKE A SIGN? CAN I—"
"Morgan." I try to sound calm. "Morgan, breathe, honey."
She doesn't breathe. She launches herself at Colt instead, wrapping her arms around his neck with enough force to nearly topple a giant professional athlete.
But of course, he catches her easily, laughing as he straightens up with my daughter hanging off him like a clingy koala.
"I'll take that as a yes," he says, and his eyes find mine over Morgan's shoulder.
And in that look I see everything he's not saying.
I know you're scared, but I'm not going anywhere.
Morgan pulls back, gripping Colt's shoulders, her face barely six inches from his.
"Lane. This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. And I include the lunchbox. This isbiggerthan the lunchbox."
"Wow." Colt's eyebrows shoot up. "Bigger than the lunchbox? That's serious stuff, Morgs."
"Dead serious." She holds up a finger. "But I have one condition."
"Name it."
"You have to do the handshake with me on camera. So everyone can see how cool we are. I told my friends, but they don't believe me. We'll show them, though, right?"
Colt doesn't hesitate. "Right."