Part 7: A Domestic Peace
“Well, your war is over,” I said, crossing my arms over my apron. “The Crowes are finished. What happens now, Grant? Do you just walk back into our lives like nothing ever happened?”
“No,” Grant answered instantly, stepping closer until I could smell the familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood and amber mixed with coffee. “I don't expect to just walk back in. I want to earn my way back. Give me a chance, Claire. Let me court you again. Let me show you that the man who left five years ago is dead.”
Lily tugged on the hem of my apron, looking up with big, curious eyes. “Mommy? Can the prince stay for dinner? I have chicken nuggets in the freezer.”
A reluctant laugh escaped my lips. I looked down at my daughter, then up at the most feared man in New York, who was currently looking at a five-year-old girl with more devotion than a king looking at a crown.
“Fine,” I sighed, holding up a finger of warning. “He can stay for dinner. But he’s sleeping on the living room sofa. And he has to help do the dishes.”
Grant’s face lit up with a brilliant, genuine smile—the kind I hadn’t seen since before we were married. “Deal.”
That evening, our tiny two-bedroom apartment felt strangely crowded, yet warmer than it had in five years. Grant sat at our small laminate kitchen table, carefully cutting chicken nuggets into tiny squares for Lily while she babbled endlessly about her preschool teacher and her favorite red balloon.
I stood by the sink, washing the dishes while watching them through the reflection of the window. For the first time in half a decade, the phantom shadow of the syndicate didn't hang over my head. The threat was gone. The Crowe family was behind bars.
Grant walked up behind me quietly, handing me a clean dish towel. He didn’t touch me, respecting the boundary I had drawn, but his presence was a warm, steady anchor.
“Thank you, Claire,” he whispered, his breath brushing against my ear.
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“Don't thank me yet, Whitmore,” I replied, taking the towel from his hand. “You still have to wake up early and help me open the bakery at five in the morning.”
“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” he smiled softly.
