<b>Chapter </b><b>57 </b>


    -HUNTER-


    I walk back into the cabin, still drippingke water. My breath catches when I see Celine.


    She’s changed back into the ck dress fromst night–the one that follows every curve of her body like a whisper.


    Her hair is still damp, falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She looks like something from a dream I never knew I had.


    Caesar rushes past me, calling out to his mother. She turns, her eyes moving from her son to me, lingering briefly on my bare chest before darting away.


    “He said you make the best pancakes,” I find myself saying, <b>tossing </b>my wet shirt onto the couch.


    Caesar doesn’t wait for <b>us</b>, scrambling toward the living room where his stuffed dinosaur fromst night sits waiting


    I move toward the kitchen where Celine is already working, the smell of coffee and pancake batter filling the air.


    “You could have worn one of my shirts instead of that dress,” I tell her, noticing how she hugs the wall when I reach for a mug from the cab.


    “I’mfortable in this,” she replies, not meeting my eyes. It’s an obvious lie, no woman would choose to put on a cocktail dress at SAM, but I don’t press the issue.


    She sidesteps when I reach for the coffee pot, maintaining a careful distance between us. Every time I move closer<b>, </b>she finds a reason to move away. The dance would be amusing if it weren’t so frustrating.


    Breakfast is mercifully noisy thanks to Caesar, who chatters continuously about superheroes, and animals, and his excitement about starting preschool soon.


    I catch myself smiling at his animated expressions, and at the way he punctuates his stories with dramatic hand gestures.


    Celine gently wipes syrup from his chin with a napkin, her motherly instinct so natural it makes my chest ache.


    I notice her eyes constantly drifting to the clock on the wall. Waiting for Caroline, no doubt. Waiting for the moment she can


    escape.


    I should talk to her about Caesar, About the resemnce that’s too strong to be coincidental


    About that night four years ago–still foggy in my memory but with shes of her face that keep surfacing. About the impossible. idea that’s growing more possible by the minute: Caesar could be mine.


    But I can’t bring myself to break this fragile peace. Not yet.


    After finishing his third pancake, Caesar thanks his mother politely, she’s raised him well and slides off his chair. He pads to the living room where I’d turned on cartoons for him earlier.


    “I can handle the dishes, Celine <b>says </b>quickly when I start gathering tes.


    “I’ll help,” I counter, leaving no room for argument..


    We work in silence for a few moments, the only sounds are the clinking of tes and running water. The domesticity of it all feels strange yet oddly right.


    “Why are you avoiding me?” I finally ask, handing her a wet te.


    She takes it without looking at me. “I’m not avoiding you.”


    “Then look me in the eyes and say that.”


    She freezes, her hands gripping the dish towel so tightly her knuckles turn white. Slowly, reluctantly, she turns to face me.


    I step closer, closing the space between us until her back meets the counter. She <b>has </b>nowhere to go now.


    “I hate when you avoid me,” I tell her, my voice low.


    She swallows hard, her pulse visible in the delicate hollow of her throat. “This isn’t appropriate.”


    “Tell me what happened in theke wasn’t real,” I challenge. “Tell me you didn’t feel it <b>too</b>.”


    Her eyes search mine, looking for something–permission, maybe, or reassurance.


    I reach up, my fingers grazing her jawline. Her skin is impossibly soft. “Tell me to stop,” I whisper, giving her an out


    She doesn’t take it. Instead, she parts her lips slightly, an unconscious invitation that breaks myst thread of restraint.


    I kiss her. Softly at first, testing her reaction. When she doesn’t pull away, I deepen the kiss, one hand sliding to the small of her back to draw her closer. She tastes like maple syrup and possibilities.


    Something ignites between <b>us</b><b>, </b>a hunger that’s been building since the first moment I saw her. My hand tangles in her damp hair as she clutches at my shoulders, nails digging lightly into my skin.


    I’ve kissed plenty of women, but none like this. None that made the world fall away until there was nothing but the feel of her pressed against me.


    A deliberate cough shatters the moment.


    I break the kiss, turning toward the interruption with undisguised annoyance. Vincent stands in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in amusement.


    “Sorry to break up the cooking lesson,” he says with a smirk, “but <b>Caroline </b>sent me to check if you were all ready to go. waiting outside.”


    <b>She’s </b>


    Celine steps away from me immediately, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I should get Caesar ready,” she mumbles, slipping past Vincent without meeting his eyes.


    Once she’s gone, Vincent’s smirk widens into a full grin. “Well, well, well. When Caroline told me you were ying house at theke with your maid and her kid, I thought she was exaggerating.”


    “Shut up,” I growl, turning back to the sink to finish the dishes.


    Vincent casually leans against the counter, “Hey, no judgment here. She’s gorgeous. But I thought the mighty Hunter Reid didn’t mix business with pleasure.”


    “I don’t,” I snap, more harshly than intended.


    “That kiss looked pretty mixed to me,” he counters. “And hot. Seriously, if the ss windows had fogged up anymore…”


    “It <b>was </b>a mistake,” I cut him off, even as my body argues otherwise. “A momentarypse of judgment


    Vincent studies me for a long moment, his usual joking manner fading. “Is it, though? Because I haven’t seen <b>you </b>look at anvend the way you were just looking at her. Not since….”


    “Don’t,” I warn him, knowing he’s about to mention Sophia.


    He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’m just saying, there are worse things than letting yourself feel something, Hunt.”


    “I pay her sry,” I remind him, as much for my benefit as his. “She lives under my roof with her son.”


    “Her very familiar–looking son,” Vincent remarks casually.


    My head snaps up. So he sees it too.


    “You are very detailed today,” I say quietly.


    Vincent nods. “Hard not to. He’s practically a mini–you, minus the scowl. Have you asked her about it?”


    “Not yet.” I dry my hands on a towel. “It’s…plicated.


    “Life usually is,” he replies with a shrug. “But maybe uplicated is overrated.”


    The sound of small feet pattering down the hallway signals Caesar’s approach. He bursts into the kitchen, freshly changed and clutching his dinosaur.


    “Hunter! Look! I packed Rexy!” he announces proudly, holding up the stuffed toy.


    I kneel to his level, instinctively straightening the cor of his little shirt. “Good job, buddy. You <b>ready </b><b>to </b>go home?”


    His face falls slightly. “Can wee back? I like it here.”


    The simple question hits me with unexpected force. “We’ll see<b>,” </b>is all I can manage.


    Celine appears in the doorway, a small overnight bag in hand. <b>She’s </bposed again, all evidence of our kiss erased except for the slight redness of her lips.


    “Caroline’s waiting,” Vincent reminds everyone. “And she’s not known for her patience.”


    As Caesar runs ahead with Vincent, Celine and I are left momentarily alone. The air between us <b>crackles </b>with unspoken words.


    “About what happened…” she begins. <fn1427> ???? ????s? ???????s ?? Find~Novel</fn1427>


    “We should talk,” I say simultaneously.


    A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Later?”


    I nodded<b>, </b>resisting the urge to touch her again. “Later.”


    But as we walk to the car, I can’t shake the feeling that ter” might nevere. Once we’re back at the mansion, reality will reassert itself. The walls will go back up. The distance will return.


    And I’m not sure I can bear it.