Page 23 of Wraith’s Promise

But watching Quinn help Mariah roll cookie dough into perfect balls, watching them work together like they've always belonged in each other's lives, I know what I want the answer to be.

I know exactly what I want.

The question is whether I'm brave enough to reach for it.

Chapter 9 - Quinn

The cookies come out of the oven golden-brown and perfect, filling Dean's kitchen with the smell of butter, vanilla and chocolate. Mariah insists on taste-testing them immediately, declaring them "the best cookies in the whole universe" even though they're still hot enough to burn her tongue.

I watch her bounce around the kitchen with cookie crumbs on her shirt and think about the question she asked: can Quinn stay forever?

And how badly I wanted to answer yes before Dean could give his diplomatic response.

Forever. Such a big word for such a small person to use so casually.

I've been here less than forty-eight hours and already this feels more like home than my studio apartment ever did, more like family than most of my actual family ever managed to be. That should terrify me. Should send up every red flag I've built over years of learning not to get attached too quickly, not to trust people who seem too good to be true, not to let myself want things I'm not allowed to have.

But standing in this kitchen watching Dean help Mariah arrange cookies on a plate while simultaneously trying to stop her from eating all of them, I can't find the fear I'm supposed to feel. Just desire. Just this aching certainty that this, this specific man, this specific child, this specific life, is exactly what I've been looking for without knowing I was looking.

"I'm gonna go change my shirt," Mariah announces, looking down at the chocolate smears and flour handprints covering her front. "I got messy."

"You sure did," Dean agrees, fond exasperation clear in his voice. "Go ahead. Don't forget to put the dirty one in the hamper."

"I won't!" She runs off toward the stairs, Captain tucked under one arm, already singing some made-up song about dragons and cookies.

The kitchen feels different without her in it. Quieter. More intimate. Dean and I on opposite sides of the island with fresh cookies between us and absolutely nothing to use as a buffer against the tension that's been building since Ranger made his comment about us looking good together.

"She really loves you already," Dean says, breaking the silence. He's looking at the cookies instead of me, arranging them into neat rows like it's a task that requires his full concentration.

"The feeling's mutual." I take a cookie for myself, bite into it even though it's still warm enough to be almost uncomfortable. "She's an incredible kid, Dean. You should be really proud."

"I am." He finally looks up, meets my eyes. "But I can't take all the credit. She came into the world exactly like this, fearless, loud and so full of love it doesn't fit inside her body. I just try not to mess it up too badly."

"You're not messing anything up."

"You've known us for a day."

"Long enough to see what matters." I set the cookie down, brushing crumbs from my fingers. "You love her completely, you show up for her every single day, and you're willing to fight five armed men to keep her safe. That's not messing up. That's doing everything exactly right."

"You put yourself between her and those men without hesitation. You could've locked the door and waited for backup. Nobody would've blamed you."

"That's not who I am."

"I know. That's what scares me."

"What scares you?"

"How easy it would be to rely on you. To trust you. To..." He stops, jaw tightening like he's said more than he meant to.

To what? I want to ask. To want you? To need you? To fall for you even though we both know the timing is terrible and the situation is complicated and neither of us is looking for this?

But I don't push. Just wait, letting him work through whatever he's trying to say.

"Kate leaving broke something in me," he says finally. "Not my heart. I don't think I loved her the way you're supposed to love someone you marry. But it broke my trust in my own judgment. Made me question whether I'm capable of seeing people clearly, of knowing who's going to stay and who's going to walk away when things get hard."

"I'm not her, Dean."

"I know you're not. Logically, I know that." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "But there's still this part of my brain that's just waiting for the moment you realize this is too much. That Mariah's too much, that living in someone else's house and protecting their kid during a war is too much, that I'm too much with all my planning and baggage."