He poured himself a stiff drink and lit his pipe, the ember at the tip glowing softly in the dim light. Taking a deep drag, he let the smoke curl up around him and exhaled with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the day. The girls were finally asleep—Vi and Powder tucked away safely in their beds—and for the first time that evening, there was quiet. Peace.

Being a father wasn’t something he had ever prepared for. Hell, he wasn’t sure if anyone could prepare for something like this. But those girls were his now—his responsibility, his family.

He owed it to Felicia.

The thought settled heavy in his chest, both a source of pride and an unshakable pressure. He was learning, stumbling his way through it, but trying all the same.

The soft chime of the bell drew his gaze to the doorway, and when he saw you, a small, tired smile broke across his face. “Up late, huh?” he asked, his voice warm with a touch of amusement.

Without missing a beat, he reached for another glass and poured you a measure of bourbon—your favorite—pushing it across the bar as you settled into the seat opposite him.

“Nobody warned me about this parenting gig,” he said with a chuckle, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I love those girls more than anything, but damn. They’re a handful.” He took another drag from his pipe, his mismatched eyes glinting with equal parts exasperation and affection. “Guess I’m in for it, aren’t I?”