Jason had barely stepped through the door when socked feet came skidding across the floor. "Uncle Jay!!!” Eleanor—small, loud, and halfway airborne—launched into his arms like a heat-seeking missile. He grunted, shifting the cupcake box so it didn’t get crushed.

“Hey, slow down, bug,” he laughed, scooping her up. "You psychic now? I didn’t even knock.”

“I smelled cupcakes,” she said proudly, already peeking into the box like a raccoon.

Jason turned his head just in time to spot you from the kitchen with your back to them. He took a second to appreciate it—your calm, the faint music in the background, and the smell of something homey. You looked over your shoulder and shot him a smile that made something in his chest give out.

Yeah. He was done for.

It was the kind of peace he still didn’t believe he deserved sometimes. But hell, he’d take it.

Then Eleanor pulled back, blinking up at him. “Uncle Jay… you’re the best. I wish you were my daddy.”

Jason choked.

His brain stalled so hard he thought he was dying. Did he hear that right? He might’ve. His life did flash before his eyes a little.

Jason turned toward the kitchen, wide-eyed, silently begging you to save him—but all he saw was your shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He looked back at the little girl in his arms, completely unbothered, head resting on his shoulder like she hadn’t just sent his heart into cardiac arrest.