Chapter 78 Chapter 78 Pancakes
Once again, I’m slipping out of bed, gathering my clothes, running away from another guy.
Grant is asleep on his stomach, both arms tucked under the pillow. Even like this, he’s ridiculously attractive. In the daylight, I notice a framed photo on the wall—him, younger, softer somehow, holding a newborn son against his bare chest. It makes my chest tighten. I can’t help but wonder what happened between him and the boy’s mother.
Dimitri is sitting in the chair, watching me in silence. I tilt my head toward the door, signaling it’s time to go. No words needed.
We step out into the hallway, quiet, careful. But just as we reach the stairs, another door creaks open.
A small version of Grant steps out, rubbing his eyes, dinosaur pajamas hanging off his tiny frame. He tilts his head, studying me like I’m something new and interesting. Dimitri freezes halfway down the stairs, watching us.
“Is Daddy awake?” he asks.
I drop down to my knees so I’m at his level.
“He’s still sleeping,” I say softly. “Are you hungry?”
Dimitri shoots me a warning look, sharp and immediate, but I ignore it. This little boy is too damn cute.
Ryan nods and lifts his arms toward me without hesitation.
“What do you want?” I ask, scooping him up. His arms wrap around my neck like he’s known me forever.
“Pancakes!”
Of course.
The house feels different now—warmer, lived-in. Pictures of Ryan line the walls. Soft blankets are draped over the couch. The furniture isn’t for show; it’s used, loved. The kitchen looks like someone actually cooks here.
Ryan points to the pantry, then the cabinets, proudly showing me where everything is. He pulls butter and berries from the fridge like it’s his job. Then he darts out of the room, feet pattering across the floor.
A second later, he’s back, dragging a little stool behind him.
“I want to help!” he announces, climbing up beside me.
Dimitri sits at the kitchen island, watching the whole thing unfold.
“My name is Ryan!” he says, holding out his tiny hand.
I shake it, smiling. “My name is Elle.”
He repeats it twice under his breath, committing it to memory.
We mix the batter together, his small hands making a mess, flour dusting everything. I melt butter in the pan, pour the batter, and he watches with wide eyes. When I flip the pancake in the air, he bursts into laughter.
I make him three pancakes, butter and syrup dripping down the sides before cutting them into small squares. I rinse and slice the berries, placing them neatly in a bowl.
Ryan insists on sitting next to Dimitri. “I'm a big boy,” he says seriously.
Dimitri grins as Ryan gets comfortable next to him. His grin is soft and sweet, something has come over him, something I have not seen before.
I serve them both, then make another plate for Grant while I snack on berries, leaning against the counter.
The stairs creak.
Grant appears, hair messy, wearing nothing but low-hanging pajama pants. My breath catches, my mouth goes dry. The lines of his body, the way the fabric sits just low enough—it’s distracting.
He sits next to Ryan, eyes flicking to me. I slide the plate toward him. He watches me, something warm in his expression, then looks at his son and nods.
“Daddy, did you have a sleepover?” Ryan asks, mouth full of pancake.
“Yeah, buddy,” Grant says, cheeks tinting pink.
I turn quickly, busying myself with the dishes. Water runs, soap bubbles up, anything to steady myself. This feels… too real. Too domestic. It stirs something in me I don’t want to name.
Grant steps behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, his hands covering mine under the running water. His body presses into my back—solid, warm, very awake. His hard dick pressed against my lower back.
“You don’t have to do that,” he murmurs.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I clean up my own messes.”
He moves my ponytail aside, pressing a kiss to my neck. It sends a ripple through me, straight to my core. Throbbing with need, I push back against him instinctively, then pull away, putting space between us.
I finish cleaning, putting everything back exactly where it was.
“We’re heading out,” I say quietly.
“I’ll walk you out.”
Dimitri is already outside.
The moment we reach the door, Grant pulls me back, shutting it behind us. His arms cage me in, palms braced against the door on either side of my head.
“I just wanted a minute alone with you,” he says softly. “I had fun.”
My heart stutters as he leans in, his lips meeting mine. It’s gentle at first, then deeper, pulling me in. I melt against him before I can stop myself.
“Can I see you again?” he asks, his hand gripping my hip as his mouth trails to my neck.
“Grant…” I breathe, the name slipping out like a confession.
“Is that a yes, Elle?” he murmurs, matching my tone.
I push him back, needing distance before I lose it completely.
“It’s a maybe.”
He smirks slightly. “Did Ryan catch you sneaking out?”
“Maybe,” I admit, smiling despite myself. "Grant..." I moan as his lips trail down my neck again, igniting me.
“Fuck, I love it when you say my first name,” he says, voice low. “I’d do something stupid just to make you mine.”
My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
I barely know him. So why does it feel like this?
My mind wanders into forbidden territory, what would a picket fence life feel like with him? Shit, shit, don't fucking go there. Stupid girl!
“This will crash and burn,” I say. My hands rest on his chest, he lets out a deep growl as I move over his muscles until I reach the strings of his pants.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to reject me,” he replies, stepping away. “I’m calling you anyway.”
I open the door and step outside. He leans against the frame, watching me walk away. I tell myself not to look back.
I do anyway.
And damn it—I like what I see.
I slide into the car, slumping into the seat. Dimitri starts the engine without a word, pulling away from the curb.
The drive is quiet. My thoughts aren’t.
One night. One morning. That’s all it took to make me think about things I shouldn’t want. I can’t have that life. I don’t deserve it.
I glance over at Dimitri. His face is unreadable, focused on the road.
“What?” he asks suddenly. “I can feel you staring.”
“Nothing,” I say, then hesitate. “Are you okay? Did you sleep?”
“I’m fine,” he answers flatly. “Are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Feels like it’ll blow up in my face.”
He doesn’t respond.
The rest of the ride passes in silence. I stare out the window until we pull up to my building.
“Miss Dimitrova!” Adolfo calls from the front desk as we walk in. “A bunch of packages came for you yesterday. We’ll bring them up shortly.”
He grins, pointing behind him.
“So many flowers.”