Melody
Just before we reach the kitchen, I feel it—Mark slowing, his hand tightening just enough around mine that it makes me stop too. The noise from inside drifts out: pans clinking, Sarah laughing about something, Tony’s voice already too loud for this hour. Normal. Warm. Safe.
Mark isn’t looking at the kitchen though.
He’s looking at me.
There’s something guarded in his expression, a crease between his brows I’ve learned means he’s running ten thoughts ahead of the moment. I turn fully toward him, confused.
“Hey,” I say softly. “What’s wrong?”
He exhales, slow, like he’s bracing. “I just—” He shakes his head once. “If I crossed a line earlier, tell me now. The… baby girl thing. The way I talked. I don’t want to push you into something or make this feel too fast.”
My chest tighte
