“Love it,” I reply with a grin. “Did you read the books? I think the casting in the show is A-plus.”

“I’ve read them all. Twice. Good Lord, is that Jamie Frasier a tall glass of water or what? I’ve half a mind to travel back to the eighteenth century to find him myself.”

“And that’s our cue to keep moving. Let’s head inside.” Greyson puts his hand on my back and guides me into the kitchen at the back of the house. It’s open to a living room that’s beautifully furnished and strewn with toys. Dolls, books, a red and blue tricycle.

No one seems to bat an eye at the mess. In fact, Eliza beams at the little girl in leggings who sits in the center of the toy hurricane. When the girl sees Greyson, she immediately leaps to her feet and heads our way, face lighting up.

“Uncle Grey!” she says, holding up her arms.

He leans down and swoops her into his arms, airplane-ing her over his head—noise effects and everything—before he bends his arms and presses a kiss to both her cheeks.

“Bryce!” He shifts her easily onto his hip, like he’s done it a million times before. “Where have you been, girl?”

“Workin’.”

“Workin’ on what?”

“My computer”—she points to an iPad—“just like you and Daddy.”

“Are you CEO of your own company yet?”

“I am.” She nods proudly. “Can I be CBD of yours too?”

He laughs. Ford does, too, from his perch on the sofa.

“You must be a pretty chill boss, then,” Grey replies.

“She is anything but chill,” Ford says. “But you already know that.”

Bryce crosses her arms. “You gonna make me the boss or what?”

“Hm. What are your qualifications?”

Bryce rolls her eyes dramatically, letting out an aggravated sigh.

“Girls run the world, Uncle Grey.”

“Yeah they do,” Greyson says, looking at me.

I bite back a laugh while simultaneously fighting a joyous sense of what the ever-living fuck.

It’s obvious Greyson is very close with his niece. Again, no awkwardness, no hesitation. Just sweetness and warmth and familiarity. He’s literally radiating affection. Joy.

Not only that. He’s already talking to Bryce about owning businesses and being a boss.

He’s helping to raise a feminist in the making.

I mean. Stick a fork in me. I am done.

This isn’t me heaping praise on a man for doing what’s merely expected of a woman (and never, ever rewarded with said praise, by the way); it’s not me giving him too much credit for being an involved, helpful family member, or being good with kids.

This is me seeing a whole new side of him. The warmth beneath the corporate, cold-hearted veneer that I’ve gotten glimpses of but have never witnessed in such unabashed, unafraid glory.

This is how I was with my family. Because I loved them and they loved me.

Greyson loves these people. Loves them.

Fiercely.

I’m gripped by a fierceness myself. It’s a primal and possibly problematic longing, but it’s there. Lodged in the very center of my being.