Grant shrugged.
“He was joking.”
“While you filmed?”
His eyes flickered.
“It’s harmless.”
I looked at the phone in his hand.
Then back at him.
“No, Grant.”
My voice was quiet.
“That isn’t harmless.”
Something changed in his expression.
Maybe he heard something in my voice he hadn’t expected.
Maybe, for the first time, he wondered why the quiet woman at the end of the street wasn’t embarrassed.
I wasn’t embarrassed.
I was angry.
But anger was familiar territory.
I’d lived with it before.
I’d learned how to put it somewhere safe.
Logan stepped forward again.
“Dad, let me handle this.”
Grant smiled.
“Go ahead.”
There it was.
The permission.
The encouragement.
The reason Logan had become what he was.
Nobody had ever told him no.
Not really.
I looked at them both.
Father and son.
Same arrogance.
Different generations.
Then I heard Noah behind me.
