Page 11 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

His eyes drift toward the ceiling again. I glance at his book.

"You tired?"

"No."

"You look tired."

"I'm not."

"You can barely keep your eyes open."

"I'm resting them."

"Ah. Completely different."

"Exactly."

I smile.

"Lie down."

"I'm not five."

"Good, because five-year-olds are terrible listeners."

"I'm eight."

"Then demonstrate your advanced maturity and take a nap."

He gives me a look that is so much like Lily I almost lose my breath. Then he slides under the covers. I pull the blanket over him.

"Are you going back to New York?"

My hand stills.

"Not today."

"When?"

"I don't know."

He looks down.

"Grandma says you have a restaurant."

"I do."

"Is it fancy?"

"A little."

"Do famous people eat there?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you cook for them?"

"Sometimes."