The soft clinking of porcelain and the low hum of feminine voices guided Logan toward the kitchen. He adjusted his cuffs as he walked, preparing himself for the subtle tension that always came with a Kingsley "family visit."
But what he hadn't prepared for was her.
As he reached the entrance, he paused just short of stepping in, catching the scene quietly from the doorway.
Jean stood by the kitchen island with his mother, both of them laughing softly over something… probably a cooking blunder or a tale from his mother's pristine recipe book. Jean's sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, hair tied into a loose bun, her cheeks slightly flushed from the kitchen heat.
She looked like she belonged. Like she'd always been part of this house.
She turned first, sensing him before anyone else.
Her eyes lit up… not with sarcasm, not with exasperation… but with… something gentler. Quieter.
Logan blinked.
And then it happened.
