“Sure thing, princess,” Ryder managed, though his voice was rougher than usual. “What kind of castle?” “A big one.” Maggie stretched her arms as wide as she could. “With towers and a bridge and a place for horses and a room for me and Max.”
She kept listing features while Max knocked over their previous tower and laughed at the crash. Ryder helped them collect the blocks.
He showed Maggie how to widen the bottom so the structure would not topple as easily. All the while, his mind kept returning to that one word.
Uncle. It was small.
Ordinary. But to Ryder it meant trust.
Belonging. Family.
“Like this?” Maggie asked, placing a block carefully. “Perfect.”
Her face glowed with pride. Max toddled toward Ryder holding more blocks.
He stumbled against Ryder’s knee but did not cry. Instead, he grabbed Ryder’s forearm to steady himself.
His small fingers moved curiously over one of the tattoos. Completely unafraid.
“Uncle Ryder,” Maggie said again, tugging on his sleeve. “Can we have ice cream after dinner?” The second use of the name nearly affected him more than the first.
He looked into their trusting faces and felt his throat tighten. He had never imagined being anyone’s uncle.
Never imagined anyone would trust him with a title like that. “That’s up to your mom,” he said, glancing toward Clare.
Clare’s eyes shone slightly. She nodded.
The castle grew taller as all three worked. Maggie directed construction like an architect.
Max placed blocks wherever he could reach, usually in locations that made no structural sense. Ryder found himself completely relaxed.
With these children, he did not need to be intimidating. He did not need to be guarded.
He could simply be Uncle Ryder. A man who built block castles and negotiated ice cream after dinner.
In the warm afternoon light, Ryder understood something quietly but completely. He was not merely visiting their lives anymore.
He had become part of the family. That evening, after the children were asleep, Ryder and Clare sat together at the kitchen table with cups of coffee.
The baby monitor rested on the counter, carrying the soft rhythm of the children’s breathing. Ryder traced one finger around the rim of his mug.
“I’ve been thinking.” Clare looked at him.
“My apartment is too far from here,” he said. “And it’s not exactly kid-friendly.” He paused.
“Maybe we should look for a place together.” Clare’s heart jumped.
“Something with a yard for the kids.” She had quietly imagined the possibility, but she had not wanted to push him or rush the children.
“You really want that?” “More than anything.”
Ryder reached across the table and took her hand. “I know it’s a big step. But these months with you and the kids have shown me what I want.”