The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 609

That evening, as Clara was slicing fruit in the kitchen, Rhys walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Emily complained to me today."

"About what?"

"She said Annie dragged her son into trouble again."

Clara paused her chopping. "That's because you spoil her."

Rhys didn't argue.

He rested his chin on her shoulder. "I think she's a lot like you. Were you like this when you were a kid?"

Clara turned to look at him, their faces inches apart.

It had been over a decade, and the way he looked at her had never once changed.

"Oh, please." Clara gently shoved him away, handing him the fruit platter. "Go take this to the kids."

Rhys hummed in agreement, turning toward the living room.

He took two steps, doubled back, and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

Clara was speechless.

They had been married for years, and he was still stealing kisses like a teenager.

Felix was sixteen and in his first year of high school.

The little boy who used to chase Rhys around begging for stories about catching bad guys had grown up. He was already almost as tall as his father, his shoulders broad, his jawline sharp and defined.

When it came to his sister, Felix had his own specific way of dealing with her.

Whenever Misra was tearing the house apart, Felix never yelled to stop her.

He simply stood there and said, "Annie," and Misra would freeze instantly, as if someone had hit the pause button on a remote.

Clara couldn't comprehend it.

She asked Felix, "How on earth do you manage it?"

Felix thought about it and replied, "Probably because I'm her brother."

Clara thought the answer was entirely too simple, but couldn't quite put her finger on why. Remembering how Felix was the only one who could coax Annie to sleep when she was a baby, she chalked it up to sheer sibling dominance.

That winter, Orange turned thirteen.

The sound of an engine shutting off echoed from the driveway, followed by a car door closing and footsteps crunching along the gravel path.

Orange lifted his head from his bed in the sunroom, his ears twitching, before slowly making his way toward the front door.

He was old now.

His orange-and-white coat lacked its former luster. The athletic cat that used to launch himself from the couch straight to the top of the bookshelf now struggled to climb onto the second tier of his cat tree.

He could barely eat his regular canned food anymore, mostly surviving on the soft purees Clara made for him.

But every single afternoon, right at this time, the moment he heard that man's footsteps, he would walk to the door to greet him.

Rain or shine.

Rhys pushed the door open, looked down at Orange by his feet, and bent down to pick him up.

Orange nuzzled against his chest, purring softly.

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