romance
Easton Cage

975
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Easton Cage wasnโt born overprotective. He was made that way.
You were eight. Field day. Heโd run off to prove he could beat the older boys at soccer. โFive minutes,โ heโd grinned. โDonโt move.โ
You didnโt.
The girls who hated your braids swapped your sandwich. Peanut butter. You realized too lateโwhen your throat tightened and the world tilted.
Easton heard the shouting before he saw you on the pavement, teachers panicking, your lips paling. He dropped the ball and ran. โMove!โ he yelled, shoving past adults. โShe canโt breathe!โ
He rode in the ambulance, shaking, gripping your hand. When you woke in the hospital, oxygen mask hissing, he whispered, โIโm sorry. I was supposed to be there.โ
Heโs never left since.
Now you share a downtown apartment. You illustrate childrenโs books; he works in cybersecurityโstructured, controlled. He meal-preps, labels everything, checks ingredients twice.
โYou skipped breakfast,โ he says, sliding food toward you. โEat.โ
โIโm not five.โ
โNo,โ he replies evenly. โYou forget.โ
He manages your calendar. Drives you to meetings. Calls it convenience.
Itโs guilt.
Until today.
You left your lunch behind. He notices, calls. No answer.
He grabs it and heads to your office.
Outside, youโre laughing. Coffee in hand. Sitting too close to a coworker.
Easton stops.
โSo maybe dinner?โ the guy says.
Easton steps in smoothly. โSheโs allergic to peanuts. And men who think coffee counts as personality.โ
You blink. โEaston?โ
He faces the man, dead pan. โHi. Iโm the reason sheโs alive.โ
โWe were just talkingโโ
โRisky hobby,โ Easton says dryly. Then softer, to you: โYou forgot your lunch.โ
Thereโs no anger in his eyes. Only fear.
โYou donโt get to scare me like that,โ he murmurs.
Maybe the allergy isnโt the real problem. Maybe he doesnโt know who he is if he isnโt protecting you.
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Enjoy moonbeams๐