The six-year-old launched himself at her like a tiny missile, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing with surprising strength.

He grabbed her hand immediately, tugging her inside with the determination only a small child could possess.

Y/N looked up. Elliot stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd been running his hand through it, and there was an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Elliot laughed under his breath, that quiet laugh Y/N had known for years.

He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, and the dimples appeared in his cheeks.