Dinner is so good I have to pace myself to keep from inhaling the entire plate in thirty seconds. The salmon is perfectly cooked, flaky and rich with that citrus glaze Chloe described, and the conversation flows so easily I lose track of time.
I’ve laughed and smiled so much tonight my cheeks actually ache. Chloe bounces between topics with the energy of a kid who’s been waiting weeks to have someone new to talk to, andTheo keeps catching my eye across the table with this look that makes me feel like we’ve been doing this forever.
After dinner, Chloe turns to me with barely contained excitement. “Can I show you my room?” she asks. “Please? I’ve been wanting to show you forever.”
“Are you kidding?” I say. “I would be absolutely thrilled to see your room.”
Chloe grins so wide it looks like it might split her face. She grabs my hand and pulls me out of my chair before I can even fully stand up, tugging me toward the hallway with the singular determination of a child on a mission.
“You go ahead,” Theo says, smiling as he gathers plates. “I’ll clean up.”
“I can help with dishes after,” I offer.
“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “And besides, Chloe’s been planning this room tour for days. I’m not getting in the way of that.”
Chloe is already pulling me down the hall, so I let myself be led. Her room is at the end of the hallway, and she pauses dramatically with her hand on the doorknob.
“Okay,” she says seriously. “This is my sanctuary. That means it’s a special place where I can be myself and think about things and do my art. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready,” I assure her.
She opens the door, and I step inside, and the room is so completely, perfectly Chloe that I find myself smiling before I’ve even fully taken it in. The walls are painted a soft pink, and there’s an art desk by the window covered in supplies—watercolors and colored pencils and markers and what looks like a half-finished painting of a jellyfish, its tentacles trailing off the edge of the paper in delicate translucent strands.
One entire wall is devoted to ocean life, covered in photographs and posters of every marine creature imaginable, from tiny colorful nudibranchs to massive whale sharks. And right next to her bed, in pride of place, is a poster of a giantPacific octopus that’s both slightly terrifying and entirely charming.
And then the rest is all Formula 1. Racing posters everywhere, signed photographs, a small replica car on a shelf, a helmet that looks personalized, and Ferrari t-shirts hanging on the closet door.
“Chloe,” I say, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. “You might be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
Chloe laughs, clearly pleased by this assessment. “Thanks,” she says. “That’s my Uncle Jack,” gesturing to one of the photos. It shows a handsome man in a racing suit, helmet under one arm and Chloe in the other, standing at a race track. Her smile in the photo is wider than I’ve ever seen it, and it might be the cutest thing in the entire world.
“You’ve told me about him,” I say. “He races in Europe, right?”
“He’s the best uncle EVER,” she confirms. “He lets me sit in the actual cars sometimes. And he always brings me presents from whatever country he’s in.”
“And this is Laila,” she continues, pointing to a framed photo of a golden retriever with a goofy, tongue-out smile. “She’s Uncle Calvin and Aunt Maren’s dog, but kinda our dog too. She’s the best dog in the world. I’m going to ask Dad for a dog for my birthday. I want one SO bad, plus then Laila will have another friend.”
She moves onto showing me her bookshelf next, which is overflowing with marine biology books and a few fantasy novels and what appears to be an encyclopedia of deep-sea creatures that looks way too advanced for a seven-year-old but which Chloe informs me she’s already read twice.
By the time she’s finished, I’m overwhelmed with how much I care about this kid. She’s funny and smart and passionate and creative, and she’s clearly been raised by someone who encourages all of those things, who takes her interests seriously and helps her learn about the world. I can see Theo in her so clearly,in her thoughtfulness and her confidence and the way she cares deeply about things.
I can’t believe how lucky I am. Dating a man I’m completely head over heels for, who has the most wonderful child I’ve ever known. I love this kid. I genuinely, truly love her.
Eventually, we head back to the living room for movie night, and Chloe explains the rules. “Normally me and Dad alternate who gets to pick the movie,” she says, settling onto the couch and patting the cushion next to her for me to sit. “So one week it’s my turn and one week it’s his turn, and we’re not allowed to complain about each other’s choices. That’s the most important rule.” She gives me a serious look. “Tonight is my turn.”
“That sounds like a good system,” I say.
“But since you’re here,” Chloe continues, “I want you to pick. Because you’re the guest and guests get special privileges.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” I tell her. “But you should choose. You’ve got good taste.”
Chloe considers this for a moment, her face serious. Then she nods. “Okay,” she says. “Finding Nemo. It’s one of my comfort movies.”
“I loveFinding Nemo,” I smile. “That’s an excellent choice.”
Theo settles onto the couch on Chloe’s other side, and she’s sandwiched between us. He starts the movie, the familiar Pixar logo fills the screen, and I let myself sink into the cushions and the moment and the feeling of being exactly where I belong.
Somewhere around the part where Marlin and Dory are navigating the jellyfish forest, Chloe migrates from her spot between us to my lap. Her head rests against my shoulder, her small body warm and relaxed, watching the movie like this is how things have always been.
