Me:Shocking. Sloane on a warpath. Never saw that coming.
Sophie:She asked about you at dinner last week. Made some comment about you “playing teacher.”
I stare at the screen. Of course she did. Sloane never understood why I left KidStream, the educational app company our parents built together before their ugly divorce when I was fourteen, before Mom died four years ago.
My three older sisters run it now, and to Sloane, me teaching in some small town is a betrayal of the family legacy and not living up to my potential. Never mind that Mom and Dad actually believed in education when they started the company. Never mind that I tried to fight to keep it that way after Mom died and got outvoted three to two, even with Sophie on my side.
Me:Tell Sloane I said hi. And by hi I mean
Sophie:lol. Miss you. Call me this weekend?
Me:Miss you too. And I will.
I set the phone face-down on the nightstand and stare at the water stain on the ceiling. The Florida-shaped one. Leaving KidStream meant leaving behind a guaranteed career path, stock options, the family name on something that used to matter.
It also meant leaving behind board meetings where we debated how many ads we could show kids before parents complained, and strategy sessions about optimizing “engagement metrics” that really meant, “How do we keep children staring at screens longer? How do we get them addicted?” Sloane, Morgan, and Erica stopped caring about whether the apps actually helped kids learn the second they realized exploiting screen addiction was more profitable.
Sloane can call itplaying teacherall she wants. At least I’m not making money off manipulating seven-year-olds.
I roll onto my side and grab the remote. The TV flickers tolife with some cooking competition I’ve seen three times already, but it’s noise and that’s enough. My phone buzzes and I nearly drop it grabbing it off the nightstand.
Danny Cooper:Hi Emma, I’m the property manager for the Harbor Street studio. Got your application and everything looks great. I’ve got a showing this Sunday morning at 10 if you’re available? Let me know and I’ll send you the address.
I read it twice to make sure it’s real. Sunday morning. An actual showing.
Me:Yes! Sunday at 10 works perfectly. Thank you so much!
Danny Cooper:Perfect. 247 Harbor Street, second floor. Bring any questions you have. See you Sunday.
CHAPTER 3
Theo
October sun pours through the windshield as I navigate downtown Dark River. Sunday morning traffic is basically nonexistent except for the usual crowd of early risers clustered around the farmers market on the east side of town, setting up stalls of pumpkins and late-season tomatoes and those apple cider donuts that Chloe goes crazy for.
She’s been chattering nonstop since we left the house fifteen minutes ago, and I love these drives with her. Just the two of us, the radio playing quietly in the background, her filling every available silence with whatever’s bouncing around in that brain of hers.
“And Madison’s mom said we can make friendship bracelets,” Chloe says from the backseat. I can see her in the rearview mirror, backpack clutched on her lap, already mentally at the playdate. “I’m not even sure who I’m more excited to see. Madison or her new puppy, Biscuit. He’s so cute, Daddy. He has these little floppy ears. I bet Laila would really like him.”
“I bet she would,” I say. “Laila’s never met anyone she didn’t immediately love.”
Laila was my mother’s golden retriever, and when Mom passed, my now sister-in-law Maren adopted her. But we take her often on weekends since Chloe is so attached. Me too, if I’m being honest. The dog is the biggest goofball on the planet.
“Remember when Laila tried to play with the Christmas reindeer decoration at Uncle Calvin’s house last year?” Chloe giggles, the sound bright in the small space of the car. “She kept trying to get it to chase her around the yard.”
“I do remember that.” Laila had been absolutely convinced the plastic reindeer was a new friend. “She wouldn’t give up. Kept bringing it her tennis ball like that was going to convince it to play.”
“Because Laila’s determined. Like me.” She kicks her feet against the back of my seat in that happy rhythm she does when she’s excited.
“That’s very true.”
The light changes and I pull through the intersection, turning onto Pine Street where the houses get bigger and the yards deeper. Part of me wishes we could get a dog of our own, but between the restaurant and single parenting, I don’t have the bandwidth.
Plus we have our cat Nala, who tolerates Laila’s visits with the resignation of royalty dealing with an overly enthusiastic subject. Though I have caught them napping together, so I suspect Nala is secretly fond of Laila.
“Madison said we’re having pizza for dinner,” Chloe says. “Her dad just got an outdoor pizza oven and he’s been practicing all week.”
“Yeah? What kind of oven?” I’m genuinely interested because I’ve been considering one for the backyard. Alex loves the idea—says we could test pizza concepts at home before bringing them to Harbor & Ash.
