I smirk. “Exactly. My very loyal, occasionally unhinged pet.”
He grins, wicked and shamelessly. “I’ll be your pet any day, baby. Just tell me when to bite.”
I lean in, press another quick kiss to his lips, and whisper, “Soon.” Then I slip from his arms, making my way over to where Emerson and Rowen are lounging nearby, both of them watching us with knowing smirks.
Rowen pulls me onto his lap for a long, lingering kiss. “Hurry back, baby.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I whisper, squeezing him before turning to Emerson.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and smiles. “Shoot us a group text when you get home, so we know you made it okay.”
“Will do,” I promise, kissing him just as deeply.
As I head for the door—for real this time—I swear I can still feel their warmth clinging to my skin. And even though I’mstepping away for now, I already know I’m coming back, because I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
I pull into the driveway just as the sun dips low, casting long golden streaks across the front of our house. The windows glow softly, welcoming me home. The second I open the door, the scent hits me—garlic, oregano, simmering tomatoes—and my stomach lets out a dramatic growl as if starved for days.
Dad’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wooden spoon in hand like a weapon of culinary war. The sauce is nearly finished, and he’s humming off-key to some old rock song playing low on the speaker. It’s our thing—spaghetti night. We always make this meal together. Comfort food with a side of tradition.
“Shit,” I mutter, toeing off my shoes. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot we had dinner plans.”
He turns just enough to give me a look—equal parts amusement and mock offense. “I figured as much when I didn’t hear the tornado of your entrance an hour ago.”
“I was at Reign’s,” I explain quickly, stepping into the kitchen and feeling a small blush creep into my cheeks. “She’s been feeling kind of down, and I wanted to cheer her up.”
It’s technically not a total lie. Just... a slightly edited version of the truth.
Dad eyes me for a second, like he’s reading more than I’m saying. His gaze is steady, quiet, knowing—like he’s always five steps ahead of me and just waiting for me to catch up. But then heshrugs and turns back to stir the sauce. “You should’ve invited her over. Could’ve fed the poor girl.”
“Maybe next time,” I mumble, grabbing an apron from the hook and slipping it over my head. “But... selfishly? I kind of like when it’s just us.”
He smiles at that. Soft. Real. A little sad, too. “Yeah. Me too, kiddo.”
With Mom gone, these moments mean more than either of us says out loud. Cooking together has become our unspoken ritual—our way of connecting in the chaos. Dad’s work keeps him stretched thin, but he always makes time for this. For me.
We fall into a peaceful rhythm, like always. I chop the basil while he drains the noodles. He teaches me (again) how not to over-salt the sauce, and I steal spoonfuls when his back is turned just to annoy him. He flicks a bit of water at me from the sink. I retaliate with a flick of flour to his shoulder. It’s chaotic, loud, and totally perfect.
By the time we sit down to eat, the kitchen smells like heaven, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. We load our plates and dig in, the only sound for a moment being the clink of forks and the occasional appreciative groan over the perfectly done pasta.
“School good?” he asks between bites.
“Boring as ever,” I say with a shrug.
He nods, then wipes his mouth with his napkin and glances at me sideways. “And how are the boys?”
I pause, my fork hovering over my plate, suddenly unsure where to go.
“They’re fine. Same old, same old,” I reply, trying to keep it casual.
But Dad tips his head, eyes twinkling just enough to make my heart stutter. “Hmm,” he hums, a knowing little smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “If you say so.”
I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he says innocently, sipping his drink. “Just a dad. Watching his daughter. Noticing things.”
He doesn’t push, but the look he gives me says he’s not fooled. Not even a little.
And yeah, I’m keeping secrets. But for now? I’m keeping them tucked close, where they’re safe.
