Tilly climbed onto the bed again and patted the blanket beside her. “You can help tuck him in next time,” she told me. “He likes it when people tell him he’s cute.”
Something warm and fragile settled in my chest.
“I’d like that,” I said. “Very much.”
She grinned, satisfied, then yawned so big it nearly tipped her over.
Nate stepped fully into the room then, resting his hand on the doorframe. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Time for bed.”
Tilly nodded, suddenly all seriousness again. She pointed at Waffles. “He needs a kiss.”
I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the top of the reindeer’s head. “Goodnight, Waffles.”
“He wants you to have a good night, too,” Tilly told me.
I stood there for a moment longer, taking in the stickers, the cradle, the mess, and the magic of it all.
This room wasn’t perfect.
It was loved.
And that realization stayed with me all the way back downstairs, long after Nate’s voice faded and Tilly’s voice softened into sleep.
Chapter 21
Nate
Eliza’s footsteps faded down the stairs, the sound gentle, unhurried. I stood in the doorway of Tilly’s room for a second longer than necessary, watching her take in the space.
I hadn’t planned for this—this feeling, this hope that edged in where I’d kept things carefully practical for years. I’d built my life around what I could manage, what I could protect. A job with less pressure. A schedule that bent around school drop-offs and dance class. A house that felt solid, predictable. Safe. Eliza slipped into that structure without trying to rearrange it, and somehow made it feel bigger instead. Like there was room for more than survival now. Like maybe wanting something didn’t automatically mean risking everything.
I waited in the rocking chair as Tilly darted into the bathroom to brush her teeth and change into her pajamas, smiling as she climbed into bed and scooted her pillows just right, Waffles tucked carefully into his cradle. She watched me with those too-observant eyes, the ones that missed very little.
“You like Eliza,” she said, not accusing. Just stating a fact, the way kids do when they’ve already solved the puzzle. “Likeboyfriends like girlfriends. Like Grandma and Grandpa like each other.”
I smiled and crossed the room to pull the blanket up to her chin. “I do.”
“I like her too.” She nodded, satisfied. “She makes the house feel happy.”
That landed somewhere deep. I brushed her hair back, my throat tight. “You make the house happy,” I told her. “Every day.”
She yawned, eyelids drooping. “She can help too. Like when I’m cranky or something.”
“I think she already is,” I said quietly.
I clicked off the lamp, leaving the glow of the nightlight casting stars across her ceiling. As I leaned down to kiss her forehead, I felt it clearly—this fragile, beautiful possibility. Not a fantasy. Not a plan. Just a feeling that maybe, if I was careful and brave in equal measure, I could build something that didn’t just work… butlasted.
“Tonight felt like the sparkliest,” Tilly whispered.
“I think you’re right,” I said, kissing her hair. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Daddy. Can Eliza have dinner with us again?”
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe homemade pizza night will make her happy.”
“I think it just might. Love you, Tilly.”
