Her expression melts. “Hey, you! What are you doing here?”
“We’re going for dinner. With you,” he says proudly.
“Right now?”
“Uh-huh. Daddy got you flowers.”
“Appreciate the subtlety, mate.” I mutter under my breath.
She laughs, and the sound tugs at every nerve I’ve got left. “What does he mean?”
“He means we’re taking you out to dinner. Go get dressed.”
She squints at me. “Why?”
“I think you’ve hurt my feelings enough, Trouble. Don’t say no in front of my kid. He’ll never let me live it down.”
Her mouth opens, ready to protest, then closes. She lets out a sigh. “Give me ten.”
Exactly ten minutes later, she’s coming down the stairs, and Jesus Christ, I’m done for. White dress, dipping into a soft V that does nothing to hide the way she fills it out, wild hair, a denim jacket slung over one arm, and worn brown boots. She’s sunlight and rebellion all in one. I have to look away before I forget how to breathe.
We shuffle out quietly to the car. Olivia is grabbing something out of her bag, and I use this moment to grab the flowers andnudge Teddy. “Now’s your shot.” He marches up, little hands clutching the bouquet, and offers them with the world’s biggest grin.
“For me?” she asks, crouching down.
He nods, shy smile in place.
“How did you know these were my favourite?”
“Daddy told me.”
She smiles and smells the tulips before pressing a quick kiss to Teddy’s cheek, making him squirm and scurry back to me, like she set him on fire. I ruffle his curls, but I don’t take my eyes off her. She straightens, eyes flicking to mine. And fuck.
The way she looks at me—it’s not cold. It’s something in between, something softer. Like she doesn’thateme tonight. Like there’s a chance I haven’t screwed this all up beyond repair. All I can manage is a wink. My usual fallback when my mouth might say too much. Her eyes don’t narrow. Her arms don’t cross. No warning bells. She just watches me. I open the passenger side door for her, tugging it wide like some half-trained idiot trying to earn brownie points. I brace for the eye roll, but… it doesn’t come. She just slips into the seat without a word.
And I swear to Christ, it’s the dumbest win I’ve ever had, but it feelshuge.
Madison’s is one of those joints that hasn’t changed since the ‘80s. Neon signs buzz in the window, checkered floor tiles gleam under old lighting, and the booths creak with every shift of weight. It smells like coffee, sugar, and memories. We snag a corner booth. Teddy slides in first, Olivia beside him. I take the other side, watching them like a man watching a dream he’s not sure he deserves. The silence is thick at first. Awkward. Stiff.
So I break it.
“You still hate being called Trouble?”
Her eyes flick to mine. “You’re pushing your luck.”
“Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.”
She tries to hide the smile, but fails. Teddy babbles on about school, bugs, something about a spaceship made of cereal boxes. She listens like every word is gold, leaning in, nodding, laughing. I sit back, soaking it in. That look on her face? It’s everything. When dinner’s done, and we’re full on burgers, shakes, and whatever the hell Teddy ordered, we head back to the car.
“There’s one more thing,” I say.
She stops walking.
“And before you say no, just know Teddy wrapped it.”
She raises a brow. “You’re not playing fair, Bash.”
“How so?”
