So I do.Again.And once again, the house folds around me in a way that feels way too easy.That’s the dangerous part.Not the attraction.Not even the kid, though that’s its own kind of risk.
It’s how natural this all feels.
I stand at her kitchen counter while she finds Quinn’s shoe under the couch, while coffee brews, while I unpack biscuits from the diner because Johnny owes me one and because showing up empty-handed while eating another woman’s breakfast repeatedly feels rude even for me.
Quinn appears in the kitchen with one sock on and one off, hair crooked, backpack half-zipped.“Mellow!”
I look at Lucy.She groans.“I did not teach her that.”
“No,” I say with a smirk.“I did.”
Quinn grins at me with a gap where a baby tooth used to be and climbs into her chair.
Lucy slides a biscuit onto her plate and points at her orange juice.“Drink before you start talking.”
“Mama has rules for us, Mellow.I gotta get my juice before we can gabber.”
I hide a smile in my coffee.This has become our routine without anybody saying it out loud.I show up.Lucy pretends not to expect me.Quinn acts like I’ve always been there.
I tell myself it’s temporary.Then I stay just a little longer than I mean to.
By the time Lucy gets Quinn loaded into the car for school and I head back toward the clubhouse to swap the bike for the SUV, my chest feels too full in a way I don’t appreciate.
Today’s the spring festival prep day and tomorrow I get to spend the day with Quinn and Lucy all day.
Which means family crowds, booths, music, local vendors, and enough sugar in the air to rot your teeth just breathing.
Not my usual scene.
And yet I’ve spent the last two days making sure the SUV is clean, fueled, and ready because I’m picking them up.
Them.
Lucy and Quinn.
The phrase sits differently than it should.
I swing into the clubhouse lot just after eight and head straight to the garage where Grit is leaning over a workbench with Gainz, both of them elbow-deep in some argument about brake lines on the fork lift.
Grit looks up and whistles.“Well, damn.You washed it.”
I glance at the black SUV.“Needed it.”
“No,” Gainz says without looking up.“It didn’t.You wanted it.”
Same difference.
Grit circles the front of the vehicle slowly, like he’s inspecting a crime scene.“This for the woman?”
“Festival.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I ignore him and open the back passenger door to check the booster seat again.Grit goes still behind me.
Then, very carefully, “Is that a car seat?”
“Booster seat.No need to move the one from Lucy’s car.They don’t cost that much.It’s not a big deal.”
