I weigh that, unsure how to reply.
Then I just…go with my instincts. “It’s okay to cry,” I tell her gently.
“Ms. Mika says we should use our words when we’re sad.”
“That’s good advice,” I tell her. “But crying sometimes is okay too.”
She nods thoughtfully, lips pursed as though weighing my words. “I’ll tell Jake.”
I bite back a smile and we’re wrapping up our time with her blanket and turning our attention to dinner—it’s a simple pasta dish with chicken and vegetables (broccoli, since Chloe will eat it, carrots and peppers and onions because I like variety and Rhodes seems to as well).
I’m just cutting Chloe’s chicken for her when the garage door rumbles up and Rhodes steps through the door.
Chloe lights up immediately. “Daddy!” She scrambles down from her stool and rushes over to him.
“Chloe girl,” he says, sweeping her up and holding her tight.
I pretend to focus on the food.
But it’s impossible not to listen to them talk, impossible to miss his relief that she’s okay and the earthquake was just a minor one out here.
Quietly, I place Chloe’s dish on the table, serve up some food for Rhodes.
He looks up as I’m setting a fork and napkin down beside his plate. “You didn’t have to?—”
“I’m happy to,” I say quietly.
“Are you going to eat with us?” he asks as Chloe wiggles and he sets her down.
I shake my head. “I have a couple things to catch up on.”
But the truth is that I think he needs this moment with his daughter—not just because of the scare with the quake, not even because he’s gone so often…but because it was the two of them before I was around.
And I know they need this time.
So I take my plate up to my room, pull out my laptop, and dive into the news of the earthquake.
A big one, and he’s not wrong—there was a lot of damage.
But that’s not why I feel unsettled.
It’s the sound of Chloe’s sweet voice echoing down the hall and into my bedroom that makes me ache.
“You cannot be jealous of a four-year-old who lost her mom, Finley,” I mutter, diving into my food.
Except, there’s a small part of me that is.
Rhodes is…well, he’sgood. He’s engaged and patient as she tells him about her day. He listens to every word. He asks questions. He laughs when she says something funny instead of talking down to her.
Helovesher.
And my heart…itaches.
Because I’ve never had that kind of love.
And my parents?—
“Enough,” I whisper, closing my laptop and taking my plate down to the kitchen.
