I head downstairs, running a hand through my hair and letting out a frustrated sigh. Innocent people like Lucy don’t belong in my world. But hell if she doesn’t make me wish things could be different.
I need a drink. A strong one.
I make my way to the kitchen, the old hardwood creaking beneath my weight. The whisky bottle’s there on the counter, just waiting. I pour a heavy splash into a tumbler, the amber liquid sloshing as it fills.
I take a sip, relishing that familiar burn as it slides down my throat. No matter how much I try to focus on the warmth spreading through me, though, Lucy’s smile keeps playing behind my eyes. The way she looked at Isla, that kindness in her gaze… It stirred something I thought I buried years ago.
I swirl the whisky in my glass, watching the liquid catch the light. Another sip. What am I even doing? I came here for a fresh start, to give Isla some stability. Not to pine after the first beautiful woman I saw.
I exhale sharply, slamming the glass down harder than I mean to. I rub the back of my neck, glancing at the clock. I should probably head to bed.
As I climb the stairs, I already know sleep will be a losing battle. That smile has itself lodged somewhere it doesn’t belong, and I’ve got no fucking clue how to get rid of it.
The next morning,I’m bleary-eyed and irritable, trying to pour Isla’s cereal without spilling it everywhere. She’s still buzzing from last night, chattering away with endless energy, while I grunt out half-hearted responses, just trying to keep my head from splitting.
“Daddy, can we go to Lucy’s café today?” Isla asks, her spoon clinking against the bowl.
I wince at the sound. “Not today, sweetheart. Daddy’s got work to do.”
Her face falls, and the guilt hits me. But what choice do I have? This house needs too much work. Two weeks isn’t gonna cut it. It’s more of a construction site than a home right now.
The kitchen faucet’s still dripping, and the draft creeping through the windows isn’t letting up. It’s as if the house itself is daring me to crack, testing how much I can take before I break. And maybe I deserve it. Maybe all this frustration is mine to own for dragging Isla into a life where I’m always too busy, always fixing things, always chasing something just out of reach.
“Daddy?” Her small voice breaks through the noise in my head, her hand tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Maybe another time?”
Her hopeful tone twists the knife in my gut. I crouch down to her level. “Yeah, love. We’ll go soon.”
The way her face lights up shouldn’t feel like a victory, but it does.
“Besides, Nana is going to stop by today,” I remind her, watching her eyes widen with excitement.
“I forgot!” She squeals, bouncing in her seat. “Can I show her my new drawings?”
“I’m sure Nana would love that.”
Right on cue, there’s a knock at the door. Isla bolts from her chair, nearly sending her cereal flying in herrush.
“Nana!” Isla cries, throwing herself into my mother’s arms.
“There’s my little sunshine,” Mum says, lifting Isla up and showering her with kisses. She glances over Isla’s head at me. “Aidan, you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.”
I grunt in response. “Thanks.”
I finish off my lukewarm coffee as I listen to Isla’s animated chatter, showing off her latest work of art she’s added to her ever-growing gallery on the fridge.
A familiar ache hits me deep. This is how it should be. Surrounded by family, loved, and being doted on. Not stuck in a half-finished house with a father who’s barely keeping his head above water.
“And this one,” Isla says, pointing to a colorful blob that might be a cat, or a very misshapen horse, “is Fluffy. The cat I want.”
Ah. So it is a cat.
Wait.
“The cat you…want?” I wince.
“Aye,” she says matter-of-factly. “Every princess needs a cat.”
“Every princess needs a…cat,” I repeat, still trying to wrap my head around it.
