sixteen
AIDAN
The sun has just risen over the hills when Isla barrels into the kitchen, all energy and pink cheeks. She clutches her stuffed rabbit tight against her chest, determination set into her jaw that makes me brace for whatever she’s about to ask me.
“Can Lucy come hiking with us today?”
The question lands like a punch I didn’t see coming. Right in the ribs.
I rinse out my coffee mug a little harder than necessary, watching the water swirl down the drain instead of looking at my daughter. “Probably not today, kiddo.”
She plants herself in between me and the sink. “She likes outside stuff. She said so.”
I rub a hand over the back of my neck, dragging out the silence. Long enough that she huffs and stomps away toward the door, muttering something about dads being “no fun.”
Christ.
I brace both hands on the counter and let my head hang for a second, breathing through the churn in my chest. It’s not that I don’t want Lucy there. Hell, that’s the fucking problem.
I do.
I want her laughter echoing off the trees, her eyes squinting up at the sun. I want the way she looks at my daughter to be something I don’t have to give up at the end of the day.
None of that changes the fact that wanting things has never gone too well for me. It’s easier to keep our world small. Just me and Isla and the life we’ve patched together out of broken things.
Except now there’s this bright-eyed, messy-haired woman who smells like vanilla and feels like the first deep breath I’ve taken in years.
Before I can fully talk myself out of it, Isla’s already halfway into her boots.
“Where are you going, little storm?” I ask, even though I know damn well what she’s up to.
“To ask Lucy!” she chirps in her singsong voice.
I shake my head, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my eyes like maybe that’ll stave off the brewing headache. “Isla, we can’t just show up?—”
She’s already tugging the front door open, cool spring air blasting through the house.
“Isla!” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend. She freezes, one foot already out the door. “Get back here. Now.”
Her bottom lip juts out in that stubborn little pout she gets from her mother. “But Daddy?—”
“No buts.” I cross the room in three long strides and shut the door behind me. “You don’t open the door and go off without me. Not safe.”
Her little shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her. “I just want Lucy to come,” she mumbles, voice so small it breaks my heart.
I bend down to her level, trying to gentle my voice. “I know, kiddo. But Lucy might be busy. She has a café to run,remember? And we can’t just show up at her door without warning.”
“It’s Sunday. She said she doesn’t work on Sundays. We could call her,” Isla suggests, perking up again.
“I don’t have her number,” I say, relieved to have a practical reason to shut this down. But Isla’s nothing if not persistent.
“Nana does! She and Lucy talk about flowers and stuff.”
Of course they do.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, feeling the day-old stubble catch against my palm. The smart thing to do would be to dig in. Hold the line. Tell Isla no, tell myself no.
Then I look at Isla with her eyes shining with that wild, innocent hope, and the words die in my throat.
