He exhales through his nose, the sound a mix between a grunt and chuckle, and steps carefully around the cherry massacre splattered across my kitchen floor.
Before he disappears, he turns to Isla. “You. Do not move. No more disasters while I’m gone.”
The second Aidan vanishes down the hall, I survey the disaster zone that used to be my kitchen and shake my head, still fighting back giggles. “Well, this is quite the mess we’ve made, isn’t it?”
Isla gives a slow nod, as if she’s passing judgment on the chaos herself.
I reach behind to untie my apron strings, slipping the cherry-stained fabric over my head, pleasantly surprised to find my T-shirt and jeans completely unscathed beneath.
“Look at that,” I say, holding up the ruined apron. “My clothes survived the cherry bomb, after all.”
Isla’s eyes widen. “Whoa. It’s like magic.”
“That’s what a good apron does,” I tell her, tossing the soiled fabric into the sink to deal with later. “Now, how about we clean up this mess before your dad comes back?”
“I’ll help!” Isla volunteers, already sliding off her stool.
I grab a roll of paper towels and hand her a few sheets. “Careful not to get it on your pretty shirt.”
She nods with all the solemnity of a kid on a very important mission.
“Lucy?” she says after a moment.
“Yeah?”
She pauses mid-wipe. “Do you like my daddy?”
“I…yes, I do. He’s a good friend.”
She considers my answer before she says, “He smiles more when you’re around.”
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I’m not sure what to say. How do you respond to a child’s innocent observation that cuts straight to the heart of everything?
“That’s… That’s nice to hear,” I manage.
“Are you his girlfriend?” she asks, eyes bright with curiosity.
I nearly choke. “I, um?—”
“Isla.” Aidan’s voice slides into the room. He’s leaning in the doorway, white T-shirt clinging to his frame, the stained flannel hanging over his arm. His eyes catch mine, and there’s amusement there, or the faintest thread of panic. It’s hard to tell.
She spots him and beams, already halfway across the kitchen. Then, mid-run, she screeches to a halt. “You have a cat!”
Before I can answer, she’s off like a shot, barreling toward the corner of the living room where Marmalade is lazily grooming her paw on the back of the chair. The orange cat liftsher head just in time to assess the incoming hurricane and, miraculously, doesn’t bolt. Instead, she blinks as Isla throws herself down beside her.
“Her name’s Marmalade,” I say. “I got her a few weeks ago.”
Aidan huffs a quiet laugh beside me, but his eyes are still on Isla, who’s now gently stroking Marmalade’s back as if she’s the most precious creature to ever exist.
“She’s so soft,” Isla breathes, face pressed into pale orange fur. Marmalade, to her credit, just flicks her tail and lets it happen.
“She’s got the attitude of a grumpy old librarian,” I tell her, leaning a little closer to Aidan without meaning to. “She’s good company, though. Follows me around like a shadow. Sleeps right on my chest.”
Isla seems to be lost in her own world with the cat. Then Aidan speaks.
“She asks a lot of questions. Always has. Doesn’t miss much, either. I heard what she asked you.”
I nod, swallowing. “I didn’t know what to say.”
