I should’ve said no. Probably I should’ve asked questions, yet I didn’t.
Instead, I let her and Harper drag me out the front door towards her Bronco that sat on display in the driveway. Blue-gray paint caught the sunlight like steel softened by fog, shifting shades depending on where the light hit it. Tires thick and grounded. Clean but not flashy.
It suited her, stronger than she let on, a little stubborn.
She hovered beside it for half a second longer than necessary, one hand resting on the door like she was checking in with it. When she talked about it, her whole face lit up. She said it was the first big thing she ever bought just for herself, no opinions asked, no expectations attached. It mattered to her in a way most people might gloss over—she’d told me once how long it took to trust her own choices after years of listening to other voices, always doing for everyone else. Owning the Bronco wasn’t just about having a car, and I caught the look of pride and affection on her face.
“I’m driving,” she said easily, waving the keys already in her hand.
She held out the keys, but I took them before she could think twice. For a breath, she let me, no protest, no playful tug. The exchange was quick—her hand barely lingered on mine. She looked at me, brows lifting, that familiar spark of challenge lighting her eyes. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“I’ll get us there,” I said, already opening her door. Old habits. The kind you don’t think about until you’re doing them.
She rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she slid into the passenger seat, sunglasses pushed up in her hair, sunlight catching on the curve of her cheek. I shut the door gently, then went around to the back, where Harper was bouncing on her toes, excitement written all over her face.
“Okay, bug,” I said, lifting her into the back seat. “Up you go.”
Dani had picked the booster seat to match the interior—soft gray with subtle stitching, practical but still somehow stylish. Of course, she had. Harper climbed in like it was a throne, chattering the whole time while I buckled her in, checking the straps twice out of instinct.
“Daddy, Ms. Dani picked this one,” Harper announced proudly.
“I can tell,” I said, giving the buckle one last tug. “Good choice.”
When I climbed into the driver’s seat, the cabin felt solid around me. I could tell her car was new since it still smelled faintly of leather and clean plastic.
“You look very serious for a man without a destination.”
Then she tapped the screen, pulling up navigation. “Lucky for you, I know how to get there.”
The map lit up, a route unfolding before us. I glanced over at her just as she looked back at me, something warm and knowing in her smile.
Control didn’t feel like control right then.
The drive stretched for two hours, although it was relatively uneventful.
Harper sang softly in the backseat, making up lyrics when she didn’t know the words. Now and then, she’d ask a question that had nothing to do with anything—like whether dolphinshad friends, and if horses got lonely, and whether Dani’s Bronco could beat a race car.
Dani answered each one happily.
I found myself watching her in the passenger seat when she thought I wasn’t looking. Her oversized sunglasses covered most of her face, but not enough to hide the way her mouth softened when Harper laughed.
I caught myself watching her when she laughed. Her hands moved when she talked, and her voice shifted when she explained something to Harper. She never talked down to her or rushed through explanations, no matter how many questions Harper threw at her.
At one point, Harper fell asleep with her cheek pressed against the window, mouth slightly open.
Dani lowered the music. “She’s been good,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper.
My throat tightened. “Yeah?”
“She misses you. But she’s good.”
“And you?”
She glanced at me. “What about me?”
“You good?”
She smiled faintly. “Yeah. I’m good.”
