“But you know what?” I say instead, grabbing a bite of the muffin in my hand—which makes his mother suddenly look way too pleased with herself. And, okay, fair; It’sreallygood.
“I can bring my notes with me, and we can finish everything quickly at the fun park. What do you think?”
Is it complicated? Absolutely.
But the grin I get from the little girl makes it feel like the simplest decision in the world.
THIRTEEN
Jenna
Imust say, I’m not used to driving around in New York City by car.
I usually take an Uber or the subway; the streets are so congested that sometimes it feels impossible to get from point A to B. But it’s three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, and the rush hour traffic hasn’t really kicked in yet, so the drive to the amusement park is manageable. Livy keeps us entertained the whole way, and I have to admit, I’ve never seen her so animated.
We stand at the ticket counter, and Colton effortlessly buys our tickets at the entrance, which brings back a “Coney Island nostalgia”. I pivot on my toe, almost spearing a balloon vendor in the shoulder. But hey, I think I’ve scored some points with her because as soon as her dad paid for the tickets, she suddenly reaches formyhand and my breath catches somewhere beneath my collarbone. She looks up at me, big eyes, and smiles.
God, she’s sweet. This is sweet.
I used to think I’d be a natural with kids, but after years with Matthew dismissing the idea, I’d started wondering if he was right—maybe I wasn’t cut out for it after all. Now, feeling Livy’s small hand in mine, I’m caught between a familiar ache and theterrifying possibility that I might actually be good at something Matthew convinced me I wasn’t. Again.
Colton’s eyes narrow on me… ice blue, rimmed in what I recognize as residual exhaustion, not guyliner—though from a distance you might mistake it for that—and he smiles at us, at the way his daughter hops through the park while holding my hand. I smile back and notice how his biceps flex as he checks the park’s flyer for its attractions. Damn, why is this so hot? Wrong thought, Jenna. Wrong onsomany levels.
The only downside to this is that I’m still in court attire. My heels are not designed for brick walkways, but I press on. Upright and unyielding it is.
Colton follows at my flank, giving me a buffer of precisely eighteen inches. Livy still holds onto me and honestly, I feel honored. I should worry about so many more things but the sun is shining, we’re about to eat ice cream and this little girl grins from ear to ear. I don’t feel guilty at all. We must look very fancy though, him in his navy suit, me in my Louis Vuitton dress that Isla bought me, and Livy in her red shining dress.
“Okay,” I say while we walk, and I check my phone with my free hand. “Here’s how this is going to work: No running off, Livy. You stay within arm’s reach of either Colton or me at all times. We move as a group, at a walking pace. First stop: the ice cream stand. Second: Ferris wheel and some other things. Third: return to the courthouse for debrief and handoff.”
I glance up to see Colton studying my face, expression unreadable.
Then he breaks into a full-hearted laugh.
“Any questions?” I ask.
“So, you… actually schedule fun?” The trace of an accent he usually drowns out seeps through.
“Chaos is fun for some people,” I say. “But not for everyone. Structure gives us room to breathe.” I don’t look at Livy when I say this, but I see her perk up at the mention of breathing.
Colton steps forward, and for half a second, I think he’s going to make a point about the rules or how he’s the parent, but he just nods, lips tight, and gestures for me to lead. “Fine, the ice cream is right this way, Miss.”
A glimmer of amusement dances in his ice-cube eyes, and I can almost hear the words he’s biting back. If Livy weren’t here, I’m sure he’d be poking fun at my need to schedule everything. But honestly, it’s not just for kicks; it’s survival. Without my careful planning, I’m chaos on legs—just like at home. I picture myself color-coding my chores, creating a rainbow schedule that might make me feel more in control of my dishes and laundry. But the reality is, when I finally collapse onto my bed after a long day, I just don’t care enough. I’m too exhausted.
“So,” Colton says, as we pass some bumper cars and people with cotton candy. A few people stare a little too long, and only then does it hit me.Oh. I’d almost forgotten he’sfamousfamous. Peopleknowhim. Or think they do. “You do this often—spend time with your clients after court?”
Another question like that. I don’t know what he wants to hear. Of course I don’t—but I don’t want him to think he’s special too. “You do know I’m a lawyer, right? I just wanted to finish early, and I thought coming with you might help me get there.”
He hums—a low, Russian thing—and rolls his eyes, but I notice a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. And… you really always have templates for everything? You mentioned you love TV shows. Do you have templates and rules to follow for those too?”
“I do,” I joke. “And sometimes a spreadsheet to match the template.”
“What?!”
“Joke, you idi—” …nope. Not finishing that. I’m not used to being around kids Outside of court I don’t have to keep an eye on my language. I tend to curse a lot. Maybe I should stop that.
Livy tilts her head up at him. “Daddy, what’s a template?”
“It’s a…pattern,zaya.” His voice softens on the last word, which I guess is another Russian word. Which brings to my mind the word his mother called me.Solnyshko. I need to Google it later. “Something that helps you know what comes next.”
