Riley is already unbuckling herself or trying to; her little fingers fumble with the clasp until Casey gets out and comes around to help her.
I climb out slowly, clutching my duffel bag and trying not to feel like I'm intruding on something sacred.
This is their space. Their life. And I'm just... passing through.
"Come on," Riley says, grabbing my free hand with absolutely no hesitation. "I'll show you everything!"
She drags me toward the front door while Casey follows behind, keys jangling.
The inside of the house is just as perfect as the outside. Hardwood floors, comfortable furniture that looks actually used, toys in a basket by the couch. There are pictures on the walls: Riley as a baby, Riley blowing out birthday candles, Riley and Casey at the beach.
No one else. Just the two of them.
So, he is single. Not that it matters. Not that I'm thinking about it.
(I'm definitely thinking about it.)
"Guest room's upstairs," Casey says, moving past me toward the staircase. "It's small, but it's got a bed and a dresser. Bathroom's across the hall."
"I'm sure it's great," I say quickly. "Really, I can't thank you enough—"
"Stop thanking me." He says it gently, but there's an edge of discomfort there. Like he's not used to people being grateful or maybe like he doesn't think he deserves it.
Riley is still holding my hand, pulling me toward the stairs. "Come on, I want to show you my room too!"
The guest room is at the end of the hall, and it's exactly what Casey promised: small, simple, with a double bed covered in a blue quilt and a dresser that looks like it came from someone'sgrandmother. There's a window overlooking the backyard, and the evening light slanting through it makes the whole room glow.
I set my duffel bag on the bed, and something in my chest loosens slightly.
A real bed. Four walls. A door that locks.
I didn't realize how much I needed this until right now.
"Do you like it?" Riley asks anxiously.
"I love it," I tell her honestly.
She beams. "Good! Now come see my room!"
Her room is across the hall, painted a soft purple (of course) with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and more stuffed animals than I've ever seen in one place. There's a bookshelf overflowing with picture books and a small table set up with crayons and paper.
"This is where I do my art," Riley explains seriously. "And that's my bed, and those are my animals, and that's—" She stops, staring at something on her dresser. "Oh! I forgot to show Daddy the picture I made at school!"
She grabs a piece of paper and races out of the room, hollering for Casey.
I'm left standing in the doorway, looking at the evidence of a life built by a man who clearly adores his daughter.
"She's a lot, I know."
I turn to find Casey leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"She's wonderful," I say.
"Yeah." His voice is soft. "She is."
"I really appreciate this," I say. "Letting me stay here. I know it's... I mean, you don't know me, and—"
"You needed help." He shrugs like it's that simple.
