“Sometimes.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s a flicker of heat beneath the stress. “When you want to be.”
Before I can respond, a small voice calls from upstairs. “Daddy? Is she here?”
“Yeah, shadow. Come say hi.”
Footsteps on the stairs—quick, a little clumsy—and then Maisie Bishop appears.
She’s smaller than I expected, with dark hair in two slightly uneven braids, wearing leggings adorned with dinosaurs and a purple sweater that says GIRLS RULE. She has Zayden’s big, dark, serious eyes, and she’s currently studying me with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m being interviewed for a very important position.
“Hi,” she says carefully. “I’m Maisie. But you can call me Maze if you want.”
“Hi, Maze.” I crouch down to her eye level. “I’m Tori.”
“I know. Daddy told me.” She tilts her head. “You fix people’s shoulders?”
“I do. Arms and legs too, sometimes.”
“Did you fix Daddy’s shoulder?”
“I’m working on it. He’s not always a very good listener.”
Maisie nods solemnly, like this confirms something she already suspected. “He doesn’t listen about vegetables either.”
Behind her, Zayden makes an indignant sound. “I eat vegetables.”
“Not the green ones.”
“Broccoli is a scam, Maze. We’ve discussed this.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, but Maisie catches it anyway and gives me a tiny, conspiratorial smile.
“The cookies are almost ready,” she tells me. “I’m only allowed two, but sometimes I can have three if I ask nicely.”
“Maisie.” Zayden’s voice is warning but fond.
“I’m just telling her the rules, Daddy.”
“Uh-huh.” He checks his watch and winces. “I have to go. Tori, her bedtime is eight. She can have screen time until seven, then it’s bath, books, bed. Ellie—that’s her elephant—has to be in the exact right spot or she can’t sleep.”
“Which spot?”
“Under her left arm, trunk facing out. She’ll tell you if it’s wrong.”
“Trunk facing out. Got it.”
He hesitates, looking between me and Maisie, unsure if he should leave. Like he’s entrusting me with something precious, fragile, and irreplaceable.
Which he is.
“Go,” I tell him gently. “We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, Daddy.” Maisie grabs my hand—just like that, easy as breathing—and starts tugging me toward the kitchen. “We’re gonna be fine. Go do your meeting.”
Zayden watches us for another moment. Then he meets my eyes, and something passes between us—gratitude, yes, but also something deeper. Trust.
“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back,” he says.
“Take your time.”
