• • •
Bedtime goes smoother than I expected.
Bath, pajamas, teeth brushing. Maisie insists on picking three books instead of two, and I don’t have the heart to argue. We read about a hungry caterpillar, a runaway bunny, and a little girl who tames a wild thing.
Ellie goes under her left arm, trunk facing out. Maisie adjusts her twice before declaring it acceptable.
She’s asleep within minutes, her breathing slow and even. I sit there longer than I need to, thinking. She’s so small. So brave. So determined to be okay, even when the world keeps giving her reasons not to be.
Something dangerous unfurls in my chest. Not just affection, but want. The kind I’ve been pushing down for years, telling myself there’s time, telling myself career first. But sitting here in this lavender room filled with books and stuffed animals and a unicorn nightlight? I want this, and that persistent little ache I push down grows a little.
I carefully extract my hand and slip out of the room, leaving the door cracked and the hallway light on.
Then I go downstairs and try to remember how to breathe normally.
• • •
Zayden gets home at nine.
I’m on the couch, pretending to watch TV when I hear his key in the lock. My whole body goes alert, pulse spiking, and I hate how much I’ve been waiting for this. For him.
He steps inside and immediately looks for me. When our eyes meet, something in his expression softens.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” I stand, smoothing my hands over my jeans. “She went down easy. Three books instead of two, but I figured that was an acceptable bribe.”
“She suckered you.”
A soft laugh escapes my lips. “Completely. I had no defenses against those eyes.”
He smiles—a real one, tired but genuine—and shrugs off his jacket. “Thank you. For doing this. I know it was a lot to ask.”
“It wasn’t.” I mean it. “She’s a great kid, Zayden.”
“Yeah.” He moves into the living room, close enough that I can smell his cologne and see the shadow of stubble on his jaw. “She is.”
We stand there, the space between us charged with everything we’re not saying. The banquet. The hallway. The kiss I’ve been trying not to think about for two days.
“She told me you talk about me,” I blurt out.
His eyebrows rise. “She did?”
“Apparently, you say my name funny.” I make air quotes. “Like it’s special or something.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe. Or embarrassment. “She’s six. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Doesn’t she?”
He holds my gaze, and the air between us thickens.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, his voice lower now. “I have wine, beer, or sparkling water if you want to stay hydrated and boring.”
“I should probably go.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
