“Because grown-up feelings are complicated.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s what adults say when they don’t want kids to understand.”
I looked at her. She wasn’t wrong. “I messed up,” I said quietly. “And Catherine has a lot to lose if she chooses me.”
Isla thought about that for a second, then sat up straighter. “So, you have to show her that choosing you is a good idea.”
A laugh almost came out, but it got stuck somewhere in my throat. “That easy?”
“No.” She shook her head gravely. “We need a plan.”
“We?” I raised my brows, worried about where this was going. Isla had a vivid imagination.
“Yes.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “It’s like The Parent Trap.”
I blinked. “It’s absolutely not like The Parent Trap. No one’s trapping anyone.”
“Not trapping,” she said, waving one hand like I was missing the artistic vision. “Planning.”
Oh dear.
“I’m not trying to get two parents back together,” she added. “I’m trying to help you get Catherine back.”
My heart gave one hard, painful beat.
“Bug.” She was invested, and I didn’t want her to get her hopes up.
“What?”
“I can’t use you to fix this,” I clarified.
“You’re not using me. I’m helping.” She slid off the couch and ran back to the coffee table, grabbing a clean sheet of paper and a marker. “First, we need to know what Catherine likes.”
“I know what Catherine likes.”
Isla gave me another look. “Then why isn’t she here?”
Low blow. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and watched my daughter write PLAN at the top of the page in purple marker. I should’ve stopped her. Instead, I thought about Catherine’s silence. Her careful eyes at the arena. The texts she wouldn’t answer and the fact that she was sad too. Then Isla’s words hit differently. She was right. I needed a plan to win her back.
“You’re right,” I said.
Isla looked up, pleased. “I know.” She grinned and underlined PLAN three times. “Exactly.”
I reached for the marker.
“Okay,” I said. “But we aren’t calling it The Parent Trap.”
Isla considered that. Then she wrote Operation Catherine at the top of the page instead.
I stared at it. “That might be worse.”
“It’s perfect,” she beamed, proud of herself. I loved this kid so damn much.
For the first time in a week, I almost believed her.
CHAPTER 28
Catherine Celia
