Page 137 of Pucking Daddy

“Good to know,” he mutters.

“I’m serious,” I insist, crossing my arms.

“You want to know why?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, still wondering what is going on.

“The last few weeks have been incredibly difficult. There’s been a lot of stress, a lot of hard decisions. But I know they were the right ones. Now all that’s left is to live our lives. Carry on as normal. I feel confident about today,” he says. “There’s honestly nothing to worry about.”

I stare at him. “How can you not be worried about today?”

“Because there’s nothing to fake,” he replies simply. He gestures between us, then around the apartment. “This. It’s real. We’re not putting on a show for anyone. This is how we live. This is how we are with her. With each other.”

His gaze holds mine.

“They can come in here and observe all they want,” he continues. “They’ll see exactly what’s already there.”

My throat tightens.

“And what’s that?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

His lips curve just slightly. “A family.”

He’s about to say something more when small footsteps pad into the kitchen.

“Mornin’,” Lily mumbles, her voice still thick with sleep.

I turn immediately, my chest loosening at the sight of her. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

She goes to her dad first, giving him a big hug, then comes over to me and wraps her arms around my waist. I laugh softly, bending to hug her back and press a quick kiss to the top of her head.

“Did you sleep okay?” I ask.

She nods against me. “Can I have pancakes?”

I smile. “Already working on it.”

I move around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, pouring batter, flipping pancakes while Lily chatters about something that happened at school yesterday.

Jaxon joins us, leaning against the counter, asking her questions, listening.

Lily laughs at something he says, then reaches for my hand without even looking, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

My heart squeezes.

A sharp knock at the door cuts through the moment.

Everything inside me tightens instantly.

Right on time.

Jaxon straightens. Lily looks between us, sensing the shift even if she doesn’t fully understand it.

I wipe my hands on a towel, forcing my shoulders to relax as I move toward the door.

Don’t mess this up.

I open it to find a woman in her forties standing on the other side, dressed in a simple blazer, a folder tucked neatly under her arm.