Page 80 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

I keep my face calm and stroke her curls back from her forehead. “No, he wasn’t.”

She studies my expression, then nods slowly like she’s filing the answer away. “Okay,” she says, then her eyes drift toward the hallway. “Is he coming back?”

I swallow, then choose the truth I can carry. “He’s coming for breakfast,” I tell her gently. “Only breakfast. You’ll meet him when the sun’s up.”

Ivy’s brows lift. “Breakfast like pancakes.”

“Breakfast like food,” I say, and she smiles faintly.

She sits up and stretches dramatically, then looks at me with that serious little face she gets when she’s working through something big.

“Is he your friend?” she asks. “His eyes are like mine.”

I pause, then I tap her nose lightly. “He’s someone I used to know, and we’re going to be polite.”

Ivy nods, then she slides out of bed and heads toward the bathroom, already humming to herself. I sit there for a moment and let my head drop back against the pillow, then I drag myself up and start moving.

Morning routines don’t care about emotional whiplash.

I get Ivy dressed in her school clothes, then I wrestle her hair into something that looks intentional. She argues for glitter socks, then she argues for a different sweater, then she changes her mind twice. I pack her lunch while she brushes her teeth and makes faces at herself in the mirror.

At 6:58 a.m., I hear a soft knock.

My heart jumps anyway. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and walk to the door with measured steps, then I check the peephole out of habit. Nathan stands outside with a paper bag in one hand and a grocery tote in the other, hair still damp, shirt rolled at the forearms like he’s ready to work.

I open the door, and he looks at me like he’s been holding his breath since midnight.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Morning,” I reply, keeping my voice level.

His eyes flick past me toward the hallway then return to my face quickly, respectful. “Is she up?”

“She is,” I reply, then I step back. “Come in. Shoes off.”

Nathan nods once and slips inside, then he removes his shoes neatly and lines them up by the door without being asked twice. The detail is ridiculous, and it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Ivy appears in the hallway mid-step, backpack half-zipped, hair still slightly damp at the ends. She stops the moment she sees him, then she straightens her shoulders like she’s trying to be brave.

Nathan doesn’t approach her. He stays where he is and lets her decide the distance, and that alone makes my chest loosen by a fraction. “Hi,” he says, voice gentle. “Good morning.”

Ivy stares at him, then her eyes flick to me.

I give her a small nod that says you’re safe.

Ivy takes one step forward. “Are you the breakfast man?” Her voice is suspicious.

Nathan’s mouth curves. “I can be,” he replies. “If you like breakfast.”

Ivy thinks for a beat. “I like pancakes,” she says firmly.

Nathan nods once. “Then pancakes it is.” He lifts the grocery tote slightly. “If your mom lets me use her kitchen.”

Ivy’s gaze shifts to me again, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “He can use the kitchen,” I say, then add, “If he cleans up.”

Nathan looks at me. “Deal.”

He moves toward the kitchen with steady steps, just stepping into the space like he understands he’s a guest. He sets the paper bag on the counter and opens it, then he pulls out a carton of eggs, a box of pancake mix, strawberries, and a small container of whipped cream.