Page 227 of A Song for You

But Chloe is already retreating down the hall.

I sigh and slump against the counter. What did I say wrong?

I tap on Chloe’s door a little while later. “Soup’s ready.” I may not know much about raising a daughter, but I know better than to enter a bedroom without being invited. No idea what the heck she’s doing in there.

She opens the door and brushes past me. “Mom lets me have ice cream when I’m sick,” she grumbles.

I follow her to the kitchen, at a loss as to what I’m supposed to do. Silently, we settle at the table and eat.

“Feeling any better?” I try.

She glances up at me, then back to her bowl. “Cat’s on a date.”

I choke on my soup and cough obnoxiously. Watching my daughter, who’s looking at me with a suspicious amount of innocence, I take a slow sip of water. I swear she’s more Cat in this moment than she’s ever been.

I can do this. I’ve had dinner with a president. I’ve conned mobsters out of their life savings. I’ve killed people. Having a conversation with my twelve-year-old daughter should be a walk in the park.

“You don’t seem sick,” I comment, searching her face for a reaction.

She looks down into her soup again.

“Is there a reason you didn’t want to go to Sophie and Dexter’s? Did something happen with their kids?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “How come you know the name of our security guard’s wife?”

Suddenly sweltering, I pull on my shirt. “Because I wanted him to watch out for you.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Me? Or Cat?”

“You. Both of you.”

Chloe bites the inside of her cheek but doesn’t look up. “There’s a dance at school coming up,” she says so quietly I have to strain to hear her.

I clear my throat. “Okay. Do you want to go?”

“It’s a daddy-daughter dance.” Her voice trembles and her lip wobbles as she finally brings her gaze to mine. She looks every bit her age in this moment, despite her earlier attitude.

“Was someone rude about you having two moms? Because if they were, I’ll kill them,” I grit out. The idea of anyone making Chloe feel unworthy sends rage coursing through me.

She laughs and eyes me, her dark hair swaying as she shakes her head. “No. It’s 2022, Jay. People don’t care about that. Besides, my moms are Cynthia Caldwell and Catherine James. The most iconic woman in the fashion world and her protégé. People are begging to be friends with me.”

Damn, she’s smart. And as sassy as her mom. All I can do is nod in agreement. But I still can’t figure out why she’s shut down. “Then why are you upset, Chlo?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and studies me. Her blue eyes are so full of emotion, so fucking vulnerable, it takes all my self-control not to reach across the table and pull her into my lap. “Because it’s a daddy-daughter dance, and I’ve never had a dad.”

The words are like a knife to the chest, but I keep my voice steady. “I understand.”

Her head shoots up. “You do?”

“Yeah, it’s okay that you don’t feel comfortable. This is going to take time. I’ll be here when you want me to be. And if you want space, I’ll give you that⁠—”

“I don’t want space,” she rushes out.

“You don’t?” I swear my heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“No.” She picks at the napkin beside her bowl, avoiding my gaze. “I wanted to ask you to come, but I thought maybe it was too soon. Or maybe it would be too much for you.”

“I’d fucking love to take you to the dance, Chloe,” I practically shout. “Don’t tell your mom I cursed. Either of them.”