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“No, me.” Ella takes the book and balances it on her lap next to a pink and purple stuffed octopus named Sparkly.

“Chapter one. The empty trap.” She announces this with flair, spreading her arms and wiggling her fingers. “Marigold had a perfectly b-buttery patch of sunlight for her afternoon nap…”

I close my eyes and let my niece’s voice wash over me. She catches and stumbles here and there, but Dean’s right. She’s an excellent reader.

My phone vibrates.

Dean: please remind Ella that show and tell is tomorrow

Michael: Aren’t you supposed to be lubed up and face down by now?

Dean: Come on, this is important. Last time we forgot she was so embarrassed she cried for hours. Please make sure she’s ready

My thumbs hover over the screen as I fight the temptation to say something snarky. Something filthy, like “what will you do for me?” The problem is, he’d do it. Whatever I asked, he’d do it for Ella.

Which doesn’t sit well with me. Dean telling me he needs me in the middle of the night, getting on his knees and letting me treat him like trash when his anxiety is spiking, that’s our thing.

There’s no fun in using Ella as a weapon. It’s cheating.

I place my hand on Ella’s head, stopping her in the middle of Marigold’s search for the mouse who lives in the walls of her house. “Have you picked out something for show and tell tomorrow, Ella-bean?”

She gulps a big breath. “Yes. Nothing.”

“We should find something before bed, then.”

“No.” She shakes her head forcefully. “Tomorrow is things that start with the letter N. Nothing, Uncle Mike. Noth. Ing.”

Hell. She’s so fucking smart. “I think that’s really creative.”

Dean’s right, though. We need to start being more careful around her. Before she starts asking questions about our…relationship. If only I knew how I’d answer her questions.

“I know,” she says simply. “Daddy says I’m smart like Momma.”

It’s true. She’s also more like Dean than he wants to believe. She’s got his bleeding heart. The way she sobs over a dead lizard on the ground would bring the most hardened hearts to their knees. She’s also going to be tall like he is, if her gangly arms and legs are anything to go by. But I know what Dean thinks of himself, and he’d never impose his own image onto his daughter.

I sigh, sending a reply to Dean.

Michael: She’s ready for show and tell.

Hating myself even as I type, I add: Who are you with tonight?

We track each other. His idea, unbelievably. In case anything were to go wrong with a client, he said. Too impatient to wait for his answer, I switch apps to see he’s in one of those swanky neighborhoods down by the beach.

Dean: Can’t you see my location?

Michael: Just tell me.

Dean: Rossi Pierce

That name sounds vaguely familiar.

Michael: Didn’t he used to own a bunch high end of restaurants?

Dean: That one. Oh, and get this. He’s also Simon’s boyfriend’s father

Simon who now works at my mother’s assisted living home? Huh. The world gets smaller all the time.

Michael: Kind of wild.