Not For Keeps (Lake City #2)

Chapter 1 – Analyse

Chapter One

ANALYSE

“Would you believe me if I told you the husband wasn’t the killer this time?”

I snort into my coffee. “Doubt it.”

Taking a slow sip, I let the warmth spread through me as the host continues unraveling the case.

Nothing like a little murder with my morning routine.

The house is quiet—just me, my coffee, and the soft crackle of my earbuds.

In about twenty minutes, Maya will wake up, and I’ll have to trade cold cases for cartoons.

But for now, it’s just me and the mystery.

I take another sip, savoring the few peaceful minutes I have left. The kitchen is dim, lit only by the glow of the range hood light, and the sky outside is still an inky blue. The whole house is quiet—no tiny footsteps yet, no cartoons blaring from the TV.

I glance at the clock. Any minute now.

The podcast continues playing in my earbuds as I lean against the counter, but my mind drifts.

Today is—what? Thursday? No, Friday. The end of the week, not that it makes much difference.

Lately, all my days blur together into a mess of work, getting us both out the door for school, and reheated coffee.

“Authorities now believe the timeline is off by at least two hours, which changes everything.”

I hum under my breath, tapping my nails against the ceramic mug. Changing a timeline is huge. If the time of death is wrong, then the alibi—

A soft sound pulls me from my thoughts—the shuffle of blankets, a tiny sigh. Just like that, my alone time is over. I set my mug down as I hear the familiar creak of Maya’s bedroom door. Light footsteps tap down the stairs, slow and steady, the rhythm of a little girl who isn’t quite awake yet.

I glance up just as she peeks around the banister.

First, the mess of brown curls—wild and unruly like mine.

Then, those big brown eyes, blinking sleepily, and her round cheeks, still warm from sleep.

She clutches her stuffed frog to her chest, studying me like she’s deciding whether she’s ready to fully commit to being awake—although I know she doesn’t really have a choice.

Then, without a word, she crosses the room and tugs at the hem of my sweater.

I look down, smiling. “Morning, mija.”

She rubs her eyes, her voice still thick with sleep. “I had a dream that I won the pie-eating contest.”

“Oh yeah?” I reach for the frying pan, setting it on the stove. “Did you finally beat Alejandro?”

She lets out a long, dramatic sigh, which I’m going to take as a no. “I almost did. But then I started laughing and got pie up my nose.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Maya, that’s exactly what happened last year.”

“I know, Mami. But this time, I was so close!” She slides onto one of the chairs at the table, her little hands animated. “I had a whole strategy—no laughing, no looking at Alejandro, just pie.”

I nod seriously. “That sounds like a foolproof plan, mamita.”

“I know, right?” She swings her legs back and forth. “Ahora tengo hambre.”

I smirk. “Let me guess—pie for breakfast?”

She gasps. “Can I?!”

I give her a look.

“Fine.” She sighs like she’s suffering. “Salchichas con huevos?”

I nod. “Deal.”

She grins. “Ooh! And maduros! Please, Mami?”

I shake my head, already standing. “Fine. Go get dressed. It’ll be ready when you come back down.”

She squeals and runs back up the stairs, her curls bouncing behind her.

I pause for a moment, watching her go. She looks so much like me, and her attitude matches mine, too—sharp, stubborn, and full of fire.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe she’ll be seven soon.

It feels like just yesterday she fit perfectly in my arms, this tiny, perfect human.

I remember the first time I looked into her eyes, the way love crashed over me so completely it almost knocked the breath from my lungs.

I knew right then—I would tear the world apart for her.

What I still don’t understand is how anyone could know of her existence and not want to be in her life. How someone could walk away from something so pure, so beautiful, and not realize how privileged we are to love her.

The thought lingers as I turn back to the stove, stirring the eggs absentmindedly. I take a deep breath, glancing toward the window. The trees outside are at their peak, deep reds and golds stretching down the street. The air smells like change—sharp and cool, but still touched with warmth.

October in Lake City means the Fall Festival, the one event that makes this town feel bigger than it is.

The whole place comes alive—hayrides rolling down Main Street, kids painting pumpkins on the sidewalks, the scent of roasted nuts and cider thick in the air.

The chili cook-off will bring in the entire town, and the sack race will get too competitive, as always.

And then there’s the pie-eating contest, where Maya will do her best to beat Alejandro, and I’ll pretend I don’t already know how it’s going to end.

My girl is competitive, but she does not have the stomach for all that pie—I wonder if I can get away with bribing a six-year-old.

No, no, it’s okay—losing builds character.

The Fall Festival is one of those traditions that reminds me of how much I have.

And how much he has missed out on. Nico.

I hate that man. I loved that man. Maya’s dad walked away before she was even born.

One conversation. That’s all it took for him to decide fatherhood wasn’t for him.

We were twenty-four. He said it was too much.

And just like that, he was gone. A fucking joke, really.

For a moment, I hoped he would change his mind.

For weeks, I convinced myself that he would call me and say he made a huge mistake and that he would be there for me, for our baby.

This was a man I loved. A man I had a relationship with, someone I thought I’d spend my life with.

Sure, things weren’t perfect, but are relationships ever everything you want them to be?

What mattered was that I cared for him, and I thought he cared for me, too.

I wasn’t naive to think he’d be ecstatic about the pregnancy, but never in a million years did I think he would just walk out on me, on us.

It was at my eight-week appointment, when I heard her heart for the very first time, that realization set in—Nico would not be coming back, and I had to be okay with that.

But I was furious. I was so damn angry and so damn sad.

My heart ached at the thought of my daughter not having both parents in her life.

The picture-perfect, white-picket-fenced family that she deserved.

The most important role I’ll ever have in life is being her mom, keeping her safe, protecting her from harm, and I failed her at conception simply because of who I conceived her with.

I failed her by giving her a father who could walk away so easily, and it fucking kills.

On top of being a failure, I had to mourn the life I thought I had designed for myself.

But then I look at the life we have, the life I created for us, and I realize that I never needed him.

Maya never needed him. I’ve been blessed with an amazing support system—my family, my friends—they’ve been there for me through it all.

Seb, my mom, and my dad were at every single appointment—even though I told them that was unnecessary.

My mom was with me in the delivery room, squeezing my hand through every contraction, whispering encouragement, wiping the sweat from my face.

Damn, I miss my parents. They’re in Florida now, living their best snowbird life, escaping the cold while I brace for the first snowfall of the season.

It’ll be my first Christmas without them—my favorite time of the year—but they’ll be back when the weather begins to warm up again.

I slide Maya’s plate onto the table just as I hear her barreling down the stairs, excitement in every step. The day has barely begun, and I already feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives.

After Maya finishes her breakfast, we rush out the door, barely making it on time.

Mornings always feel like a chaotic relay race: me flipping eggs while simultaneously packing her backpack, her getting distracted mid-bite to tell me an extremely important story about a butterfly she saw last week. Somehow, we pull it off.

It helps that I teach at Maya’s school. One drop-off.

One pick-up. One less logistical nightmare in my already chaotic life.

Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about transferring to the middle school where Anna teaches.

I always dreamed about teaching at the middle school.

I’d love to focus on English, really dig into storytelling, help kids find their voices—but do I actually have the capacity for a career change right now?

Probably not. My life is held together with coffee, Rizos curl refresh spray, and the occasional deep breath.

And, honestly, it really is so much easier going to the same place as Maya every day.

Seb keeps telling me he can help more. Mateo, Seb’s best friend, too.

Hell, he practically begs me to let him spend more time with Maya.

And I know they mean it. I know they love her.

But I can’t shake the guilt. They have their own lives.

Their own responsibilities. The last thing I want to do is feel like a burden, like I’m taking advantage of the people who’ve already done so much for me.

I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch today—shocker—so now I’m inhaling a questionable-looking sandwich at my desk while half-heartedly working on lesson plans.

Seb and Mari offered to take Maya for a few hours, and instead of going home to an empty house, I figured I’d stay here and get ahead on work.

Mari told me I should use the time to do something fun. “Go out! Live a little! Maybe even—gasp—go on a date.”

A date. The thought alone makes me laugh.

I haven’t been on a date in years. And sex?

I mean. Do I even remember how? I think I do?

Sometimes I miss it—not just the physical part, but the intimacy.

The feeling of being so close to someone in a way that has nothing to do with parenting or lesson plans.

But dating? Ugh. I would quite literally rather throw myself in front of oncoming traffic than endure the agony of a million first dates.

The small talk. The awkward first impressions.

The inevitable, what’s your favorite color? questions.

I don’t want small talk. I want real talk. Tell me about your wildest dream, the one you’re scared to say out loud. Tell me the things that keep you up at night, the secrets you don’t tell anyone else. That’s what I want—not surface-level bullshit about sports teams and the latest trending TV show.

But even if I wanted to date, when exactly would I fit it in? Between working all day, making sure Maya has everything she needs, and collapsing into bed the second she falls asleep, I barely have time to think. The other day I came to work wearing two different shoes—I’m a mess.

So here I am. Sitting in my classroom, pressing play on my favorite true crime podcast, eating a sandwich that is at least one day past its prime, and tackling lesson plans while Seb and Mari spend time with the best kid I know.

And honestly? It’s not so bad.