Chapter 4
Four
Rhodes
The house smells like cookies, and Chloe’s giggles radiate down the hall.
I pause just inside the door to the garage, one hand wrapped tightly around the strap of my duffel bag, soaking in the scent, the sound, the feeling.
Of our home feeling like a home again.
It’s like the moment that Finn knocked on the door—or well, from the moment I almost bowled her down on the front porch—the world grew a little brighter.
My lungs loosened, the heaviness clinging to the air eased.
Chloe wasn’t quite as sad.
It wasn’t conscious, the cloud that had settled into the corners of the house, that clung to the walls like the fog that sometimes crawls across the Bay.
But it was there.
How could it not be? Losing Anna was devastating.
Not just for me and for Chloe, but for the future we both lost.
Now, though…
Chloe’s laughter drifts down the hallway again and for the first time in years, I know I can find a future that’s not what I expected but will still make my daughter happy.
I close the door behind me and toss my bag into the laundry room then make my way into the kitchen.
Finn is standing at the counter, a bowl in her hands, and as though she senses me, she glances up, our gazes connecting.
Her deep brown hair is pulled back into a bun, but it’s not doing its job very well, loose strands having fallen down to curl around her face.
There’s flour on her cheek, on the sleeve of her sweater, a faint dusting of it on the granite in front of her and Chloe.
She smiles and I feel it in my chest.
My heart.
Then her expression shifts, turning a little shy. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Daddy!” Chloe jumps down from her stool, runs over, and throws her arms around my middle, and fuck but there’s nothing as good as my little girl’s hugs.
“Hey, pumpkin.”
“We made your favorite,” she says, pulling back and running over to the cooling rack. “See?”
My stomach rumbles and I snag one of the still-warm chocolate chip cookies. “I see.” I ruffle her hair. “Thanks, baby girl.”
“Chloe said they’re your favorite.” Finn forms the final ball of dough and slides the cookie sheet into the oven.
“They are.” I take a bite, nearly moan. God, there’s nothing better than a fresh, warm cookie. “And they’re delicious. Thanks, you guys.”
“’Welcome,” Chloe says through her own cookie.
“How was school?”
A shrug. “Fine. Jake says that a shark could beat a grizzly bear in a fight.”
Finn giggles and I glance over at her. “We decided he’s probably right,” she explains. “In the ocean anyway.”
“Did you know that sharks have to keep swimming to breathe, Dad?” Chloe snags another cookie and I don’t miss Finn sliding over and surreptitiously putting the treats in the cookie jar.
Considering the chocolate on my daughter’s face, she’s probably already had her fair share, and it’s a good call to put them away.
Doesn’t mean I’m not going to hit up the jar later.
“I didn’t know that,” I tell Chloe.
“So a grizzly would totally win in the forest, Daddy.”
“I agree.”
“Did you win your games?” she asks as she wonders over to the table and picks up a marker.
I grin. “Yeah.”
She nods approvingly, like that’s exactly what she expected, then starts drawing.
“What’re you making?” I ask as I sit down next to her.
“A picture.”
“Of what?”
“Our house.”
I study the colorful scribbles that vaguely resemble a house with a bunch of stick figures standing beside it. I see me, Chloe, and my lips twitch when I see Finn too.
I’m not sure who the other figures are though.
“Here.” Finn gently sets a plate full of cookies in front of me along with a glass of milk. Chloe gets the same—albeit with a single cookie and her glass is smaller.
“Thanks,” I say. “But what about you?”
“Oh,” she demurs. “I should let you guys catch up.”
“But you haven’t had any cookies yet,” Chloe says.
“That’s okay—”
I get up from the table, snag a glass, and pour Finn some milk then fill a plate with cookies for her.
She’s watching me but doesn’t protest when I place both in front of a chair.
Just sits down and we all start eating.
It’s not quiet—Chloe tells me more about Jake and his imaginary fights, her favorite song—currently something called the Shaky Egg song, and how she got Ms. Mika to push her on the swing today.
In between all of that, she keeps coloring.
Finn gathers our plates, carries them to the sink, but when I stand, intending to bring the glasses over (and take over washing the dishes), my daughter decides to throw me a curve ball.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
Her tone is pleading. “Can I get a kitten?”
I blink. “A kitten?”
She nods so eagerly her head bobbles like the toys they sometimes give out during home games. “There are kittens at Chrissy’s rescue,” she says. “Finn said it’s”—she screws up her face—“k-kitty season.”
I glance across the room.
Finn winces. “I, uh, didn’t promise anything.”
Chloe looks up at me with wide, doleful eyes. “Daddy, there are kittens.”
“I’m sure there are.”
“And they’re really cute.”
“I’m sure that’s true too.”
“And they’re sad.”
That one gets me, and I lift my brows. “Oh?”
“Yeah, Finn says they don’t have homes.”
I glance over, spot another wince—probably because Finn can anticipate what Chloe’s going to say next.
“Our house is super-duper big.” She beams at me. “We can give a kitty a home.”
I feel myself melt.
Know that I’m so going to lose this argument. Still, I remind her, “Baby, I travel a lot. I’m not sure I can take care of a kitten.”
“But I’m here. I could take care of one.”
I lean back in my chair. “Yeah?”
“Yup.”
“That’s a big responsibility.”
“I’m responsible.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Chloe crosses her arms, forehead furrowing. “I am. I brush my teeth and I always clean up when Ms. Mika asks and I can make my own snacks.” A pause as she clearly considers her next mode of attack. “And Finn showed me how to make chocolate chip cookies.”
I bite my lip. “I know,” I say. “You’re a big girl.”
“Plus, Finn could help.”
Finn’s brows go up, but she’s fighting a smile too.
“And you could help too.”
I rub my hand over my mouth. “Oh, yeah? This sounds like a whole lot of helping.”
“But kittens are small,” Chloe says, changing tactics, “so they don’t really need that much help.”
I glance at Finn again.
Her hazel eyes are bright with laughter she’s clearly trying not to let out.
“Don’t look at me,” she teases softly. “I’m neutral in this debate.”
I snort. “Sure, you are.”
She laughs softly and I freeze, realize that I really like hearing it.
Then I tuck that away and look back down at my daughter. “Why do you want a kitten, baby?”
She frowns like that should be obvious. “Because they’re cute.”
“That’s true.”
“And soft.”
Humor bubbles up in my chest. “Also true.”
“And they need homes.” Chloe expression is so earnest my heart squeezes. “Please, Daddy?”
Yup. So losing this argument.
I look around the kitchen.
At Chloe.
At Finn.
At the cookie jar.
At the half-finished drawing…with stick figures I now realize are shaped like kittens.
“Okay.”
“Woohoo!” Chloe leaps from her chair and breaks into a celebratory dance, spinning in circles in the middle of the kitchen.
Finn laughs and joins in.
And as I sit there watching the two of them dancing around like adorable lunatics, their smiles bright and laughter in the air, I feel something shift quietly inside my heart.
Because for the first time since Anna died…
I know Chloe and I are finally coming back to life.