5. A Thing About Words
A THING ABOUT WORDS
RAYMOND
“I heard there was some kind of heroic rescue in the town center recently.” Archer raises a brow, barely containing that smirk of his.
I have half a mind to grab his root beer and pour it right over his head, but this is Quill’s dinner party, and I’m hell-bent on keeping everything perfect for my daughter.
The first time Quill told me she didn’t like the smell of alcohol, I cleared every drop of booze out of the house. It hasn’t made a return since, and now the place is as dry as the Sahara.
“You do know the town’s Ferris wheel isn’t actually a death trap, right?” Charles chimes in, purely for the entertainment of seeing me squirm. Ever since his wife, Daisy, came back home, he’s been grinning like he won the lottery. If I squint, I can see the permanent smile lines carved into his face.
“I’ll remind you of that when Daisy’s up there with your kid,” I say, nodding toward his wife, who’s about ready to pop in a few months. The mental image must hit home, because all color drains from his face.
“Got it now?” I smirk as a small sweet victory washes over me.
“Where were you when it all went down?” Rowan, Archer’s twin, signs, breaking the rhythm of their teasing.
Rowan has been selectively mute since a childhood accident, and though it didn’t leave any physical scars, the silence stayed. It’s been two decades since I last heard a single word from his mouth. Our parents made sure his thoughts were never left unheard, so the whole family learned ASL. Little did I know, those lessons would end up being essential with my own daughter.
Life does have a distorted way of catching you off guard.
“I was on the damn phone,” I admit, shaking my head. Father of the Year material right here .
“Shit, that must’ve driven you crazy.” Archer’s eyes widen a bit, as if he’s trying to picture me losing my cool.
“You have no idea,” I mutter, my gaze drifting toward the open patio doors. In the kitchen, Quill is standing on a step stool, carefully frosting cupcakes with Daisy. When she first took an instant liking to Daisy, like a duck to water, I’d hoped it might coax her into talking, but here we are, still waiting.
Have you really managed to forget Miss Pershing, Teager, or are you pretending?
“I heard Donna put up another ad for a new nanny,” Archer says. “The last one didn’t even make it a week.” He might like to act all detached, but I know my family—he’s genuinely worried, like all of us, that we can’t find a nanny who truly gets Quill. Someone who’s focused on her, not me, and who can help her come out of this cocoon my daughter has spun around herself.
Less than a year ago, a caseworker strolled into my office, holding the hand of a little girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. The woman was in her mid-forties, dressed in a polka-dot dress, said I was Quill’s dad and her last living relative. Her mom had died in a car accident three years before, and Quill had been living with her grandpa until he’d passed recently.
The caseworker handed me a picture of a woman, and it took me a minute to piece it all together. A few years ago, we’d met in a club while I was celebrating Archer and Rowan’s birthday. We hit it off immediately, and since she was just passing through town, it seemed like the perfect arrangement—two nights, no strings, no expectations. Exactly the kind of setup I liked. We said goodbye, both knowing we wouldn’t see each other again.
I never imagined in my wildest dreams the proof of those two nights would show up in the form of a little girl who’s the spitting image of her mother. And there’s a damn good reason why I never expected it.
But seeing Quill nervously clinging to the caseworker, her wide eyes scanning the room like she was ready to bolt, was like looking into a mirror of my own childhood. I’ll never forget that moment or how it hit me. If Dad hadn’t walked into our lives back then, I might have ended up a very different man.
And I decided in that very instant that Quill might not know it yet, but she’d never be alone. Not now, not ever.
* * *
“What are you doing tomorrow, Daisy?” I ask my sister-in-law, trying to keep my voice steady even though my stomach’s doing Olympic-level somersaults.
I force my eyes to focus on the cupcakes in the middle of the table, the colorful frosting swirled to perfection and drowning under a mountain of sprinkles. Without even tasting, I know they’re loaded with enough sugar to power a city. And yet, my health-nut cousins are going to annihilate the entire tray since their beloved niece helped make them.
“Why do you want to know that?”
Of course Charles would reply on behalf of his wife. It’s as if she wasn’t his secretary but he was hers.
Before I can answer him, Archer chimes in with a grin. “Ladies and gentlemen, here’s your modern husband. So controlling.”
“I’m not controlling, jackass. It’s called being caring.” Charles flips Archer off before turning to Daisy. “Ain’t I, sweetheart?”
“Absolutely,” she says, shooting him a look that’s all too sweet. “But did you need something, Ray?” Daisy asks, her smile warm and patient.
My heart’s pounding so hard it’s embarrassing.
Relax, Raymond. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just being a dad who wants the best for his daughter.
Still, it feels like the whole universe is holding its breath, waiting to see if I’ll mess this up. I clear my throat and try to steady myself.
“We recently made some changes at The Ritz in St. Peppers, including a new spa team. They’re supposed to be the best in the business.” The Ritz was my first big step into the hotel world, and it still holds a special place in my heart.
Daisy’s eyes light up. “Wow. That sounds fancy. I miss spa days.”
“Glad to hear it.” I keep my focus on Daisy, avoiding the curious and borderline suspicious look Charles is giving me.
I’ve always hated lying, and while I’m not exactly doing that here, omitting certain details leaves me drowning in guilt. “Would you like to take Quill with you and give me your feedback on the services?”
Guess Charles has finally consumed his quota of being a silent spectator. “You’re seriously telling us that you made changes to one of your top hotels and didn’t hire professionals to review it?”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my Tom Ford pants, hoping to dispel the clamminess. “We did. But I thought it’d be nice to get feedback from family too.”
As I feel the anxiety peaking, Daisy claps her hands.
“That sounds amazing! I’d love to take Quill for a girls’ day. What do you say, kiddo?” Daisy beams at Quill.
My daughter grins wide in return and pushes her little hands forward twice, signing, “Awesome.”
“Great, I’ll send you the passes right now,” I say, pulling out my phone, eager to get rid of the guilt twisting my gut like a pretzel. I hit send on the email I drafted earlier.
“Um, Ray?” Daisy looks up from her phone, her brows knitting together. “I think there’s a mistake. You sent five passes, not two.”
Silence falls over the table, and I can practically feel the weight of my cousins’ stares boring into me.
Mistakes aren’t my thing. They know that.
I clear my throat, doing my best to look casual. “No mistake. I thought, since it’s the weekend, you might like to bring your friends along.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Daisy’s smile hasn’t slipped, which I consider a big plus. “That’s so?—”
“Weird,” Charles finishes for her, his tone dripping with suspicion.
His wife elbows him in the ribs. “I was going to say thoughtful. I’ve hardly spent any time with my friends since I returned home. Charles is like a helicopter over my head, not letting me out of his sight. I’m so excited. Thank you, Ray.”
While the noose of my guilt tightens a bit, Charles throws his arm over his wife’s shoulders, who’s practically bouncing off her seat. “I’m so glad you’re this happy, babe. But let’s please calm down…the baby might be sleeping.”
“It’s still a shocker watching you like this, Charlie.” Rowan grins, and, honestly, he isn’t wrong.
Charles used to be the guy who swore he’d never have kids or a family. Now he’s practically the poster boy for fatherhood, reading baby books and planning the nursery like it’s a military operation. His relationship with Daisy, which started as a fake marriage and then a surprise pregnancy, didn’t just change his life, it gave him a personality makeover.
Quill tugs on my sleeve, and when I look down at her, she’s holding a cupcake with yellow frosting shaped like sunflower petals with a black chocolate chip middle.
She grins and signs, “My favorite,” and takes a bite of the chocolate cupcake.
I glance at my daughter’s carefree smile, and the speck of yellow frosting sticking on her nose reminds me of the silver flower dangling from Willow’s wrist.
In this moment, with the cupcakes and warmth around us, I vow to do anything short of breaking the law to keep my daughter smiling. And a little undercover sleuthing isn’t illegal…right?
* * *
“We need to keep an eye on Quill’s reading material. She’s too young to be diving into books like Little Women , even if it’s the illustrated kids’ version.” I run a hand through my hair, still replaying the way she clung to every word.
“I need to take her to a bookstore for kids, one where she won’t wander off into some grown-up section. She should be reading about princesses or magical talking animals, not women fighting for their dreams against impossible odds. She’s my daughter. Every single one of her dreams is going to come true. Period.”
Grandpa Will chuckles like I’m being ridiculous. “Give her time to figure out who her father is. Now, if that’s all, I’ll head out. Good night, Raymond.”
“Actually, there’s one more thing.”
He pauses, turning back, and I see that knowing look in his eyes.
“I need you to go with the girls tomorrow. I promised Daisy a relaxing day, and I don’t want her stressing over Quill the whole time.”
The old man crosses his arms. “Sounds reasonable. Anything else?”
I rub the back of my neck, the nerves gnawing away. “Nothing more than usual. Just…keep an eye on Quill. And anyone she interacts with.”
His brow rises a bit higher, catching the unspoken implications. “So my presence has nothing to do with your sudden generosity in booking Daisy and her friends a day at the spa?”
“I booked it for Daisy and Quill. Her friends are…extra.” I dodge the real answer.
“So you wouldn’t care if Miss Pershing was there or not?”
I try for a casual shrug, but my pulse spikes, and a cold sweat creeps in. “Who?” I ask, feigning ignorance, though it probably sounds more like I’m choking on air.
“The woman you’ve been playing tug-of-war with over her family’s land,” he replies dryly. “The same woman who somehow got your daughter to speak when no one else could.”
Fuck. That one lands like a punch.
“We don’t know that for sure,” I say quickly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
Nice, Ray. Real convincing.
“So let me get this straight—you want me to spy on a young woman and your daughter?”
I sigh, running a hand over my face. “When you put it like that, it sounds a lot worse than it is. I…need to confirm something.”
“If Willow Pershing is the reason Quill spoke?” Grandpa Will’s tone sharpens, cutting right to the heart of it.
I nod, and it’s like every insecurity I’ve buried comes rushing back. “It could’ve been a fluke. Maybe Quill was riding an adrenaline high from that nightmare of a Ferris wheel.”
Or maybe—hell, maybe I’m totally screwed and Willow Pershing really does have some freaky mind-control power over my daughter.
Grandpa Will’s calm demeanor does nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. “Then why the cloak-and-dagger routine? I doubt Daisy or any of her friends—including Miss Pershing—would mind you tagging along if they knew why.”
My jaw tightens, my left eye twitching in response to the tension. “This isn’t about Daisy or Willow.”
Although, truth be told, Willow’s got me tangled up in knots. During our last two encounters, she declared the courthouse to be our next meeting spot. Now, I wonder if that day will ever come since our relationship— um, I mean, association —seems to have taken an unexpected turn.
“Then what is it?” Grandpa Will leans in, watching me closely. His eyes widen a fraction, and I can see that he’s pieced it together. “Quill?”
“You saw how she clammed up the moment we got close to them.” My voice drops, frustration threading through every word. “She loves me, I know that. But what if I’m the one holding her back? What if I’m the reason she’s locked inside her own head?” I’ve never wanted to be more wrong about something, but here I am, feeling like I’d tear myself apart if it meant my daughter would finally come out of hiding.
Grandpa Will shakes his head, his expression softening. “Raymond, that’s not?—”
“I just need to know,” I say, cutting him off, voice rougher than I’d like. “Maybe it’s ridiculous. Maybe I’m overthinking everything. But if there’s even a chance…”
I can’t finish the sentence, because there’s a part of me that’s terrified of what I might find out.
He sighs, settling into a chair across from me. “You hate lying, especially to family. What are you going to tell your cousins when they ask tomorrow?”
“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“And what about Miss Pershing?”
The guilt I’ve been shoving down surges back, stronger than ever. “If it’s Willow who can coax Quill into speaking, the last thing I want is for her to feel pressured, knowing she’s under a microscope. That’s why I haven’t said anything to Daisy or my brothers. Willow probably has no idea about Quill’s situational mutism, and I’d prefer to keep it that way—at least until they meet tomorrow.”
Grandpa Will gives me a slow nod, acknowledging the weight of my words. “You’ve thought this through pretty well.”
“How could I not?” My voice is raw, thick with the weight of what’s at stake.
It’s about my daughter after all—her happiness, her voice, her future.