Chapter 10
Skipping Stones
Remi
If I’m being honest, I thought the record store would be the highlight of the week.
But apparently… Taylor Swift and Billie Eilish were just the opening act.
Our next stop? The art supply store.
Paige squealed when we walked in. Like squealed. Payton tried to look annoyed, but she was already making a beeline for the sketchbooks before I even locked the car.
We spent almost an hour wandering the aisles—Paige picking out metallic paint pens and stencils, Payton obsessing over charcoal pencils and heavy-weight paper like her next masterpiece depended on it.
They didn’t fight. They didn’t shut down. They were themselves.
After, we hit the bookstore. The kind with creaky floors and handwritten staff picks tucked under the shelves. Paige ran for the YA section. Payton, not surprisingly, drifted toward horror. She held up a Stephen King novel and asked, “Too dark?”
I smiled. “Dark enough.”
We left with two bags, three books, and about a hundred unspoken feelings I didn’t dare unpack.
And then… coffee.
I hadn’t planned on it. But when we drove past Perk It Up, I made a split-second turn into the lot.
The girls were buzzing—shopping bags in hand, the kind of tired that feels like a good day—and I figured… why not?
The bell above the café door jingled as we stepped inside, and instantly the familiar scent of espresso and cinnamon hit me like a memory.
“Remi?” The voice made me spin, already smiling.
Lacey and Penelope were at the window table, iced drinks in hand, both looking like they’d stepped out of an ad for casual elegance.
“Hey!” I crossed to them, the girls right behind me. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“We live here,” Penelope deadpanned. “This place is basically church.”
Lacey raised her brow. “And Augie’s the high priest.”
Cue exactly that moment—because Augie stepped out from behind the counter just then. Still tall, still tattooed, still rocking the grumpy-hot vibe like he invented it.
The girls noticed. Oh boy, did they notice.
“Hey, Augie,” I called, already laughing inside.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, then looked past me. “Who are these two?”
“This is Payton and Paige,” I said. “Coleman’s girls.”
Payton blushed, glaring at me like I’d betrayed her. Paige, meanwhile, leaned on the counter and gave Augie a too-sweet smile. “Do you make iced lavender lattes?”
Augie blinked, visibly panicking at being flirted with by a ten-year-old. “Uh… yeah. I guess.”
“She’ll take one,” I cut in, holding up a hand before Paige could ask for extra foam or a phone number. “And a chocolate muffin. And a caramel cold brew for her sister.”
As the girls wandered off to a window seat, drinks in hand, I slumped into the chair beside Lacey.
“They like you,” Penelope said, nodding toward the girls. “I can tell.”
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “It feels like we’re skipping stones. I catch a glimpse of their joy, and then it’s gone again.”
Lacey sipped her drink. “Skipping stones still moves the water, Rem.”
That hit me harder than I expected.
I looked over and caught Payton smiling at something on her phone. Paige was twirling her straw and watching Augie like he was a movie star.
And for a second, it wasn’t about trauma or silence or rules.
It was just two girls. Living. Laughing. Existing. With me.
As we sat in the corner window of Perk It Up, Paige leaned over her muffin, cheeks flushed with victory.
“I think Augie likes me,” she whispered to Payton.
Payton rolled her eyes. “You’re ten.”
“Ten and charming,” Paige corrected.
Before I could intervene, Augie appeared beside us, towering over the girls with an amused grin and his signature industrial apron streaked in flour and espresso.
“You two giving me trouble?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.
“No,” Payton said quickly. “She is.”
He threw an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them into a mock scolding sandwich. “Well, guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on both of you.”
That’s when I snapped the picture.
The girls tucked under each of his arms like they belonged there, both of them grinning like their hearts hadn’t been through the wringer lately. Augie looking like a confused-but-soft uncle who didn’t know what to do with this much glitter and mood in his shop.
I stared at the photo for a second longer than I meant to.
Then, without thinking too hard, I sent it to Coleman.
Me:
Thought you should see who your girls are falling for while you’re working. Augie’s officially been adopted as their new favorite human.
The dots on the screen blinked, then stopped.
Then blinked again.
Coleman:
He’s got tattoos. And an apron. This feels like a threat.
Me:
You should’ve seen the way Paige looked at him. It was almost criminal.
A few seconds passed. Then…
Coleman:
They look… happy.
Just three words. But I could feel the weight in them.
Me:
They are. Just a little bit today. But I’ll take it.
Coleman:
Thank you. But…Keep Augie away from my girls.
I stared at the screen for a beat longer, thumb hovering, like maybe I’d say something more.
But I didn’t. Because this isn’t about us. Not yet.
So I just looked across the table and saw Paige wiping chocolate from her lip, Payton humming along to the indie track playing overhead, and I smiled.
Because today, I made the girls laugh. And maybe… even feel safe.
That was enough for now.
The next morning, I wake up to the smell of waffles.
Correction: the smell of a smoke alarm threatening to go off, the waffle iron hissing, and a soft argument in the hallway about whose turn it was to measure the flour.
I toss on my robe and head downstairs to find Payton and Paige in the kitchen—Paige holding the whisk like a wand, Payton cross-armed and unimpressed.
“Are you trying to burn the house down?” Payton asks.
“I’m making birthday breakfast,” Paige replies with the air of a duchess. “It’s not my fault if the house doesn’t know how to appreciate my vibe.”
I bite back a smile and lean against the doorway. “What’s the occasion?”
Paige turns to me, beaming. “It’s my day.”
Right. We agreed yesterday—Payton picked a bookstore and art. Today was Paige’s turn.
“I have a plan,” she announces, setting the whisk down like a mic drop. “First—nails. Like, real ones. Sparkly. And then…”
She pauses for dramatic effect.
“…a DIY lip gloss lab. I saw it on TikTok.”
Payton groans. “Please no.”
“Paige’s Day,” I remind her, stepping in like a referee with a glitter gun. “Lip gloss lab it is. Where is your Dad?”
“He had to leave early.” Payton turns back to the waffles. “He said to tell you bye.”
There is a small pain in my heart that he didn’t knock on my door and tell me himself. But I ignore it and turn my attention to the girls. I guess he is making it clear that they are what I am here for.
By noon, we’re at a nail salon that smells like acetone and lavender, and Paige has selected a glitter ombré that could blind someone if the sun hits it just right.
She talks nonstop through her manicure—about her favorite Taylor eras, the sticker chart she’s designing for her future classroom (she’s currently torn between llamas or baby otters), and how her favorite color has recently evolved from pink to “metallic unicorn.”
Payton, despite the ten going on twenty reluctance, settles on matte black polish and lets out the tiniest, almost embarrassed laugh when the manicurist calls her “aesthetic.”
I catch her smile. It’s rare, but it’s there.
Next stop: the craft store.
I wasn’t sure “DIY lip gloss lab” was a real thing—turns out, it totally is.
We buy tiny jars, natural oils, mica powder, and edible glitter. Paige is practically bouncing as we load up the cart. She wants a whole station in the kitchen. Payton mumbles that she’ll just make a black one and call it “Midnight.”
We spend the afternoon mixing colors and flavors—strawberry shimmer for Paige, dark cherry for Payton, and vanilla rose for me. There’s glitter everywhere. Like… everywhere.
I think even the dog that lives two doors down has sparkly paws now.
Paige insists on making a special gloss called “Button’s Blend” and immediately labels it with a doodled sticker and an entire backstory.
“This one’s for when you’re sad,” she says, holding it up to me. “But also when you’re happy. And also when someone breaks your heart but you don’t want to cry in public.”
I blink back something sharp.
“Think we should make one for your dad?” I ask.
She grins. “Nah. He’s more of a chapstick guy.”