Chapter 44
MY FANTASY
ROWAN
With my fingers pressed to the cool glass of the window overlooking the backyard—really, the forest—I listen to my mom and nod. “Sure, sure. I get it. I don’t want you to be unsafe on the road,” I say, even though I was really looking forward to tonight.
I had this whole vision in my head—my parents, Mia, Isla, all at dinner together. I don’t know why it mattered so much. It just did. Like some part of me needed to see Isla with my family.
But this snow, falling at the speed of light, is making that impossible.
“It’s coming down fast,” Mom says. “We just made it back to the cabin to grab the other ingredients when it started snowing.”
“We didn’t get my special sprinkles!” Mia calls from the background, and I smile. She wants them for her cookie class.
“Tell Mia not to worry. I promise I’ll get them tomorrow,” I say as my gaze turns to the window once more. “It’s looking like it’s going to be a white Christmas, that’s for sure,” I say, more pensive than I mean to sound.
“My favorite kind,” she says. “We hardly get them in San Francisco.”
“We definitely don’t,” I say, and that’s always been one of my favorite things about holidays in the city. The reminders of the season weren’t in my face. At least it used to be a favorite thing. Now, I don’t mind that the world feels like a Christmas card.
Imagine that.
But the other thing I don’t mind? Alone time with Isla.
I look over at her, where she’s playing tug-of-war with Wanda on the carpet, the alligator toy bouncing between them.
Damn, she looks good there—cross-legged by the blinking Christmas tree she helped pick out, soft red sweater clinging just right, hair falling in loose waves.
The way she plays with my dog is so easy. Natural.
Sure, dogs are like that. But Isla is too. She knows how to meet people—and animals, I guess—where they are. She talks to Mia about the things Mia cares about. She does the same with our mutual friends. Would she have done that with my parents?
Guess I won’t get to find out tonight.
I feel guilty even thinking it, but there’s a silver lining here—I get her all to myself.
Again. I can’t seem to get enough of her, from the nights I spend at her place, to the moments I steal with her here and there, sometimes slipping away, like Mom said.
I tear my gaze away and clear my throat.
That familiar guilt creeps right back in, the one that always shows up when I wonder if I’m doing enough for Mia.
“I’m sorry I’m leaving Mia with you again,” I say to Mom with a wince.
She scoffs. “Sorry? You think this isn’t our favorite thing in the world? You’ve taken a few too many hits to the head, kid.”
I laugh softly, somewhat absolved. “Fine, fine.”
“Seriously. We love her to pieces. We always want to see Mia. We’re a package deal with this kid.”
Warmth spreads in my chest. “Thanks, Mom.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “And Rowan?”
“Yeah?”
“Make the most of tonight.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else—sounding way too pleased with herself.
I turn around, set the phone down on the kitchen counter, and head straight for Isla. She’s rubbing Wanda’s belly when I reach her. When she looks up, she says, “You’re hard on yourself, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t hiding the call, but I guess she heard enough. I sit beside her and take a beat. “Maybe I am. But is that a bad thing?”
She shakes her head. “Not always. And I’m not a parent, but I have two really good ones. And I know this—you’re a good dad.”
Ah, hell. That feeling in my chest? It’s like sunshine. It’s like fucking rainbows. “Yeah?” I sound like a dopey fool.
She squeezes my thigh. “A great dad. But you don’t have to be Super Dad.”
Is that what I’m trying to do? “I don’t know. I think I do.”
“I can tell. But clearly your parents don’t see themselves as babysitters. They see themselves as partners.”
My throat tightens. “You’re right. They stepped up when I needed them to. But…I don’t think I see them that way—as babysitters. Do I?”
“Sometimes,” she says gently. “You worry if you’re not the one with Mia.
If you’re not the one picking her up, or putting her to bed.
But your parents don’t just want to pitch in.
They love helping raise Mia. That’s how they see it, Rowan.
I haven’t even met them, but I believe it deep in my heart. ”
“Why?” I ask, like I’m reaching for a lifeline. Maybe this conversation is one after all.
“Because of Mia. She wouldn’t be this confident, curious, outspoken kid if she didn’t grow up surrounded by love.”
Fuck. I could get addicted to the way she talks. The way she sees people. And suddenly I realize—I’ve been neglecting Isla in the middle of all this. “You’re staying tonight,” I say, a little too forcefully.
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Obviously.”
I clear my throat. “Let me try that again.”
I pull her into my lap, brush her hair off her neck, and layer kisses there on her soft, sweetly scented skin. “Want me to turn on the fireplace and fuck you in front of it while ‘White Christmas’ plays?”
She mimes hitting a buzzer. “Yes, please.”
I kiss her lips, then whisper, “It’s a deal.”
But before I get too caught up, she pushes me away with a grin. “I believe I was promised eggplant parmesan. Get to it.”
“If you insist.”
“I do, Rowan. I do.”
She sounds relaxed. Happy. She looks it, too, as she stretches out on the couch now with Wanda, petting her with one hand, her glass of Chablis in the other, gaze on the window, watching the snow fall.
I should feel bad for not being with Mia and my family.
But this thing with Isla—it’s starting to feel somehow, some way, like it’s making me a better dad.
A better man. I didn’t set out for that to happen.
Somewhere along the way though maybe it did.
Maybe tonight doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.
That thought chases me as I finish the dinner prep. It joins other, newer ideas as I set out some olives in a small ceramic snowman dish.
Isla sighs contentedly, then turns her focus toward me. “Can I help?”
I shake my head. “I like looking at you watching the snow.”
“You do?” She sounds skeptical, and I have to remember—Isla has trust issues, just like me.
“I do. I know you want to help—it’s in your nature. But you’re my snow angel. This is your night. Just enjoy it.”
The second those words leave my mouth, an idea starts to form. It’s just clay right now, shapeless. But there’s something there.
Snow. Isla.
Isla. Snow.
As Isla stares out the window, listening to music, petting Wanda, chatting with me—she’s relaxed. Not making a list. Not solving someone else’s problems. Not holding it all together.
Just being.
What if she were able to do that regularly? With me? What if she could come over and…let go of the day? Kick off her shoes. Know she’s safe. Bold new images flash by, and I’m not at all sure what to do with them. If anything.
But when I glance at the window again, and the snow wraps around us, it occurs to me I can do something for her that I’m pretty sure she’s never had before. It’ll take some quick work. Pretty sure I have what I need though.
Once we sit down to eat while the snow falls quietly outside, blanketing the world in white, I devise a plan for the rest of the night.
I catalogue the items I’ll need.
The tools. The materials. And the opportunity.
Sometime, well after we clean the dishes together, it comes. The snow slows, then stops. “You want another amazing date, Isla?”
“Pretty sure I’m on one,” she says.
“It can be better. With a little outdoor game.”
She lifts a curious brow. “I do love games.”
“I know, Isla. I know.”