Chapter 32
Austin
I checked my phone as I opened the door to my midtown condo. I held it open, letting Joseen scurry in, then closing it behind
us. I checked my phone so many times during the trip to the market, Joseen had asked about it, so I tried to hide it better.
Zoya, who seemed very committed to making me go out on a limb with Isa, was making it pretty hard to do it. She had a last-minute
opportunity that I couldn’t let her skip, so I had to make some changes to the date I’d planned for Isa.
Hopefully, she didn’t mind a plus-one tonight. But Isa hadn’t responded, so I was beginning to think she did.
“I love your house, Uncle Austin,” Joseen yelled. She put the flowers she carried on the leather seat of one of the barstools
that sat in front of the countertop and ran toward a kids’ bike I kept for when I watched her.
I’d had this place since I got my first big signing bonus.
I did the thing every financial advisor tells you not to do when you sign your first big contract—I made a large purchase.
Luckily a lot more lucrative contracts came my way and buying real estate in Manhattan ten years ago ended up being a pretty solid financial decision.
“Please don’t ride that in here,” I said firmly, putting my bags on the counter of the industrial-style kitchen: stainless
steel appliances, large exposed metal beams overhead. There were a few cabinets along the exposed brick wall but mostly floating
shelves.
I looked up from under the tin lantern pendant lights and Joseen was gone. So was the bike.
“Jo,” I called sternly through the house as I started pulling all the vegetables out of the bags.
“What?” she yelled from down the hallway. I heard the pedals as she turned and made her way back.
My house didn’t have a lot of rules, outside of not getting injured. It was the only line I drew, and Jo didn’t just cross
it, she jumped rope with it.
Every time she was here, she found a new way to potentially maim herself.
“Jo.” The mental exhaustion started to bleed into my words. “Come on. Help me make all of this.”
She ran back into the kitchen, ditching the bike somewhere for me to trip on later. “What are we making again?”
Joseen climbed up the little tower I’d bought for her so she could reach the countertop.
“It’s written right here.” I pointed to the top of the recipe I had on my phone, zooming in on the word PAELLA in large letters.
Jo loved to help out in the kitchen, and when she stayed with me—usually when something came up for Zoya—I turned it into something we could do together that kept her safely in one piece.
And the paella . . .
“Pa . . .” Joseen ran her finger along the screen,. She smiled when I nodded and kept going. “Eee . . . la.”
I leaned down. “You got it, keep going.”
She squinted. “Pa-e-la?”
“It’s a hard one. You did a good job.” I congratulated her with a high five and handed her a giant bag of rice. I reveled
in the fact that I might be able to teach her something. “Two scoops, into this bowl.”
She nodded while I started unpacking the rest of the groceries.
“I’m not good at reading.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Yes, you are,” I promised her. Joseen was smart, like her parents. She’d started putting words together at three and could
cobble together sentences now. “It’ll get easier, I promise. Soon you’ll be helping me.”
It wasn’t too long after, when everything was washed and ready to prep, when a knock came at the door. I’d become so focused
on keeping Jo in one piece and getting things settled here, I hadn’t obsessively checked my phone like a lovesick teenager.
I walked down the hall and opened the door, knowing it was probably her but still surprised with confirmation.
In a bright lilac sundress that skated around her knees with her hair down in tight curls that bounced along her back, she
stole the breath I was about to take just as easily as she did in those mint-green scrubs.
“Isa.” I didn’t realize I whispered it until her shoulders lifted with what seemed like excitement.
“Sorry, I texted but . . .”
“Hi!” Joseen appeared from out of nowhere, suddenly at my side and staring up at Isa. The quiet delight that wrapped around
us at the threshold was replaced by loud curiosity. “I’m Joseen. You’re tall.”
Wide-eyed and bewildered, Isa looked at me, then at Joseen.
It was actually kind of cute. Isa’s eyes searched for something and her mouth hung open with words she couldn’t find. Was
she nervous?
“I’m Isa, and you’re a little short.” Isa’s features immediately went from soft to tight with panic. “I mean . . .” Isa stammered.
She looked at me apologetically. “I didn’t mean—”
Joseen only grinned wider.
“I’m actually the tallest in my class . . .” Joseen spun on her heels and skipped down the hallway. “C’mon. We’re cooking!”
I glanced back at Isa, who walked in and followed a few steps behind Jo. She smiled.
A whirlwind kicked up in my chest.