Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Jenna
Imust say, I’m not used to driving around in New York City by car.
I usually take an Uber or the subway; the streets are so congested that sometimes it feels impossible to get from point A to B.
But it’s three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, and the rush hour traffic hasn’t really kicked in yet, so the drive to the amusement park is manageable.
Livy keeps us entertained the whole way, and I have to admit, I’ve never seen her so animated.
We stand at the ticket counter, and Colton effortlessly buys our tickets at the entrance, which brings back a “Coney Island nostalgia”.
I pivot on my toe, almost spearing a balloon vendor in the shoulder.
But hey, I think I’ve scored some points with her because as soon as her dad paid for the tickets, she suddenly reaches for my hand and my breath catches somewhere beneath my collarbone.
She looks up at me, big eyes, and smiles.
God, she’s sweet. This is sweet.
I used to think I’d be a natural with kids, but after years with Matthew dismissing the idea, I’d started wondering if he was right—maybe I wasn’t cut out for it after all.
Now, feeling Livy’s small hand in mine, I’m caught between a familiar ache and the terrifying possibility that I might actually be good at something Matthew convinced me I wasn’t. Again.
Colton’s eyes narrow on me… ice blue, rimmed in what I recognize as residual exhaustion, not guyliner—though from a distance you might mistake it for that—and he smiles at us, at the way his daughter hops through the park while holding my hand.
I smile back and notice how his biceps flex as he checks the park’s flyer for its attractions.
Damn, why is this so hot? Wrong thought, Jenna. Wrong on so many levels.
The only downside to this is that I’m still in court attire. My heels are not designed for brick walkways, but I press on. Upright and unyielding it is.
Colton follows at my flank, giving me a buffer of precisely eighteen inches.
Livy still holds onto me and honestly, I feel honored.
I should worry about so many more things but the sun is shining, we’re about to eat ice cream and this little girl grins from ear to ear.
I don’t feel guilty at all. We must look very fancy though, him in his navy suit, me in my Louis Vuitton dress that Isla bought me, and Livy in her red shining dress.
“Okay,” I say while we walk, and I check my phone with my free hand.
“Here’s how this is going to work: No running off, Livy.
You stay within arm’s reach of either Colton or me at all times.
We move as a group, at a walking pace. First stop: the ice cream stand.
Second: Ferris wheel and some other things.
Third: return to the courthouse for debrief and handoff. ”
I glance up to see Colton studying my face, expression unreadable.
Then he breaks into a full-hearted laugh.
“Any questions?” I ask.
“So, you… actually schedule fun?” The trace of an accent he usually drowns out seeps through.
“Chaos is fun for some people,” I say. “But not for everyone. Structure gives us room to breathe.” I don’t look at Livy when I say this, but I see her perk up at the mention of breathing.
Colton steps forward, and for half a second, I think he’s going to make a point about the rules or how he’s the parent, but he just nods, lips tight, and gestures for me to lead. “Fine, the ice cream is right this way, Miss.”
A glimmer of amusement dances in his ice-cube eyes, and I can almost hear the words he’s biting back.
If Livy weren’t here, I’m sure he’d be poking fun at my need to schedule everything.
But honestly, it’s not just for kicks; it’s survival.
Without my careful planning, I’m chaos on legs—just like at home.
I picture myself color-coding my chores, creating a rainbow schedule that might make me feel more in control of my dishes and laundry.
But the reality is, when I finally collapse onto my bed after a long day, I just don’t care enough. I’m too exhausted.
“So,” Colton says, as we pass some bumper cars and people with cotton candy. A few people stare a little too long, and only then does it hit me. Oh. I’d almost forgotten he’s famous famous. People know him. Or think they do. “You do this often—spend time with your clients after court?”
Another question like that. I don’t know what he wants to hear. Of course I don’t—but I don’t want him to think he’s special too. “You do know I’m a lawyer, right? I just wanted to finish early, and I thought coming with you might help me get there.”
He hums—a low, Russian thing—and rolls his eyes, but I notice a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. And… you really always have templates for everything? You mentioned you love TV shows. Do you have templates and rules to follow for those too?”
“I do,” I joke. “And sometimes a spreadsheet to match the template.”
“What?!”
“Joke, you idi—” …nope. Not finishing that. I’m not used to being around kids Outside of court I don’t have to keep an eye on my language. I tend to curse a lot. Maybe I should stop that.
Livy tilts her head up at him. “Daddy, what’s a template?”
“It’s a…pattern, zaya.” His voice softens on the last word, which I guess is another Russian word. Which brings to my mind the word his mother called me. Solnyshko. I need to Google it later. “Something that helps you know what comes next.”
“I don’t have a template,” she says.
“You have routines,” he corrects gently. “Remember? Every night, story and music. Always in same order. Our lawyer does this with everything. Food. TV. Clothes.”
Livy looks up at me, her little nose scrunched up in disbelief. “Really?”
I shake my head. “No, your dad loves to exaggerate. I like to plan things so that I don’t forget them. Do you know Dory from Finding Nemo?”
She nods, grinning like she loves that movie as much as I do.
“Without templates, I’m like Dory.”
Livy considers this, then nods, satisfied. “I love Dory. But… ice cream is not a routine, right?”
“No,” Colton agrees easily.
She pouts. “It should be.”
“We can’t have sweets all the time, Livy. It’s not good for our bodies—but sometimes we treat ourselves, okay?”
She rolls her eyes as if discussions about healthy food with her dad are a regular thing. “I want rainbow ice cream!”
Livy doesn’t even look at him anymore, like that entire exchange never happened. But to be fair, the giant rainbow ice cream sign practically screams for attention. I can’t even blame her.
We stop at the stand, and I’m just about to ask Colton what he wants when I notice the vendor go completely pale. His eyes widen; his mouth opens—
“Holy shit, you’re—”
“Colton King!” someone behind him blurts out.
I hear Colton grunt and just like that, it’s over.
It’s like he’s summoned every hockey fan within a five-mile radius.
One second it’s just us, the next, it’s a crowd— people pressing in, voices overlapping, phones out.
Livy and I get pushed aside like we’re part of the background, and Colton is suddenly swallowed whole by strangers.
He looks… not thrilled and I’m afraid he’s going to kill every single one.
“I’ll handle the ice cream!” I quickly call out to him over the noise. “Don’t worry. You just do… whatever… this is.”
He doesn’t argue. He can’t—because he’s buried under a pile of napkins and raised phones, first to sign his name, then to flash a grin at the eager faces surrounding him. God, I don’t envy this life.
I tug Livy along to the next ice cream stand, where a girl behind the counter looks just as done with humanity as I feel. Perfect. A normal person.
“Two, please,” I say. “One fudge, one rainbow.”
A few minutes later, Livy and I are sitting on a bench a safe distance away from the chaos. Livy beams at her ice cream, and before I can warn her—yep—a bright smear lands right on her beautiful dress.
“Wait. Hold on—” I try to fix it with one hand, which is a mistake, because now I’ve managed to get fudge on my own sleeve. That’s why I don’t buy Louis Vuitton.
We both freeze.
Look at the damage.
Then at each other and burst out laughing.
“Well,” I say. “I guess that’s why washing machines exist, right?”
“Right,” she agrees, right before taking another enthusiastic lick.
“Thank you for helping Daddy,” she later adds inbetween licks and I look at her. Really look at her. She doesn’t seem like the same Livy I came to know during our countless emergency meetings. She looks at her dad, angrily signing napkins.
“He is different with you. He laughs. He never does with Mom.”
“I’m glad he does. He has a pretty smile,” I say before I can take it back.
But the little one beams at me. “Yes, he does. I really want to live with him. I hope Mom let’s me.”
“She will,” I say.
“You’re my hero,” she says. “And his too.”
Okay. Don’t cry. Just don’t.
I bite it back. God, I must I be premenstrual. I can’t cry because a little kid says something nice to me. I’m her hero. And suddenly all my career choices make sense again. This is why I chose family law. Not for the bickering parents. Not for the money. To make children happy.
“I prefer frozen yogurt,” Colton says, and suddenly there’s a way too big shade covering us. I look up and watch him stepping in front of us, spoon in hand, like he’s been here the whole time.
“No way,” I shoot back. “Chocolate. Always.”
“Rainbow,” Livy adds loyally, already halfway through hers.
“I can tell,” Colton says with a quiet chuckle. “It’s… kind of everywhere.”
“What?” I sit up straighter, instinctively wiping at my face. “No, it’s not—”
“Hey,” he murmurs, softer now. “Come here, Solnyshko.”
Before I can argue, he pulls a napkin from his pocket and reaches out, brushing it gently along the corner of my mouth. It’s quick, careful. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I go very still.