Chapter 8
Laiken
By eight-forty-five Sunday morning, the penthouse has been cleaned from top to bottom.
If you asked why it felt necessary, I wouldn’t be able to give you a good answer.
Kia is coming here to watch my kid, not run a white-glove inspection.
But somewhere between getting Elody dressed, packing away the mountain of toys in the living room, and wiping the kitchen counters down twice, I realized I was moving with the same jittery focus I get before a playoff game.
Which doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.
I stack Elody’s crayons into a little plastic bin before sliding it onto the shelf. She sits cross-legged on the rug, humming under her breath as she plays with her dolls.
“Kia’s coming,” one doll says in a squeaky falsetto.
“Yeah, Kia’s coming,” the other echoes.
With a shake of my head, I bite back a smile. “You know, I’m not sure I heard you. Who’s coming today?”
She looks up at me with solemn eyes. “Kia. Did you forget, Daddy?”
“How could I? Pretty sure you reminded me a dozen times already.”
A grin spreads across her lips as she goes back to her dolls.
After the coffee machine finishes its cycle with a sputter, I pour a mug, trying to ignore the slight tremor in my hand. This is a practical solution to a very real problem.
I need reliable childcare and Kia needs a job.
That’s all there is to it.
Except, after returning from the park the other day and parting ways in the lobby, the penthouse felt too quiet. Her laugh kept echoing in my head, and I couldn’t stop picturing the steady way she’d rested her hand on Elody’s back.
I take a sip and immediately regret the decision before setting the mug down.
“Daddy?” Elody calls from the living room. “Is she almost here yet?”
“A few more minutes, bug.”
I check the clock on the microwave.
8:56.
Four more minutes.
But who’s counting?
When my phone buzzes on the counter with an incoming text, my shoulders tense expecting it to be Sarah’s parents or my lawyer.
Instead, it’s the front desk.
Carl:
Ms. Van Doren is here.
My stomach knots.
“Is it her?” Elody asks, running into the kitchen.
“Yup.” I clear my throat and type a quick message to send her up. “She’s here.”
Elody races toward the elevator.
“Walk, please,” I call after her. “You have feet. Use them normally.”
The request is ignored in her excitement.
I follow at a slower pace, forcing my expression into something neutral. Something that reflects our professional relationship. Like I didn’t just wipe down the counters for a third time because a stray crumb caught my eye.
The elevator chimes, announcing its arrival, as Elody skids to a halt and the metal doors slide open.
Kia stands on the other side. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and her blonde hair is pulled up in a messy bun.
Much like the other day, she’s wearing jeans and sneakers along with a crossbody bag slung across her chest. There’s a reusable grocery bag held in one hand.
How is it possible she looks more dangerous than the polished women I meet at the Railers’ charity functions?
“Morning,” she says with a shy smile.
I lift a hand, trying to appear casual when I’m feeling anything but. “Hey.”
Elody flings herself at Kia’s legs. “You’re back!”
With a laugh, Kia leans down to hug her. “Told you I would be, silly.”
The simple way she says it burrows beneath my skin. As if she’s already become someone my little girl can count on.
“I brought a few things,” Kia adds, glancing up at me. “I hope that’s okay.”
She lifts the bag. Inside, I glimpse a picture book, a tube of cookie dough, a box of noodles, and a few other things.
“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to bribe her with sweets,” she says quickly. “I just thought we could bake cookies later on.”
The fact that she planned activities for the two of them catches me off guard. As great as Katie was, that never happened.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I manage. “Come on in.”
She toes off her shoes without being asked. Elody chatters nonstop as she drags Kia toward the living room, showing off the toys she was just playing with. I watch them interact for a few seconds—two blonde heads bent together, their hair nearly the exact same shade.
For some reason, that simple sight is all it takes for emotion to surge within me, knocking me off balance with the quiet realization of how easily this young woman fits into my daughter’s world.
I turn toward the kitchen, not allowing myself to linger. “Do you want to see where everything is?” I call out. “Meals and snacks and stuff?”
“Sure.” Kia squeezes Elody’s shoulder. “Give me a moment.”
“Daddy, can we read this later?” Elody asks, already flipping through the book Kia brought with her.
“We’ll do it tonight.” My guess is that we’ll probably read it at least a dozen times.
As soon as Kia joins me in the kitchen, the space seems to shrink around us.
I open cabinets, pointing things out. “These are snacks she can grab on her own. Breakfast stuff is over here. Plates there. She’ll ask for cereal at night.” I glance at her and immediately regret it when I get pulled into her big blue eyes. “Don’t give in,” I add, my voice rougher than before.
Kia smiles. “Are you trying to insinuate she’s a little sugar gremlin?”
I snort. “Basically.”
She listens closely as I run through schedules. “And for dinner? You mentioned staying away from takeout.”
“Once in a while is fine, but it’s more of a treat. Not a weekly occurrence.”
“I can handle that,” she says easily. “If you tell me what you and Elody like, I’ll figure out some recipes.”
My mind blanks because my ex never asked what I wanted for dinner.
“Pasta is always a winner,” I say after a moment. “Veggies if you can hide them.”
“Perfect. I brought stuff for chicken and veggie pasta. If it doesn’t turn out, we’ll order pizza and pretend this never happened.”
The laugh slips free before I can rein it back in. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “We’ll see.”
When I catch myself leaning closer, I retreat a step and force some distance between us. “Dinner’s usually around five-thirty. Bath at seven. Bedtime by eight. And she’ll try to negotiate extra books as if her life depends on it.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle negotiations.”
Oddly enough, I believe her. And that’s a problem. There’s no reason I should. I barely know this woman.
“Come on, Kia!” Elody calls from the hallway.
“Okay, coming!” she answers back before smiling at me. “Is there anything else?”
I shake my head before stuffing my hands into the front pockets of my jeans because I’m not sure what else to do with them. I can’t remember the last time I felt so damn awkward around a woman. “I think that’s it for now. Obviously, if you have any questions, just ask. I’ll be here.”
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out as we go.”
Even after she disappears from the kitchen, the faint citrusy scent of her shampoo continues to linger in the air.
After that, I spend time working in the study, paying bills, and going over the legal documents Mark sent over.
By late afternoon, the penthouse smells like garlic, lemons, and chicken.
I find myself wandering to the living room to check it out before hovering in the shadows and watching from a distance.
It doesn’t take long for me to reluctantly gravitate closer.
Kia cooks with calm focus while Elody helps by narrating everything that’s taking place.
When she doesn’t use oven mitts near the stove to check the noodles, I blurt, “Watch your fingers.”
Her gaze darts to mine as the corners of her lips lift. “I’ve got it.”
I don’t realize I’m on the move until our arms brush as we both reach for a colander in the cabinet at the same time. The little zing of electricity that shoots through me at the slight contact is nothing.
And yet, somehow, it feels like everything.
I look at the table and realize there are only two place settings. “You’re not eating with us?”
“I figured I’d wait until I got back to Oliver’s.”
“That doesn’t seem right. You made dinner, you should eat with us.” I glance at my daughter, knowing exactly what her response will be. “Right, El?”
She dances on the tips of her toes. “Yeah, you need to eat with us!”
Kia turns and stares at me before looking at Elody. The pleading expression on her face is the clincher.
A smile lifts her lips. “Okay, sure.”
I grab another plate from the cabinet and silverware from the drawer. Once the pasta is ready, we sit down. I can only shake my head as I watch my daughter eat. It’s like she’s a feral animal who’s starving half to death.
“It’s so good!” she announces, shoveling another bite into her mouth.
The smile that blooms across Kia’s face is enough to give me pause. It takes effort to force my gaze to my plate and then around the room. Anywhere but the blonde seated across from me.
Once we’re done, Kia picks up a napkin and gently wipes sauce away from Elody’s chin. A lump rises in my throat when my little girl leans toward her, patiently allowing her to do it.
Bedtime turns out to be easier than it’s been in months.
Kia and Elody negotiate four books, two more than usual, and I get the sense that if Elody had begged for six, Kia would have given in.
I linger in the hallway, leaning against the wall, close enough to hear what’s going on but far enough back to give them space.
I tell myself I’m doing what any father would do by monitoring the situation, but after ten minutes, it becomes obvious that Kia is capable of handling my daughter.
When I peek in the room, I find them curled up together on the bed, voices low, turning pages slowly. There’s no rush to get this over with, only patience. I continue keeping my distance, careful not to step any closer than necessary before forcing myself to the living room to wait.
When Kia finally emerges twenty minutes later, Elody’s door clicking shut behind her, the penthouse has settled into an unfamiliar stillness.
The quiet that follows her into the living room feels charged in a way I’m unable to pinpoint, and I become aware of how close we are when she stops a few feet away.
Close enough that I can see all the questions in her eyes.
Close enough to feel the weight of everything I’m deliberately not saying as I stay where I am, holding the distance between us like a line I can’t afford to cross.
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”
She nods. “It’s an arrangement that works for me too.”
I search my brain for something to say as we walk toward the entryway, but nothing comes to mind.
The silence between us feels awkward in a way I’m not used to navigating.
I reach for her coat instead, holding it open as she slips her arms into the sleeves.
My fingers remain at her shoulders a beat too long, the contact brief but charged as I catch another whiff of her faint, delicate scent.
That’s all it takes to remind myself to take a step in retreat. There’s no reason I should want to hold on to this moment. When it comes down to it, I shouldn’t want anything from this woman at all.
As she steps into the elevator, I hear myself say, “Text me when you get back.” Embarrassed, I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans before adding gruffly, “Just so I know you made it home safely.”
I don’t want her thinking there’s anything more to it than that.
She smiles. “I will.”
Once the doors slide shut, the penthouse is plunged into silence. I stand there longer than necessary, breathing in the lingering scent of garlic from dinner and listening to the faint echo of Elody’s laughter that still hangs in the air.
The space feels different now.
Shifted in a way I can’t explain, like something’s been moved without my permission. And I have the sneaking suspicion that it has everything to do with Kia Van Doren.