Chapter 48
Pinky Promises
Maliyah
I watched Reed from the doorway as he sat with my kids on the couch, Bluey’s bright colors dancing across their faces.
The morning light filtered through the window, catching the way Zoe leaned unconsciously toward him while pointing out every detail about Bingo’s antics.
Lucas stayed curled in his corner, but I noticed how his notebook had migrated from death grip to resting loosely on his lap.
“Muffin!” Zoe exclaimed, bouncing slightly. “She’s so much fun—well, even though she’s kinda mean—but she’s not really. You know? Because she just doesn’t know how to play nice sometimes.”
Reed held back a smile, responding, “I think we all sometimes forget how to play nice. It’s good when we have people to remind us,” Reed said, looking over at me.
Our eyes locked for a moment before he focused back on the TV.
That’s when I caught the careful way he kept his hands visible, movements slow and predictable.
He was trying so hard not to spook Lucas.
“Mom says that about me sometimes,” Lucas admitted quietly, then looked mortified that he’d volunteered information.
Reed turned slightly toward him, not enough to crowd, just enough to show interest. “Yeah? Me too. My partner, John tells me I need to work on my people skills all the time.”
“Do you?” Lucas asked, curiosity winning over caution.
“Probably. Well, maybe more than probably.” Reed’s honesty made Lucas’s mouth twitch—almost a smile. “Especially when I’m nervous. Like right now.”
Zoe's mouth formed a perfect O, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline as she tilted her head back to look at Reed. Her small hand reached out, patting his forearm twice like she was the adult comforting him. "You're nervous?" Her voice lilted upward, soft and wondering. "Why?"
Reed glanced at me briefly before answering. He rubbed his palms against his jeans, leaving creases in the denim as he moved his hands back and forth. “Because I really want you guys to like me again, and sometimes when you want something really badly, it makes you nervous.”
The raw truth of it hung in the air. Lucas studied Reed with that too-serious expression, processing this admission from an adult who wasn’t pretending to have it all together.
“I’m nervous too,” Lucas said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Reed's voice dropped to match Lucas's whisper.
"That's okay." His eyes crinkled at the corners.
"We can be nervous together." He extended his fist across the cushion between them, holding it steady in the air.
Lucas stared at it, his small fingers curling into a loose ball.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three.
Then Lucas's knuckles brushed against Reed's—a butterfly touch—before his hand retreated to the safety of his lap, and his eyes darted to me before shooting over to the TV.
Something tightened in my chest watching them—this careful dance of reconnection. Reed wasn’t pushing, wasn’t trying to be Super Fun Guy or begging for forgiveness. He was just... present. Real. Nervous.
Lucas looked over at Reed again, asking, "Are you and mom like back together?"
My breath caught, wanting to run over and interject, but before I could do or say anything, Reed led the way.
“Friends. We’re just friends right now.” His eyes stayed locked on Lucas's, unwavering but gentle. "Is that..." The words hung in the air between them as Reed cleared his throat. "Is that okay with you?"
Lucas's fingers drummed against his notebook, one-two-three, one-two-three, while the cartoon played on unnoticed. The air in the room seemed to thicken. Finally, his small shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. "Yeah. I think so."
I could swear that a collective sigh shuddered through the room.
Time ticked by, moments feeling like lifetimes.
Part of me wanted to rush forward and hug Lucas for his bravery, while another part wanted to grab Reed by the collar and drag him outside to warn him not to hurt my son again.
I'd never been in this position before—torn between hope and terror, between wanting this man in our lives and fearing what would happen if he left again.
My hands trembled slightly as I gripped the doorframe, anchoring myself against the storm of contradictions raging inside me.
“Breakfast should be ready,” I said softly, not wanting to break the spell or shout my uncertainties. What I did know though is that, in this moment, we needed to move forward. “Who’s hungry?”
“Me!” Zoe jumped up immediately. “Can I show Reed how you taught me to set the table?”
“Sure, baby.”
She grabbed Reed's hand without hesitation, her small fingers wrapping around just two of his, tugging him toward the kitchen with the determined strength only a child can muster.
"You can sit in this chair here today," she announced, patting the back of a wooden chair.
"That's where Aunt Felicity sits now that we moved all our chairs around since I get to sit in the regular chair instead of a booster one.
" Her chest puffed with pride as she straightened to her full height, chin tilted upward. "It's super cool, you know."
Lucas followed more slowly, following me closely, then pouring milk for himself and his sister.
In the kitchen, I’d pulled out our everyday, indestructible kid-friendly dishes—nothing special.
Reed helped Zoe carry the plates over and the various bags of food while I brought over the eggs, bacon and some fruit.
With this breakfast, I’d be a miracle worker to get my kids to eat anything that wasn’t a carb given what Reed brought with him today.
“As you can see, I brought options,” Reed said, unpacking the bags and putting the pastries on a large plate I’d put out. “Wasn’t sure what everyone wanted.”
Lucas's eyes locked onto the bear claw pastry, his hand hovering in mid-air. He glanced at me, eyebrows raised in silent question, his fingers twitching with anticipation. When I nodded, he plucked it from the plate with deliberate care, turning it slowly between his fingers.
“This is actually cool—it looks like a real bear’s paw,” he admitted.
I rolled my eyes. "That's about seventy-five grams of pure sugar and a guaranteed afternoon crash waiting to happen," I muttered, but couldn't help smiling at Lucas's careful examination of his treasure.
“And here’s yours, Princess Zoe.” Reed presented the flower-shaped pastry with its fresh strawberries arranged like petals.
“It’s beautiful!” She clapped her hands. “Like in my fairy book!”
I served the eggs and bacon I’d kept warm, adding fruit to each plate because someone needed to be the responsible adult here. Reed caught my eye and mouthed “thank you” over the kids’ heads.
For a few minutes, we just ate. The kids’ usual morning chatter filled the space—Zoe narrating every bite, Lucas quietly dissecting his pastry working outside inward—I knew he was saving the most gooey parts for last. Normal. Easy. Like Reed had always been at our breakfast table.
“So,” Lucas said suddenly, setting down his fork with determination. “Can I do my interview now?”
Reed wiped his hands on his napkin, giving Lucas his full attention. “I’m ready when you are.”
Lucas flipped open his notebook, revealing pages covered in his careful handwriting. My heart clenched seeing how much thought he’d put into this.
“First question,” Lucas read, adjusting his glasses. “Why did you leave?”
Oh, fuck. Did not see that coming! My kid went straight for the jugular. That’s my boy.
Reed didn't flinch. His shoulders squared as he met Lucas's gaze directly. "I was stupid. I got scared," he said, fingers tightening around his coffee mug until his knuckles whitened.
Lucas made a note, the pencil scratching against paper. "Were you scared of us?"
"No." Reed leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You know my job?"
Lucas nodded, eyes never leaving Reed's face.
"When I was a kid, my dad was a cop too." Reed's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I wasn’t much older than you when he got hurt on the job and didn’t come home to us.”
“Oh. That sucks,” his response was quiet—almost in awe with this news.
Reed's voice dropped to a rasp. "Yeah, buddy, it did." He rubbed his thumb over a small scar on his wrist. “And once I started to get really close to you guys, I got scared about something like that happening to me—of hurting you guys because of it.”
"Oh," Lucas said again, his small fingers fidgeting with the spiral binding of his notebook.
“But you hurt us anyway,” Lucas's voice dropped so low I had to lean forward to catch the words. “By leaving.”
“Yes,” Reed agreed. “I did. And I’m so sorry for that, Lucas.
Running away hurt everyone, including me.
It was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.
" Reed paused, looking at me for a moment. His eyes bore into mine, "I thought of you guys every day. Not one day went by when you three weren’t on my mind.”
Lucas twisted his pencil between his fingers, the eraser tapping against his notebook in an uneven rhythm. Zoe sat frozen, eyes wide, darting between Reed and her brother until—a flash of movement—her small hand shot out and snatched a chocolate donut from the pile. My girl knew her priorities.
I reached over, pressed my lips to her temple where a wisp of hair had escaped her ponytail, and sliced the donut in half with the side of my fork.
I whispered in her ear, "Half, my love. You’ve had a lot of sugar.
" I laid my head on top of hers, absorbing the moment while already anticipating the afternoon crash of managing two sugar-wired children and my own frayed nerves.
Her bottom lip jutted forward as she reached for the donut half I’d left on her plate. "Awwwww, darn." Chocolate frosting smeared across her fingertips as she gripped it, her tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth in concentration—likely deciding how to make it last as long as she could.
“Do you still like my mom?” Lucas’s voice pulled my attention back to the conversation at hand.
I brought my coffee mug up to my mouth, taking a sip, I stood up straight behind Zoe’s chair, just watching the show.
Reed’s eyes found mine across the table again. “Yes,” he said, still looking at me. “More than anything.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, but I couldn’t look away from the certainty in his expression.
“Okay.” Lucas made another note. “Do you want to be our dad?”
“Lucas—” I started, but Reed held up a hand.
“Wait.” He looked at me, “Is it okay if I answer?”
I hesitated, nervous. His eyes were steady and he seemed to really want to respond to Lucas’s question. I looked over at my kid, who seemed to really need to hear Reed’s response.
At my quick nod, Reed focused back on my son, giving him the respect of a real answer.
“I want to be whatever you and Zoe will let me be—whatever you need me to be. If that’s just a friend who comes around to hang out, then that’s okay.
If it’s more than that someday, I’d be honored to be more than your mom’s friend—more than your friend.
But that’s not just my choice—it’s yours, and Zoe’s, and your mom’s too. ”
Lucas considered this, tapping his pencil against the notebook. “You won’t leave again?”
“I won’t leave again,” Reed said firmly. “Never again, if I can help it. Even when things get hard or scary, I’ll stay and work through it.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Pinky promise?” Zoe piped up, extending her tiny finger between them.
Reed's large finger curled around Zoe's tiny chocolate-smeared one, leaving a faint brown smudge on his skin. His eyes never left hers as he gave their joined pinkies a gentle shake that made her giggle. "Sealed," he whispered loudly, like they were sharing a not-so-secret-secret.
Lucas watched this exchange, then slowly, deliberately, offered his own pinky. Reed linked it with his free hand, and for a moment they stayed like that—connected by the most sacred of childhood vows.
“Okay,” Lucas said, closing his notebook. “You can be our friend…for now.”
Reed beamed like it was Christmas morning. “Thanks, buddy. I won’t let you regret it.”
“Okay. I have more questions, but I need to think about them first, and I still need to interview you for my project.”
“Take all the time you need,” Reed said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Lucas nodded and focused on his breakfast, but he kept sneaking glances at Reed when he thought no one was looking. The walls weren’t down, not completely, but there were cracks now. Places where light could get in.
“Can we play a game after breakfast?” Zoe asked, strawberry juice on her chin. “All together?”
“What kind of game?” Reed asked, napkin already in hand to wipe her face.
She grinned. “Candy Land! I always win.”
“She cheats,” Lucas stage-whispered.
“I do not!”
“You do too! You always peek!”
“That’s not cheating!” Zoe protested.
Reed laughed—a real, genuine sound that filled my kitchen. “Well, I’ve never played. Someone will have to teach me.”
As the kids dissolved into their familiar bickering, Reed helped clear plates without being asked. Our hands brushed as we both reached for Lucas’s cup, and he caught my fingers briefly, squeezing gently.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For this chance.”
I squeezed back before letting go. “Friends, Reed. Don’t waste it.”
“I won’t.”
And watching him gently referee my children's debate about Candy Land rules while loading the dishwasher, treating their passionate debate about Queen Frostine with complete seriousness, I started to believe him.
Maybe second chances could work. Maybe broken things could be rebuilt stronger. Maybe trust could be rebuilt.
The morning sun painted golden stripes across my kitchen floor, and Reed Morrison was teaching my daughter the proper way to shuffle the cards while my son watched.
It wasn’t perfect. We had work to do—conversations to finish.
But this was joy. The laughter echoing through the apartment helped me see that sometimes, this kind of joy was worth a thousand words. Actually, it was priceless.