Chapter 3
Cooper had lost his crayons, and now they were running late.
Normally, this would send Danika into a frenzy—blood heating up, shoulders pinching—but with Chat on her side, everything
came easier. As the clock ticked to noon, Danika even laughed aloud as Chat dropped to the ground in a push-up, searching
under the bed.
“You said you had them last night?” His voice was half muffled by the carpet.
“Yes, right before bed, like I said,” Cooper whined. He stood over Chat while itching the last of the scab on his cheek. Thankfully,
it wouldn’t scar.
Chat popped up—he was undeniably athletic—and shrugged his shoulders.
“Did you go in the Big Room?”
Cooper said no. Chat had learned by now that Cooper was reliable, particular, and, like Danika, had a sharp memory. He didn’t
waste his time rushing to the Big Room, the massive greenhouse that held their toys. He ran one hand through his thick black
hair.
“It’s okay, Coop.” Danika stepped inside the doorframe with Max on her hip. “I’m sure you can borrow some today, and we’ll
get you a new set for tomorrow, okay?”
Cooper’s face twisted in irritation. It was Monday, the start of his second week at art camp, and they’d all heard about how he had to draw five pages a day to finish his fairy-tale books on time.
The exact right colors so everything would match: “Pool Float” and “Pizza Crust” and “Dandelion.” Last week, Cooper and Chat had made a game naming their own colors.
Chat caught Danika’s eye from across the room. She could hear both their silent wishes, a held breath between them.
Cooper was kind but headstrong. Determined and meticulous. He knew all the words to every Selena Gomez hit. He was quick to
tell you if you’d miscounted your spaces in Candy Land. He refused to wear mismatching colors. It frustrated Bill, the way
he was always “on edge,” but Danika admired Cooper’s attention to detail. Bill wouldn’t admit he was also high-strung. Max,
on the other hand, was a ball of goofy sweetness.
Cooper huffed and picked up his backpack. “Fine. I’ll do the outlines today. Let’s go.”
Chat and Cooper moved in a flurry from there: whipping down the wide white stairs and through the expansive, marbled kitchen;
disappearing into the cedar mudroom. Danika followed, adjusting Max against her body.
“Okay, so. I’ll be back in thirty, I’ll take Max, and you’ll be home from work by five?” Chat asked.
Danika smiled—she was smiling so much lately, it embarrassed her—and set Max down on the ground between them. As she stood,
she suddenly worried she’d flashed Chat a full view of cleavage via her loose linen shirt, but he didn’t react.
“Right, exactly.” Secretly, she reveled in the question—in the way he saw her as a working mom, as someone who’d be home from
work by five. It was one more reminder: This summer would be different.
It also helped that Bill was surprisingly at ease with Chat around, especially after they’d played eighteen holes together and Bill confirmed Chat was an exceptional golfer.
“That’s some goddamn short game,” he’d said as they walked into the kitchen one afternoon, sweaty and sunburned from a long day on the course. How odd it was, seeing them together.
In fact, everything with Chat was going so well, Danika was relieved to know she’d made the right decision by hiring him.
She’d felt even more relieved when, after that happy hour, she’d again asked Chat if he knew anyone in the town, and he’d
assured her he did not.
Still, Danika knew the real reason she felt better about this summer: She was finally going back to work. While Bill had been
supportive of her career at first, since kids, he’d wanted her home. His parents, who’d moved to South Carolina to be closer
to his sister, were as old-school as they come. Each time they visited Hilton Head, Danika was jarred by their southern country
club. It was a whole new level—stricter dress codes, faker faces, more pearls.
Danika had been okay with staying home at first, so wrapped up in her dream of having a family, but, especially during the
pandemic, she struggled. She’d never been overly social, but after being alone day in and day out, she’d started to feel,
well, alone. At least before, the Club had forced her to interact with people. She began to spiral, questioning her choices and self-worth.
As a result, she’d told Bill that once life resumed, she wanted to set up an LLC. “But what’s the point?” he’d said. She was
already working hard. The boys were a handful.
This had been the impetus of their distance.
While they’d always led separate lives, in the past few years, they’d splintered.
They barely spoke unless it was about the boys.
They slept on separate floors. Danika resented Bill, yet, at the same time, she missed him.
So, she was ecstatic when, out of nowhere, he approached her about designing the model home for his new housing development, Briar Ridge.
She viewed the invitation as an olive branch—a sign he missed her, too.
Her return to work had been the reason for the nanny in the first place. And while she could not have predicted Chat’s sudden,
remarkable appearance in their lives, she now felt it was kismet. It had been a long time since she believed in such things—fate
and destiny, greater powers and all that—but hell, maybe it was time. Life felt better. She felt better. Maybe by the end of this summer, she would feel happy again—because she should, shouldn’t she? Despite everything,
she’d gotten what she wanted. Right?
Briar Ridge was about twenty minutes west and flanked by farmland, but as Bill explained, it was still close to enough golf
courses, lakes, and the Cities to be appealing—especially to Minnesota’s upper middle class. Plus, buying it right before
COVID, when people started fleeing for the suburbs, was only working in his favor.
Danika grew nervous as she got ready. She reminded herself that she was qualified.
Even when studying interior design, she knew you could not teach taste.
Taste was what she and Bill had most in common.
They both loved their home—their mansion of sleek hygge, Scandinavian meets quiet luxury.
It was sprawling, modern but soft, filled with white and gray hues and subtle pops of color: dark blue Lafco candles, pale pink geometric prints, waxy green monsteras and silvery eucalyptus.
The ceilings were high, crisscrossed with natural wooden beams and skylights, and the whole first floor was wide open, filled with teak tables and Eames chairs and hallways that felt like rooms themselves.
She loved all the other spaces, too: the basement with its double-sided fireplace and wraparound couch; the greenhouse playroom that showcased the sky; the massive outdoor patio and pool, surrounded by stones and stainless-steel barbecues.
Her bedroom was heaven on earth, a wash of creamy textures and perfectly balanced light.
The whole house had an air of effortless elegance, sophisticated charm.
She took a moment to appreciate it, staring out at the glimmering kitchen, up through the skylights, soaking in everything she had worked for, everything she had pieced together.
Aside from her children, her house was her pride and joy.
Finally, Danika registered the time, picked up Max and his board books, and headed to her closet. Outfit ideas had been playing
in her mind, but as she stepped inside the massive, twinkling space, she paced back and forth. She knew she had too many clothes,
but Danika had an exceptional memory, and each piece plunged her back to the moment she’d bought it or worn it. It was exhausting
the way so many details were painful portals to the past. Nail polish, bonfires, black dresses, BLTs. While you could always
work to remember something, you could not make yourself forget.
Now, as her hands moved across the hangers, she paused on a cap-sleeved dress, the one she’d been wearing the day she met
Bill. She’d been twenty-four at the time, and she had followed an entry-level design job to Chicago, where, one sweltering
afternoon, she stepped into an elevator with a thirty-two-year-old Bill. She remembered the moment clearly: how after admiring
each other in the elevator’s 360-degree mirrors, as the doors pinged open to the ninth floor of his office building, he’d
turned to face her, introduced himself.
By that evening, they were eating steaks at Carmine’s.
By that night, they were fucking in his room in the Waldorf.
And by that morning, after waking to Bill staring at her, he’d told her she was exquisite, an old soul, like him.
He’d asked her to marry him. She’d batted the proposal away at first, but the more she thought about it, the more it felt right: They both wanted to settle down to start a family; Bill was a catch.
Of course, they didn’t really know each other. And there was no way she could tell him she’d been married before—his family
would not approve. Bill himself would not approve. Instead, Danika promised herself to simply start over. Six months later,
she was standing beneath the stained-glass windows of the Basilica of Saint Mary, the refracted light like spilled sea glass
across the floor.
By the time Bill directed them to Aldon Lakes, there was no turning back.
Danika eventually decided on a navy dress. It was professional yet casual. Elevated yet approachable. She wore the diamond
studs Bill had given her, along with the amber pendant necklace she wore every day. She knew she looked nice, but staring
into the mirror while she twisted her hair, Danika frowned, her lips curving down around the bobby pins. Recently, she’d started
to notice the first real lines and spots of age in her face. She knew it was inevitable, and that there were ways to slow