Chapter 3
Theo
October sun pours through the windshield as I navigate downtown Dark River.
Sunday morning traffic is basically nonexistent except for the usual crowd of early risers clustered around the farmers market on the east side of town, setting up stalls of pumpkins and late-season tomatoes and those apple cider donuts that Chloe goes crazy for.
She’s been chattering nonstop since we left the house fifteen minutes ago, and I love these drives with her. Just the two of us, the radio playing quietly in the background, her filling every available silence with whatever’s bouncing around in that brain of hers.
“And Madison’s mom said we can make friendship bracelets,” Chloe says from the backseat.
I can see her in the rearview mirror, backpack clutched on her lap, already mentally at the playdate.
“I’m not even sure who I’m more excited to see.
Madison or her new puppy, Biscuit. He’s so cute, Daddy.
He has these little floppy ears. I bet Laila would really like him. ”
“I bet she would,” I say. “Laila’s never met anyone she didn’t immediately love.”
Laila was my mother’s golden retriever, and when Mom passed, my now sister-in-law Maren adopted her. But we take her often on weekends since Chloe is so attached. Me too, if I’m being honest. The dog is the biggest goofball on the planet.
“Remember when Laila tried to play with the Christmas reindeer decoration at Uncle Calvin’s house last year?” Chloe giggles, the sound bright in the small space of the car. “She kept trying to get it to chase her around the yard.”
“I do remember that.” Laila had been absolutely convinced the plastic reindeer was a new friend. “She wouldn’t give up. Kept bringing it her tennis ball like that was going to convince it to play.”
“Because Laila’s determined. Like me.” She kicks her feet against the back of my seat in that happy rhythm she does when she’s excited.
“That’s very true.”
The light changes and I pull through the intersection, turning onto Pine Street where the houses get bigger and the yards deeper. Part of me wishes we could get a dog of our own, but between the restaurant and single parenting, I don’t have the bandwidth.
Plus we have our cat Nala, who tolerates Laila’s visits with the resignation of royalty dealing with an overly enthusiastic subject. Though I have caught them napping together, so I suspect Nala is secretly fond of Laila.
“Madison said we’re having pizza for dinner,” Chloe says. “Her dad just got an outdoor pizza oven and he’s been practicing all week.”
“Yeah? What kind of oven?” I’m genuinely interested because I’ve been considering one for the backyard. Alex loves the idea—says we could test pizza concepts at home before bringing them to Harbor & Ash.
“I don’t know,” Chloe says. “But Madison said he burned the first three pizzas and they had to order takeout.”
I laugh. “I’ll have to ask him about it when I pick you up. Maybe get some tips on what not to do.”
“I hope he makes one with prosciutto,” she says, a little wistful. “But it’ll probably just be pepperoni.”
“Pepperoni’s good too,” I say, suppressing a smile because I know where this is going.
She sighs dramatically, like I’ve just suggested something deeply disappointing. “I mean, it’s fine and I won’t say anything. But if we had a pizza oven, I think I’d have prosciutto every night.”
“Every night might be a bit much. Even for something as good as prosciutto.”
“Hmm. Every other night then,” she concedes.
I’ve tried hard not to spoil her, but growing up around the restaurant has given Chloe a palate most seven-year-olds don’t have.
By four she’d tried octopus and bone marrow, and her go-to breakfast was goat cheese frittata with arugula.
For her sixth birthday she requested Alex’s wild mushroom risotto and his dark chocolate torte with sea salt for dessert.
Thankfully, she’s a great kid and not snobby about it.
“You know what’s funny?” Chloe says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Miss Hayes’s favorite pizza is prosciutto too. I asked her at our class pizza party last week. We like all the same foods. Isn’t that so cool?”
“That is cool.” She’s been talking about Miss Hayes constantly since school started, which is good. Last year she barely mentioned Mrs. Patterson. The only problem is now that I’ve met Emma, all of Chloe’s constant mentions mean I can’t stop thinking about her either.
“She also likes the same gummy fish candy I do,” Chloe continues, completely oblivious to my internal struggle.
“She said her grandma was Swedish, I think, and used to give them to her when she was little. And she does the best funny voices during story time. Yesterday she did this really high squeaky one for the mouse and everyone was laughing so hard.”
“Sounds like she makes it fun,” I say, trying to focus on the road.
“And she never gets mad when people make mistakes.” She kicks her feet in that happy rhythm again. “She just helps them fix it.”
“I’m glad, sweetheart. Having a good teacher makes a big difference.”
And she does seem like a good teacher. Engaged, creative, clearly cares about the kids.
The problem is that she’s also attractive in a way I have no business noticing.
The age gap alone would be enough to make this inappropriate, but she’s also Chloe’s teacher.
The whole thing makes me feel vaguely creepy for even registering it.
It’s just one of those random attractions that doesn’t mean anything. It’ll fade. She’s definitely not interested, I’m definitely not pursuing it, and in a few weeks I probably won’t even remember I thought about it.
When I pull up to Madison’s house, Madison’s mom is already outside, crouched near the flower beds with gardening gloves on. She stands when she sees us, brushing dirt off her knees, and waves. Madison comes bursting out the front door before I’ve even shifted into park, blonde pigtails flying.
I get out and walk around to help with the backpack, though Chloe’s already unbuckling herself and practically launching out of the car.
“Hey, Theo,” Kimberly calls, pulling off her gloves as she walks over. “Thanks for drop-off. We’re planning pizza for dinner, then figured we’d let them have their girl time for a bit after that.”
“Sounds perfect.” I reach into the backseat for Chloe’s backpack and hand it to her. She slings it over one shoulder. “Be good, sweetheart. Listen to Madison’s mom, okay?”
“I will! Love you, Daddy!” She throws her arms around my waist for a half-second hug, then breaks away and runs toward Madison. Both of them immediately start talking over each other about the puppy and friendship bracelets.
“Love you too,” I call after her, but she’s already disappeared inside.
“I’ll text you when they’re winding down,” Kimberly says. “Probably around eight or so.”
“Perfect. Thanks again for having her.”
“Anytime. These two are inseparable.” She laughs and heads back toward her flower beds.
I climb back into the car and I’m about to pull away when my phone buzzes in the cupholder. A text from Danny, my property manager.
Danny: Hey man, got an emergency at my place. Pipe burst in the main bathroom. Plumbers are here now and it’s a total disaster. Any chance you can cover the 10 AM showing at the studio?
Me: Sorry to hear that. Of course. Go deal with your pipes. I’ve got the showing covered.
Danny: You’re a lifesaver. I’ll get you the applicant info as soon as I can get to my laptop.
I set the phone back down and pull away from the curb.
Danny handles most of the property management for the studio apartment I rent out, and he’s good at his job.
He posted the listing three days ago and has been fielding applications since.
I trust him to handle things while I deal with the restaurant and Chloe’s ever-expanding activity schedule.
The drive downtown takes about fifteen minutes, winding through residential streets before hitting the cluster of shops and cafes that make up Dark River’s heart.
I turn onto the street and the building appears—three stories of brick that’s been there since the 1920s.
Ruth’s framing shop occupies the ground floor, my unit sits on the second, and Mr. Castellano lives on the third.
I pull into the small parking lot behind the building and park off to the side, leaving the designated tenant space empty.
The October air is cool when I get out, carrying that particular smell of rain coming off the Sound mixed with fallen leaves and woodsmoke from someone’s chimney.
I head for the side entrance and climb the narrow staircase to the second floor.
The studio smells faintly like lemon cleaning products when I unlock the door and step inside, which means Danny’s cleaning service came through yesterday.
Morning light floods through the south-facing windows, warming the hardwood floors and bouncing off the white walls.
The space looks good. Clean. Empty. Ready for someone new.
I run through the mental checklist Danny usually handles, but part of me really doesn’t love being here.
I bought this place when I was twenty-three, young and optimistic and convinced that real estate was the smartest investment I could make.
That owning property was what responsible adults did.
Victoria and I lived here for four years while I got Harbor & Ash off the ground with Alex.
The restaurant consumed everything in those early years.
Eighty-hour weeks, maxed-out credit cards, constant stress.
Victoria was in graduate school so we barely saw each other.