Chapter 18 #2
“He shouldn’t be teaching you wine snobbery.” He sighs, putting the salt and pepper back on the shelf. “You’re seven. And you’ve got to stop reciting tasting notes in front of guests.”
I can tell he’s fighting a laugh, his jaw tight with the effort of looking stern when he clearly wants to crack up.
Chloe is completely unperturbed. “Relax, Daddy,” she says, and the way she says relax, like she’s a tired sommelier dealing with an anxious customer, nearly makes me spit out my wine.
“I know it’s a grown-up drink. Uncle Alex just talks a lot when he’s making me lunch at the restaurant.
He says it’s important I don’t grow up to have an unsophisticated palate.
” She pauses. “And he also says that knowing what’s good isn’t necessarily snobby. ”
It’s so easy and warm, the three of us falling into a rhythm that feels natural, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
Chloe keeps up a steady stream of conversation while Theo finishes cooking, talking about school and her friends and the book she’s reading about giant squid and the art project she’s been working on.
I listen and ask questions and sneak glances at Theo, who keeps catching my eye and smiling like he’s thinking the same thing I am. This is lovely.
At some point, during a lull while Theo plates the salmon, I turn to Chloe. “You know,” I say to her, keeping my voice light, “I was actually a little nervous about tonight.”
Her face scrunches up. “Why would you be nervous?”
“Well, we’ve never had dinner together like this. At school I’m Miss Hayes, your teacher, and that’s one thing. But this is different. This is me being here with your dad, as his girlfriend, and I wanted to make sure you felt good about that.”
She looks up at me like I’ve said something ridiculous. “You’re like one of my favorite people ever.”
My heart could literally explode. I pull her into a hug before I can stop myself, squeezing her tight, and she giggles and hugs me back. Over her head, I catch Theo watching us from the stove, and the expression on his face—soft and happy and maybe a little bit overwhelmed—makes my eyes sting.
Dinner is so good I have to pace myself to keep from inhaling the entire plate in thirty seconds. The salmon is perfectly cooked, flaky and rich with that citrus glaze Chloe described, and the conversation flows so easily I lose track of time.
I’ve laughed and smiled so much tonight my cheeks actually ache. Chloe bounces between topics with the energy of a kid who’s been waiting weeks to have someone new to talk to, and Theo keeps catching my eye across the table with this look that makes me feel like we’ve been doing this forever.
After dinner, Chloe turns to me with barely contained excitement. “Can I show you my room?” she asks. “Please? I’ve been wanting to show you forever.”
“Are you kidding?” I say. “I would be absolutely thrilled to see your room.”
Chloe grins so wide it looks like it might split her face. She grabs my hand and pulls me out of my chair before I can even fully stand up, tugging me toward the hallway with the singular determination of a child on a mission.
“You go ahead,” Theo says, smiling as he gathers plates. “I’ll clean up.”
“I can help with dishes after,” I offer.
“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “And besides, Chloe’s been planning this room tour for days. I’m not getting in the way of that.”
Chloe is already pulling me down the hall, so I let myself be led. Her room is at the end of the hallway, and she pauses dramatically with her hand on the doorknob.
“Okay,” she says seriously. “This is my sanctuary. That means it’s a special place where I can be myself and think about things and do my art. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready,” I assure her.
She opens the door, and I step inside, and the room is so completely, perfectly Chloe that I find myself smiling before I’ve even fully taken it in.
The walls are painted a soft pink, and there’s an art desk by the window covered in supplies—watercolors and colored pencils and markers and what looks like a half-finished painting of a jellyfish, its tentacles trailing off the edge of the paper in delicate translucent strands.
One entire wall is devoted to ocean life, covered in photographs and posters of every marine creature imaginable, from tiny colorful nudibranchs to massive whale sharks.
And right next to her bed, in pride of place, is a poster of a giant Pacific octopus that’s both slightly terrifying and entirely charming.
And then the rest is all Formula 1. Racing posters everywhere, signed photographs, a small replica car on a shelf, a helmet that looks personalized, and Ferrari t-shirts hanging on the closet door.
“Chloe,” I say, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. “You might be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
Chloe laughs, clearly pleased by this assessment.
“Thanks,” she says. “That’s my Uncle Jack,” gesturing to one of the photos.
It shows a handsome man in a racing suit, helmet under one arm and Chloe in the other, standing at a race track.
Her smile in the photo is wider than I’ve ever seen it, and it might be the cutest thing in the entire world.
“You’ve told me about him,” I say. “He races in Europe, right?”
“He’s the best uncle EVER,” she confirms. “He lets me sit in the actual cars sometimes. And he always brings me presents from whatever country he’s in.”
“And this is Laila,” she continues, pointing to a framed photo of a golden retriever with a goofy, tongue-out smile.
“She’s Uncle Calvin and Aunt Maren’s dog, but kinda our dog too.
She’s the best dog in the world. I’m going to ask Dad for a dog for my birthday.
I want one SO bad, plus then Laila will have another friend. ”
She moves onto showing me her bookshelf next, which is overflowing with marine biology books and a few fantasy novels and what appears to be an encyclopedia of deep-sea creatures that looks way too advanced for a seven-year-old but which Chloe informs me she’s already read twice.
By the time she’s finished, I’m overwhelmed with how much I care about this kid.
She’s funny and smart and passionate and creative, and she’s clearly been raised by someone who encourages all of those things, who takes her interests seriously and helps her learn about the world.
I can see Theo in her so clearly, in her thoughtfulness and her confidence and the way she cares deeply about things.
I can’t believe how lucky I am. Dating a man I’m completely head over heels for, who has the most wonderful child I’ve ever known. I love this kid. I genuinely, truly love her.
Eventually, we head back to the living room for movie night, and Chloe explains the rules.
“Normally me and Dad alternate who gets to pick the movie,” she says, settling onto the couch and patting the cushion next to her for me to sit.
“So one week it’s my turn and one week it’s his turn, and we’re not allowed to complain about each other’s choices.
That’s the most important rule.” She gives me a serious look. “Tonight is my turn.”
“That sounds like a good system,” I say.
“But since you’re here,” Chloe continues, “I want you to pick. Because you’re the guest and guests get special privileges.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” I tell her. “But you should choose. You’ve got good taste.”
Chloe considers this for a moment, her face serious. Then she nods. “Okay,” she says. “Finding Nemo. It’s one of my comfort movies.”
“I love Finding Nemo,” I smile. “That’s an excellent choice.”
Theo settles onto the couch on Chloe’s other side, and she’s sandwiched between us. He starts the movie, the familiar Pixar logo fills the screen, and I let myself sink into the cushions and the moment and the feeling of being exactly where I belong.
Somewhere around the part where Marlin and Dory are navigating the jellyfish forest, Chloe migrates from her spot between us to my lap. Her head rests against my shoulder, her small body warm and relaxed, watching the movie like this is how things have always been.
I feel like my heart might actually burst.
I look over at Theo, and he’s already watching me. His expression is soft in the flickering light of the television. He reaches across and takes my hand, squeezing gently, and I squeeze back, trying to communicate everything I’m feeling without words.
A little while later, I glance down and realize Chloe’s eyes are closed, her breathing slow and even. She’s fast asleep, her small hand curled into the fabric of my sweater like she’s holding on even in her dreams.
I look up at Theo and point down at her, mouthing Oh my god with what I’m sure is the most ridiculous expression on my face. I’m having a full-on cuteness attack. He grins, clearly amused by my reaction.
My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me, and I glance over automatically. Sophie’s name lights up the screen. I tap to read the message, and my stomach drops.
Sophie: Sloane is pushing to remove us from the board entirely. Completely cutting us out because we, and I quote, “don’t care enough and aren’t actually involved.” Like what the hell?? We DO care, no one listens! Call me when you can.
I stare at the screen, reading it again. And again. The words don’t change.
Remove us from the board entirely.
My own sisters. My own family. Trying to cut me and Sophie out of the company our parents built.
The company Mom stayed up late working on when we were kids, the company Dad talked about at every dinner table, the thing they poured everything into because they believed it could help children learn and grow.
And Sloane wants to take it from us because we “don’t care enough”?
I feel slightly sick.
“Everything okay?” Theo whispers.
I look up, forcing a smile, and nod. He gives me a questioning look, clearly not buying it, but I shake my head slightly. Later, the gesture says. Not now.
He accepts this, but I can tell he’s filing it away.
I look back down at Chloe, still curled against me, still holding onto my sweater.
I don’t want to think about my sisters right now.
I don’t want to let that text ruin this moment, this perfect, impossible night where everything feels exactly right.
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the movie still playing softly in the background, Chloe warm and heavy in my arms, even as Sophie’s text lingers in the back of my mind as a reminder that I can’t outrun my past forever.