Chapter 25
Grayson
The second we get home, Penelope is demanding pizza and a movie night with her entire chest.
“Are we gonna make the pizza?” she asks the second we’re in the kitchen.
I drop the keys on the counter. “We're going to assemble the pizza. No one is making dough from scratch on a Sunday night.”
Penelope pouts like I’ve insulted her personally.
Carly laughs, already reaching for the bag we brought in from the car to start pulling out the ingredients.
That is how I end up in my own kitchen with flour on the counter anyway because Penelope insisted it made it feel like we'd made the dough, a bottle of sauce open, shredded cheese everywhere, and Carly standing at the island beside Penny's step stool, helping Pen sprinkle pepperoni on one side like it’s a serious artistic project.
“No, squirt,” Carly says, laughing. “If you put all of them in a pile, your dad’s going to end up with a single slice of heavily-pepperonied pizza and seven slices of cheese.”
Penelope dissolves into giggles.
I lean against the counter with a beer and watch them. “Don’t ruin pepperoni for me.”
Carly glances at me over Penelope's head, grinning softly, her hair tucked behind her ear and flour on her face. “You’ll survive.”
The way she's looking at me shouldn’t hit me the way it does. But it does anyway.
We eat in the living room because Penelope decides the coffee table is better for movie night, but we all have to sit on the floor at her request. At one point, I reach for another slice of pizza and Penelope squints at me from across the box.
Then she points.
“Daddy, what happened to your neck?”
I choke on my bite so violently that I have to grab my beer.
Across from me, Carly freezes.
I know exactly which mark Penelope spotted because I saw the damn thing in the mirror before we left the resort. Most of the others are covered. That one must have slipped above my collar.
Penelope climbs onto her knees for a better look. “That red spot.”
I swallow, clear my throat, and glance at Carly.
Big mistake.
She’s trying so hard not to react that it makes it worse. Her eyes have gone wide, her hand covering her mouth, guilt and amusement flickering across her face.
I drag my gaze back to Penelope. “Ski pole.”
She blinks. “What?”
“I fell skiing,” I say smoothly, because I have no other choice now but to fully commit to this humiliation. “Poked myself in the neck with one of the poles.”
Penelope’s face crumples with concern. “Did it hurt?”
I grin at her. “Only my pride.”
She nods solemnly, then goes right back to eating like she didn’t just age me five years with stress alone.
After that, she decides the movie cannot possibly happen without a pillow fort. A proper one, at that. She wants a huge one, with blankets and pillows and for it to overhang like she saw in a show she watched, something we can all snuggle down into.
So we build one.
Or, more accurately, Penelope issues commands while Carly and I do the actual labor.
Dining chairs get hauled in. Blankets get draped and tucked, and couch cushions become structural supports.
I haul in a handful of the deck chair's cushions to sit on.
At one point, Carly is standing on the rug holding up one end of a throw blanket while I try to anchor the other side over a lamp and Penelope keeps saying, “No, not like that,” with the authority of a tiny architect.
By the time we’re done, the fort is ridiculous. Too big in some spots, sagging in others, but Penelope is ecstatic, which apparently makes it perfect.
She drags all the leftover blankets and throws pillows into the middle and climbs in. “Movie time.”
I kill the lights, start the movie, and crawl in after them. Penelope immediately makes another executive decision.
“I want Carly.”
I pause halfway down onto one elbow. “Excuse me?”
“For snuggles,” she says, like I’m the unreasonable one here. “You’re too big.”
Carly laughs softly beside me. “That is kind of true.”
“Wow.” I settle onto the floor anyway, stretching my legs out under the blankets. “Good to know where I stand.”
Penelope is already curled into Carly’s side, one little arm slung across her middle like she’s claimed her.
Carly so easily accepts it. She tucks the blanket around Penelope, smooths her hair back, presses a kiss to the top of her head so absentmindedly it feels like something private I shouldn’t be watching.
Except I can’t stop watching.
The movie plays. It's some new animated one from Disney that I vaguely recognize from posters. Penelope makes it maybe thirty minutes before she starts fading, her blinks slower and slower, her body going heavy where it’s tucked into Carly.
Carly looks over at me once, like she knows I’m staring.
I don't bother looking away, even though I know I should.
My daughter is asleep against her and Carly's expression has gone soft in the dim light from the TV, one hand resting on Pen's back, her fingers moving in slow little circles like it's second nature.
And I know, without a doubt, that I am in so much fucking trouble.
This is what I was trying not to let happen.
More than the sex, more than the attraction, this was what I was worried about. Because I want to keep looking, want this exact picture burned into my head forever, want more if it.
She's so good with her.
When the movie takes a dramatically cringy turn, I check if Penny is definitely asleep before switching the movie off. Carly carefully shifts, and Penelope stirs but doesn’t wake, just mumbles something into Carly’s shirt and nestles deeper.
“I'll take her to bed,” I whisper, already carefully trying to sit up without knocking down the fort.
Carly shakes her head. “It’s okay. I've got it.” She sits up slowly and gathers Penelope into her arms, and my daughter barely notices, limp and trusting and fully asleep as Carly slips out of the fort without her waking. She stands, and Penny's head shifts to her shoulder like it belongs there.
It's too easy.
I follow them upstairs a step behind, every instinct in me going strange and quiet.
Carly carries Pen to her room, bends, and lays her down with so much care it almost hurts to watch. She tucks the blanket up under her chin, brushes the hair off her forehead, and waits a second just to make sure she stays asleep.
From the doorway, I say nothing. I don’t trust what might come out if I do.
Carly turns, meeting my eyes in the low glow of the night-light and the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling and walls.
And all at once I know I’m losing this fight.
Fast.