Now there’s music in it
Chapter nine
Now there’s music in it
Evan
It’s the music I hear first.
A soft, faint pulse that threads through the floorboards and settles somewhere near the back of my skull. I lie still for a second, staring at the ceiling and listening.
Six. It’s always six.
For the past week, six now means music.
I roll onto my side and swing my feet to the floor, pulling a T-shirt over my head as the rhythm carries faintly down the hallway. This is a quieter and more contained version of what happens later once Elle’s up, something that sounds like sunlight even when it’s barely morning.
I step into the hallway and follow the sound toward the kitchen.
I gave Penny a key for the back door the night she moved in, handed it over with a quick explanation about deadbolts and how the latch sticks if you don’t lift the handle first. It was practical.
She needs to have access to the house earlier and later than I do sometimes.
Like right now, when she’s already up and preparing for Elle to wake up.
The kitchen light is on, and when I step through the door, she’s there, barefoot on the tile, hair piled on top of her head in a loose knot that’s already half fallen out.
She has an oversized T-shirt brushing her mid-thigh, where sleep shorts peek out when she reaches up to grab something from the pantry.
She’s moving to the rhythm without thinking about it, moving around my kitchen like she’s been here for years instead of a week. I’m not sure when that started bothering me less than it should.
Fleetwood Mac’s You Make Loving Fun floats softly from the speaker on the counter, and she sings the lyrics under her breath about believing in magic and spells nobody seems ready to break.
There’s coffee already dripping. A lunchbox open on the counter, and a chopping board beside it, covered in sliced strawberries.
I lean against the doorway and don’t announce myself, waiting until she spins toward the fridge and nearly drops the knife when she sees me.
Her lips part, and a soft, relieved laugh leaves her mouth.
“Do you always spy on people in your own kitchen?”
“I live here.”
“So do I,” she shoots back, grinning as she opens the fridge.
She turns back to the counter like I’m not standing there watching her and reaches for a sandwich she’s already prepared. The bread has been shaped with something, and the edges are rounded off, the crust trimmed.
“What’s that supposed to be?”
She holds it up between her fingers, and I notice the two olives pressed in for eyes.
“A penguin,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “First day back deserves special edition sandwiches.”
“It’s school, not a state visit.”
“Yeah well,” Penny sighs with a smile. “She’s five. So she’s getting the royal treatment.”
She slides the sandwich into the lunchbox and reaches for a wooden skewer, piercing grapes and blueberries onto it, followed by the sliced strawberries. There’s a crease between her brows as she focuses, and she chews the inside of her cheek while threading the fruit into place.
The song drifts into the chorus, and she tilts her head slightly, mouthing the words like she’s somewhere else for a second.
“You like Fleetwood Mac?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “My dad did. He used to put this song on in the kitchen on Saturdays and dance with my mom.”
Her voice softens, but she doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, she’s cutting slices of cheese into hearts to add in with the crackers.
“That’s excessive,” I tell her.
“It’s festive.”
“She won’t care.”
“She absolutely will care.”
I watch as she picks a pen up and draws something quickly onto a small piece of paper.
“Jesus, what the hell is that?”
“A penguin doodle and joke. It’s a backup.”
“For?”
“In case she needs some playground diplomacy, or a reminder that she can be brave.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to do all that.”
“I know.” She keeps writing. “I like doing it.”
“You realize she’ll expect it every day, now.”
“So?” Penny glances up. “Five-year-olds need to be brave all the time. Grown-ups have just forgotten how hard it is.”
My brow pulls into a frown, but not because she’s wrong. “Hard how?”
Her expression softens. “New classrooms and loud kids. Missing her dad, or asking to be included… Small things can feel pretty big when you’re little, and it’s hard to pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”
The words land a little too close, and I wonder who has made her think of bravery in that way.
“That’s a lot for one penguin joke.”
Her mouth curves. “Penguins are very emotionally capable.”
She finishes the note and folds it up, tucking it into the side pocket of Elle’s lunch box.
I move further into the kitchen and lean back against the counter, watching her move around. She wipes down the counter without thinking about it, then refills the coffee before it runs dry. Moves the salt back into the exact spot I always leave it.
None of what she’s doing feels performative, she just notices things. What’s empty, or needs replacing, or what might make somebody’s day brighter before they even think to ask.
I used to think that was normal, that if you kept giving enough of yourself to people, eventually they’d meet you there. Turns out some people are happy to keep taking as long as you let them.
Stacey was.
The thought twists ugly in my gut because I know exactly what people do with someone like Penny. They get used to the light and the warmth. The kind who get so used to being taken care of that they stop noticing the person doing it.
And if this is the version of Penny her stepfamily had, and still managed to hurt her, then they were too damn blind to deserve her in the first place.
She hums along with the chorus again, off-key and unbothered. The house used to be quiet at this hour of the morning. I’d get up, make coffee, get Elle dressed and pack her lunch, then get out the door.
Now there’s music in it.
She glances over her shoulder at me, and I look away first. “You’re very judgy for someone who hasn’t contributed to any kitchen dance parties yet.”
“I’m not dancing.”
She takes a gulp of her coffee. “You shifted your weight from one foot to the other yesterday.”
“That was a balance thing. Checking my reflexes. Very important for what I do.”
Her mouth curves. “Still counts.”
The song shifts into the chorus again, and she moves without thinking, her bare feet sliding over the tile and a hip knocking lightly against the counter. I push off the counter and reach for my own mug, trying my hardest to avoid watching her.
Thankfully, right on cue, there’s a thud down the hallway. A door creaks open, then small feet pad across carpet.
Penny’s eyes light up before Elle even appears. “Showtime.”
Elle shuffles into the kitchen, her hair a little wild and one pajama sleeve twisted halfway up her arm. She stops dead in the doorway, blinks once at the music, then grins.
“Is it a dance party morning again?”
“It’s always a dance party morning. But… it’s also a first-day-back-at-school morning,” Penny corrects, already moving to her phone to switch songs. “Which is arguably bigger.”
The speakers crackle slightly as the room fills again, this time with Dancing Queen. Gus bursts in behind Elle as she shrieks with delight and barks once in enthusiastic agreement before running in circles around Penny, who takes Elle’s hands in hers. Traitor.
Penny spins my daughter in a loose circle, and Elle squeals, her feet lifting gently off the tiles and her hair flapping wildly.
“Daddy!” Elle shouts over the music. “You’re missing it!”
“I’m not missing anything,” I say, which would probably sound more convincing if I weren’t standing there watching them over the rim of my coffee like an idiot.
Penny raises a brow at me, then dips Elle dramatically like they’re on a stage somewhere instead of my kitchen.
“Your dad is being stubborn,” she tells her in a stage whisper.
“He always is,” Elle replies solemnly, before dissolving into laughter as Penny holds her hand up and twirls her on the spot.
“Six in the morning should be quiet,” I mutter.
Penny gasps dramatically. “That is the saddest sentence I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s the correct sentence.”
Penny’s eyes flick to mine. “Can’t deny it’s a great way to start the day—gets the endorphins flowing.”
Elle frowns. “The dolphins?”
“Endorphins,” I correct. “They’re like happy chemicals in your body.”
Gus barks again, doing a chaotic half-circle around them like he’s herding sheep. They start clapping along to the rhythm, and Penny throws her head back for a second, singing the chorus louder with a giant smile on her face. Elle tries to match her and gets the words completely wrong.
They giggle when she does, then both look at me. In sync. At exactly the same time. Two sets of blue eyes, narrowing at me.
Penny extends her hand toward me, fingers wiggling.
“Come on, Prince.”
“I’m good.”
“Are you?”
Elle abandons Penny and runs straight at me, wrapping her arms around my waist and bouncing on her toes.
“Pleeeease, Daddy. Just one spin—for the dolphins!”
“I don’t do spins.”
“You mean to tell me,” Penny says, stepping closer. “Someone who multi-tasks with fire equipment and ladders and oxygen tanks all day doesn’t know how to spin a girl?”
She’s grinning, and there’s a smear of peanut butter on the side of her T-shirt. And for some damn reason, my brain picks this exact moment to notice her legs.
“Firefighting doesn’t require that kinda spinning. Or ABBA.”
“Mm, but it apparently does require the Spice Girls,” she says, wagging her eyebrows at me.
They both start clapping again in exaggerated rhythm. “Dance! Dance! Dance!”
I roll my eyes, but I set my mug down. There’s no point pretending I’m winning this fight now that Elle’s weaponized her sad eyes.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But this is extortion.”
“That’s the spirit,” Penny says brightly.
I shift my weight once, then give an aggressively stiff kick of my leg out to the side before attempting what I’m fairly certain qualifies as a shoulder shimmy. But the second it leaves my body, I know I’ve made a mistake.