Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
F ord
Poppy is standing on her step stool at the kitchen counter, carefully placing slices of cheese on buttered bread with surgical precision. When she’s satisfied that she has each one just right, she carefully passes the plate of sandwiches to her mom at the stove.
“These look great, Poppyseed,” Landyn coos as a sandwich sizzles in the hot frying pan and the smell of toasted bread fills the room.
I can’t stop watching them both.
Landyn moves around the kitchen barefoot, her hair in a messy knot, a spatula in one hand. She laughs at something Poppy just said, the sound warm and soft and so damn easy. She flips the sandwich in the pan, then reaches over to gently tug a curl that’s fallen out of Poppy’s braid.
It’s all so natural, so effortless. It looks like the two of them have done this together a hundred times—they probably have. I don’t have many memories of moments like this from my own childhood, but I get the sense that Poppy’s little life has been filled with them .
And Landyn—she’s glowing. My eyes stay glued to her, to the way her T-shirt reveals a sliver of smooth skin just above her jeans, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. They’re just small things, they should be nothing at all. But it hits me dead center.
She glances up, catches me watching, and grins. It’s a slow, wicked curve of her lips that settles deep in my chest and spreads.
And yeah. It’s a lot.
I lean back against the counter, suddenly too warm and too aware of everything about her—the way she moves, the way she laughs, the way that stupid grilled cheese is getting more of her attention than I am.
Then she bites her bottom lip, eyes still on mine, and it feels like she’s taken me by the collar, pulled me in close, and whispered, watch closely, Ford .
I am. God help me, I am . I haven’t forgotten what Landyn took from me, but I also haven’t forgotten everything we’ve been to each other. And underneath the hurt and the anger, there is a part of me that can’t stop imagining everything we still could be.
The lighting in her kitchen is warm, golden. It glows off her skin, catching in the curve of her neck, the sweep of her jaw. I don’t think she knows how beautiful she looks right now—how impossible it is to look away.
She leans closer to Poppy, who has moved her step stool close to the stove and is taking her turn flipping the sandwiches. Landyn offers guidance in a gentle, steady voice. “Now press it down, just a little. Hear that sizzle? That’s the good stuff.”
Poppy grins, proud of herself, and Landyn smiles back at her. I can tell that she’s memorizing every inch of this moment, every single detail like she’s locking it into place.
Then she looks at me and something in her eyes hits me square in the chest. She takes a deep breath then shakes her head just once, like she’s brushing off whatever just passed between us. But it lingers. Heavy. Electric.
I tighten my grip on the edge of the counter, jaw clenched, pulse doing stupid things.
Jesus, I’m so in love with her it physically hurts.
I loved Landyn when we were together all those years ago. I’ve probably loved her ever since then. But this is something deeper. Now she’s a mother to my daughter. Our daughter.
“You’re supervising, right?” she says, glancing down at Poppy.
Poppy nods solemnly. “I am. Next time Ford should cook too. Chef Ford has to earn his apron.”
Next time. I laugh, resting a hand on the doorframe. “Is that so?”
“We watch a lot of cooking shows,” Landyn admits with a sheepish grin. “But I agree, Poppy. I think we can put Ford in charge of the grilled cheese next time.”
There’s a crack in her voice as she finishes the sentence, and that warmth in my chest? That flicker of hope? It surges again, stronger now.
I look at Poppy. Her tiny fingers are tapping a rhythm on the counter, her braid falling over one shoulder. She’s humming to herself, like this is just another regular afternoon. And for her, it probably is, but for me, it’s everything. I can’t believe how much I already feel for her.
I’m in awe at the kind, smart, funny little girl she is, and I can see that her mom is the reason for that.
Landyn slides the last of the sandwiches onto a plate and turns off the stove. “Lunch is served,” she says with a smile, moving to set the plates on the small kitchen table.
I take the empty chair beside them, picking up a piece of the sandwich from the pink plate with cartoon characters I don’t recognize. And for a second, I imagine this is my life, that I’m not here as Landyn’s friend but as Poppy’s daddy. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Poppy takes a big bite and hums her approval. “This is so good. You should open a restaurant, Mommy.”
Landyn laughs softly. “Chef Poppy, you did most of the work.”
Poppy peers over at me, toast crumbs on her cheek. “You have to try it, Ford.”
She watches, wide-eyed with anticipation as I take a bite.
“Do you like it?” she asks as soon as I’ve finished chewing.
“I love it,” I say, wiping my hands on a napkin. “It’s the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”
Poppy’s whole face lights up, and with that out of the way, she moves on to telling me everything.
That grilled cheese is actually her second favorite sandwich, her first favorite being turkey and cheddar, but only if the bread is not squishy; that her best friend at school is Maisie, who apparently eats paste; that if she could have any pet in the world, she would pick a dog, preferably a black one with bright white spots on it.
I can’t keep up, but I hang on every word. Landyn watches us from across the table quietly, but I can feel her heart beating as clearly as if it were my own.
When lunch is over, Poppy wipes her hands on a towel and slides off her chair. “Can I go outside?” she asks.
“Shoes first,” Landyn says automatically, but Poppy is already halfway to the back door. I gather the plates from the table as Landyn wipes down the countertops.
“She’s something,” I say, loading the plates into the dishwasher .
Landyn nods. “She is.” I look out the kitchen window to the yard, where Poppy is twirling around with her hand held high, a rainbow ribbon trailing along behind her.
“She does that when she’s happy,” Landyn says quietly, coming to stand beside me.
“Spins in circles like that. Says it makes her feel like a princess.”
“I missed so much,” I murmur, not meaning to say it out loud.
Landyn’s shoulders go tight. “I know,” she whispers.
“I’m not saying it to make you feel worse.”
The hurt is still there, still heavy, but I can’t hold onto it when I see Poppy drop to the grass to pick a bouquet of dandelions. “I want to be part of this,” I say to her, drying my hands on a towel. “Of her life. Whatever it takes.”
Landyn’s voice is soft. “I know you do.”
I glance at her, jaw tight. “But you should know…I’m still angry.”
She meets my eyes. “I know that too.”
We fall quiet again, watching the little girl who ties us together, spinning and laughing with no clue of the weight of the moment hanging between us. Right now, the three of us are together, and we’re doing our best to make the most of the second chance we’ve been given.
Landyn and I finish the dishes slowly, neither of us in a hurry to see the moment end. Finally, she dries her hands on a dish towel and glances at me over her shoulder.
“We don’t have any plans the rest of the day,” she says carefully. “If you want to stay awhile…”
My chest tightens, but I nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
She smiles—small, hesitant—but it still knocks the wind out of me.
We walk outside into the warm afternoon air, the sun is slanting just enough to cast golden shadows across the patchy lawn.
Poppy’s sitting cross-legged in the grass now, collecting tiny rocks like they’re treasure.
The backyard is small but inviting. There’s a herb garden near the fence, two plastic Adirondack chairs, and a set of fairy lights strung haphazardly above the deck railing.
I make a mental note of the fact that there’s no swing set. Later. I’ll get her one later.
Landyn settles onto one of the faded chairs, tucking her feet underneath her. I take the one beside her.
“She plays out here a lot?” I ask.
“Every day that the sun’s out. Sometimes even when it’s not.”
“What was she like, Landyn…as a baby?” I ask quietly.
Her face softens and she smiles. “She was serious. Alert from the start. Didn’t cry a lot. Always watching… like she was studying the world before she decided what to think of it.”
“That tracks,” I murmur, looking back at Poppy. “She’s smart.”
“Too smart,” Landyn agrees. “She picked up on everything. Emotions, energy. When she was a toddler, when I had a hard day, she’d just curl up beside me and hum. Like she was trying to soothe me before she could even talk.”
There’s a lump in my throat I can’t quite swallow. I missed all of it.
Landyn shifts beside me, her voice gentle. “She has this one stuffed animal she never let go of—a bunny named Cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon?” I chuckle.
“She named it when she was three. She still has him. He lives on her bed.”
I nod, committing all of it to memory. “She’s…” I exhale. “She’s kind of perfect, Lan. ”
Landyn doesn’t answer right away. Just stares down at her hands in her lap. “She really is.”
Before I can say more, Poppy is suddenly standing right beside me. “Hey! Ford!”
I blink, turning toward her. “Yeah?”
“Do you know how to kick a soccer ball?”
I grin. “I’ve been known to kick a ball or two.”
She disappears around the side of the house and returns with a slightly deflated pink soccer ball. She drops it between us like a challenge.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” I ask, standing up.
Poppy puts her hands on her hips. “Ready. Show me what you got.”
Landyn laughs behind me as I follow Poppy into the yard.
We start slowly—just passing it back and forth, her little foot darting out with precision. She’s got good instincts. Light on her toes. Before long, I’m jogging after her as she chases the ball down.
I can feel Landyn watching from the deck, and when I glance up, she has a look on her face that just about undoes me. Happy. Proud. A little bit broken.
I’d give anything to go back in time, but I can’t. All I can do is be here now. So, I chase the ball again, and when I finally steal it from Poppy and she falls to the grass in giggles, I think—maybe this is what healing looks like.
We kick the ball around for a little while longer, the warm afternoon sun beating down on us. Poppy is about to take a shot when she stops suddenly, eyes wide with excitement.
“I’m gonna go inside and get you something really cool,” she announces, already turning toward the house. “Don’t leave, okay? ”
“I won’t,” I promise, watching her dash toward the back door, her braid swinging behind her.
I walk back up the slope toward the deck, where Landyn sits with her knees pulled up, sipping a glass of iced tea. Her eyes track Poppy’s little figure until the door closes behind her, and then they shift to me. I sit beside her, a comfortable hush settling into the space between us.
“I meant to ask, is she doing okay?” I ask gently, nodding toward the house. “I mean, with everything going on with your mom?”
Landyn exhales. “Yeah. She doesn’t know the full extent of it, just that she’s not feeling well. We’re…trying to keep things light for her.”
“And how is your mom?” I ask.
She hesitates. “If all goes well, she’s being discharged tomorrow. We caught it in time, but it’s going to be a long road. It’s a relief to know that with the right medication and time, she’ll feel like herself again. My dad’s stepping up a lot, and I’ll be juggling some of it too.”
“Tell me what you need, Landyn,” I say, my voice firm. “Anything. I want to help.”
She looks over at me, something soft and unreadable in her eyes. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
“I mean it,” I say.
She nods slowly, then sips her tea. “I’ll be back at work Monday. My dad will be with my mom, and I’ve got everything else lined up.”
I lean back, resting my elbows on the arms of the chair, looking up at the stretch of clear blue sky. The ache in my chest is still there—everything I lost, everything I missed out on—but it’s softer now. I’ve got something to hold onto.
Today was a good day. Pretty close to perfect. For the first time in a long time, I feel like something in me might actually be healing.
And then the back door swings open, and Poppy runs out clutching a tiny pink photo album, yelling, “Ford! I found it! It’s my baby pictures!”
Landyn laughs beside me, and I turn just in time to catch our daughter launching herself into my lap.
Yeah. Things are going to be okay.