Dalton
Hampton, Virginia
I wake before sunrise. A habit. I try not to move too fast in the kitchen, but the damn coffee machine sounds like a jet spooling up, and the moment it gurgles to life, I hear little footsteps padding down the stairs.
A second later, Hadley appears, half her curls flattened from sleep, dragging her bear by one leg. She’s in a sparkly pink nightgown and blinking up at me like I’m the sun and she’s not quite ready to handle it yet.
“Hi,” she says, already climbing into one of the barstools.
“Hi,” I say back, a little surprised she’s up this early. “You want some juice?”
She nods solemnly. “Apple, please.”
“Coming right up.” I grab one of her cups from the cabinet and pour it from the bottle I’ve made sure to keep in the fridge.
She takes a sip, then looks at me with all the seriousness in the world. “You don’t have to cook. Mama burns eggs sometimes. It’s okay if we just eat cereal.”
I grin. “Noted.”
She sips again. “But I do like pancakes.”
There it is.
I get to work while she hums a Disney princess song at the counter and tells me about her preschool class and a unicorn named Starbeam.
And I don’t know what the hell is happening to me, but for the first time probably ever I feel this morning could’ve happened in some alternate version of my life where I have a daughter and someone to make coffee for.
Except that someone walks into the room five minutes later and she’s not mine.
Ivy appears in the doorway, stretching one arm above her head, an oversized T-shirt slipping off her shoulder again. My eyes land there before I can stop them, on the smooth skin, on the edge of her collarbone, on the sleepy softness of her mouth as she yawns.
I look away.
She clears her throat. “You’re...cooking?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” she says honestly, rubbing her eye. “Honestly, yes.”
Her voice is hoarse with sleep. Her hair’s a mess in that perfect, tangled way that shouldn’t be attractive but somehow is. There’s a crease on her cheek from her pillow, and the way she tugs at the hem of her shorts like she just realized how short they are has me fighting back a smile.
“You want some coffee?” I ask, because my mouth needs something to do other than say what I’m thinking.
“Yes, please,” she says, joining Hadley at the counter. They both look at me like I’m some rare creature. Ivy’s fingers brush mine when I hand her the mug, and even though it’s brief, it zings through me like a static charge.
“Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes,” I say, flipping a pancake.
“Okay, Dalton,” Ivy murmurs, and I hear how soft her voice is. How it shifts when she stops guarding it. For a second, I imagine mornings like this all the time. Her in my shirt. Hadley in our kitchen. That soft domestic rhythm that looks a lot like everything I’ve never let myself want.
Then Ivy says, “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
I pause mid-flip.
“You don’t owe us anything,” she adds, looking at me over the rim of her mug. “Pancakes and juice and coffee.”
Hadley’s humming under her breath again. The air is warm, but Ivy’s eyes are sharp.
I meet her gaze. “I know I don’t owe you.”
She nods. “Okay.”
We’re locked in a staring match. “But I can still make pancakes, Ivy.”
Her gaze drops to the counter. Then to Hadley. Then back to me. “We don’t know how long this will last. How long it’ll be before Kyler handles it. Or if he even can.”
“I know.”
“I’m just saying...don’t get used to us being here.” But it doesn’t come out sharp. It sounds more like a warning for herself. A defense mechanism dressed as distance.
I smirk anyway. “Okay, Ivy.”
She swallows and looks away again and I let her. Some battles aren’t worth pressing. Not when she’s already showing me more than she wants to.
The pancake sizzles in the pan. Hadley stops singing mid-line and looks up from where she’s twirling her straw in her apple juice like she’s mixing a potion. “Dalton!”
I flip the pancake and glance over my shoulder. “Hadley.”
Her eyes are wide with excitement. “We get to see your jet next weekend, right? At the airshow?”
Two weekends, but I don’t bother to correct her. “You do,” I say, dropping the spatula and turning to face her. “But I won’t be flying it this time. It’ll be Logan and Wells for this show. I’m just the alternate.”
She narrows her eyes, suspicious. “Why? Aren’t you good at flying?”
I laugh because of course that would be her follow-up. “I like to think I am. But I’m new to the team, so it’s not my turn yet.”
She frowns, unconvinced. “That’s silly. If you're good, you should fly.”
“She gets that logic from me,” Ivy mutters into her coffee, her voice dry but edged with a reluctant smile.
I hand Hadley her pancake and sit across from them at the island, elbows on the counter. “I do fly, just not at air shows yet. Besides, even pilots need backup. And sometimes the best thing you can do for your team is be ready, in case they need you.”
She nods thoughtfully, then says, “I’m still going to tell my teacher you’re the fastest.”
My heart tugs, stupid and sharp. “That’s very kind of you.”
Ivy raises a brow over her mug. “You sure it’s safe for us to go? Big crowds, lots of people...I’m not sure that’s low profile.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I say. “You’re not easy to find when you’re surrounded by thousands of other people and tucked inside a base. And if anything were to happen” —I glance between them— “I’d already be there.”
Ivy stares at me, quiet, her features unreadable for a long beat. Then she nods. “Alright. Hadley’s going to lose her mind.”
“I am!” Hadley confirms around a bite of pancake.
“And what about you?” I ask Ivy, half smirking. “You going to lose your mind?”
Ivy arches a brow. “That depends. Are you wearing a flight suit?”
Hadley lights up. “He is! With the zippers and the boots!”
Ivy takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes still on me. “Then yeah. That might do it.”
I choke on a laugh, but Ivy just grins behind her mug.