13. Kim
My phone buzzed again.
I didn't have to look to know who it was. The unknown number had been lighting up my screen all week—calls I let go to voicemail, texts I deleted without reading. But not before I saw the first few words.
Hey babygirl
That was all it took. Two words, and I was twenty-three again, standing in a hotel lobby at two in the morning, watching a man walk out of my life like I was nothing.
The phone buzzed again. I picked it up this time, against my better judgment.
I know you're ignoring me. I deserve that. But please, Kim. I just want to talk. I need to explain.
Another one, seconds later.
I never stopped thinking about you, babygirl. Not once.
I set the phone face-down on the kitchen counter.
I couldn't believe I was reliving this. I'd dealt with it.
I'd packed every memory of Cole Matthews into a box, shoved it into the darkest corner of my mind, and bricked up the wall behind it.
I'd built a life. A real life, with Zoe and my two jobs and my tiny apartment.
I'd convinced myself he was firmly in the past, a lesson learned, a wound that had scarred over.
And now here he was, texting me like six years hadn't happened. Like he hadn't vanished when I needed him most.
But I shouldn't be surprised. That was how our relationship had always worked.
Cole would disappear for weeks, sometimes months, and then show up at the hotel where I worked like no time had passed at all.
He'd bring flowers. He'd make promises. He'd look at me with those blue eyes and tell me he was sorry, he'd do better, he'd be the man I deserved.
And I'd believed him. Every single time.
The worst part was that I hadn't been looking for anything when we met. I was fine on my own. Good, even. I had my job at the front desk, my routine, my rules. Rule one: no frolicking with hotel guests. Rule two: absolutely no frolicking with hotel guests.
Then Cole Matthews walked into the lobby at midnight, charm turned up to eleven, and offered to help me with a difficult customer who wouldn't leave. One conversation turned into coffee. Coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into two years of hoping he'd become the man he kept promising to be.
He never did.
I shook my head, pushing away from the counter. No. I wasn't going to think about this. My reaction when I saw him at the office wasn't because I was still hurt. I'd gotten past the hurt years ago. Seeing him again was just... shocking. That was all. A shock to the system. Nothing more.
I almost believed it.
My phone buzzed with a different notification. Xavier's name flashed on the screen.
Charity event tonight. Kealoha Foundation. 7 PM. Grandmother specifically requested you bring Zoe. I'll pick you up at 6:30.
I stared at the message. A charity event. Tonight. In two hours.
I didn't want to go. I wasn't in the mood for smiling and small talk and pretending everything was fine.
And the fact that Eleanor had specifically requested Zoe made me even more reluctant.
I'd agreed to continue this arrangement, but Zoe was supposed to stay on the periphery.
Not get pulled deeper into a family that wasn't really hers.
"Mommy! Mommy, look!"
Zoe came barreling into the kitchen, her favorite doll clutched in her hands. She held it up triumphantly, and I saw what she'd done. Bright red lipstick—my lipstick, the one nice tube I owned—was smeared across the doll's plastic face in an enthusiastic approximation of makeup.
"I made her pretty!" Zoe announced. "Like you!"
I should have been annoyed about the lipstick. Instead, I laughed. The sound surprised me, loosening something tight in my chest.
"She's beautiful," I said. "But next time, ask Mommy before you borrow her makeup, okay?"
"Okay." Zoe was already distracted, adjusting the doll's dress. "Can I do her hair next?"
"Sure, baby." I pulled her toward me and attacked. "But first—the kiss monster!"
Zoe shrieked with delight as I peppered her face with kisses. She squirmed and giggled, trying to escape, but I held her tight, my lips finding her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose. Her laughter filled the apartment, bright and pure and perfect.
This. This was what mattered. Not Cole and his texts. Not the past trying to claw its way back into my present. Just this. My daughter. My heart.
A knock on the door interrupted us.
Zoe froze mid-giggle. "Who's that?"
"I don't know." I set her down and walked to the door, checking the peephole.
Xavier.
He was standing in the hallway, two garment bags draped over his arm, looking far too pleased with himself.
I opened the door. "What are you doing here?"
"I knew it." He grinned, that infuriating, charming grin that made me want to smack him and kiss him in equal measure. "You didn't reply to my text, which means you weren't getting ready. So I took matters into my own hands." He held up the garment bags. "You're welcome."
"Xavier—"
"XAVIER!"
Zoe shot past me like a tiny missile, launching herself at his legs. He laughed and dropped the garment bags on the couch just in time to scoop her up.
"There's my favorite girl." He settled her on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. "What have you been up to?"
"I made my doll pretty! With Mommy's lipstick!"
"Did you? Very artistic. I approve."
"And then Mommy did the kiss monster!" Zoe's eyes went wide with sudden inspiration. "KISS MONSTER!"
She grabbed his face with both hands and attacked, pressing sloppy kisses all over his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. Xavier pretended to struggle, making exaggerated sounds of distress.
"Help! I'm being attacked! Kim, save me!"
I watched them from the doorway. My daughter in his arms, smearing lipstick-sticky kisses across his face, both of them laughing. Xavier's designer shirt was getting wrinkled where Zoe was gripping it. His hair mussed where her fingers had tangled in it.
He looked happy. Genuinely happy. Not performing, not charming his way through a social obligation. Just... happy to be here. Happy to be with her.
Something warm and terrifying bloomed in my chest. I didn't have a name for it. Didn't want one.
"Alright, alright." Xavier managed to escape Zoe's assault, setting her down gently. "As much as I'm enjoying this, your mom needs to get ready." He turned to me, eyes bright with mischief. "Go. Shower. Change. I'll keep the kiss monster entertained."
"I didn't agree to go."
"And yet." He gestured at the garment bags. "Dresses have been acquired. Childcare has arrived. Excuses have been eliminated." He made a shooing motion. "Go. We leave in an hour."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he couldn't just show up at my apartment and make decisions for me, that I wasn't some damsel who needed rescuing, that I was perfectly capable of managing my own life.
But Zoe was already tugging Xavier toward the couch, chattering about her dolls, and he was following willingly, and the warm, terrifying thing in my chest was growing.
I went to shower.
The dress was perfect.
Deep blue, fitted but not tight, falling just below my knees. Simple. Elegant. The kind of dress I would have picked for myself if I could afford it, which meant he'd been paying attention. Noticing what I wore, what I gravitated toward, what made me feel comfortable.
I didn't know what to do with that.
I emerged from the bedroom to find Xavier on the floor with Zoe, apparently in the middle of an elaborate tea party. He was holding a tiny plastic cup with his pinky extended, nodding seriously as Zoe explained the proper way to serve imaginary cookies.
He looked up when I walked in.
His eyes widened.
I watched his gaze travel from my face to my shoulders to the curve of the dress at my waist, then back up again. Slowly. Deliberately. His pupils were dark, dilated, and there was something in his expression that made heat creep up my neck.
"Kim." His voice was rougher than usual. "You look..."
"Pretty!" Zoe supplied. "Mommy looks like a princess!"
Xavier cleared his throat. "Yeah. What she said."
I ducked my head to hide my smile. "Let me get Zoe ready."
The second garment bag held a tiny dress for Zoe—pale pink with a tulle skirt that made her gasp when she saw it.
I helped her into it, brushing out her hair, tying it back with a ribbon that matched.
When we emerged, Xavier was standing by the door, watching us with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready!" Zoe bounced on her toes. "I look like a princess too!"
"You do." Xavier opened the door, gesturing us through with an exaggerated bow. "After you, princesses."
The Kealoha Foundation gala was being held in a converted warehouse in SoHo—exposed brick, soaring ceilings, soft lighting that made everyone look beautiful. I'd been to events like this before, back when I worked at the hotel, but always as staff. Never as a guest.
It felt strange to be on this side of things.
The room was already filling with people when we arrived.
I recognized some of them from magazines and society pages—the kind of people who donated to charity because they had money to spare, not because they'd ever experienced need themselves.
They moved through the space like they owned it, champagne flutes in hand, laughter tinkling like wind chimes.
Xavier's family was gathered near the front of the room. I spotted Xavier’s mom first, elegant in navy blue, talking to a woman I didn't recognize. Sebastian stood nearby, looking as composed and unreadable as ever, though his eyes softened when they landed on Aria, who was beside him.
And there, partially hidden behind Aria, was a teenage girl with Sebastian's dark hair. That must be Evie, I thought. Thirteen years old and, from what Xavier had told me, painfully shy.
"Kim!" Eleanor descended on us the moment we entered, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure. "And little Zoe! Oh, let me look at you."
She crouched down to Zoe's level—actually crouched, and smiled.
"Hello, sweetheart. Do you remember me?"