Chapter 18
Dani
Once we hung up, the screen went black, but the image of Logan’s half-smile in the glow of some dim hotel lamp and the rough scrape of fatigue in his voice softening when he’d said my name, lingered for a while.
I’d meant to hang up right after Harper fell asleep, but somehow, as it often did lately, the conversation had wandered, like something neither of us wanted to set down.
I set the phone on the couch cushion next to me, exhaled slowly, and glanced toward Harper who was fast asleep in her blanket cocoon beside me. Her tiny hand still rested on the corner of her dad’s jacket, as if trying to keep him close.
“You really are your dad’s girl,” I whispered. “Can’t let go, even in your sleep.”
The clock ticked softly in the background. The TV played some late-night rerun on mute. The whole space, this house, carried a warmth I hadn’t expected to feel in a place that wasn’t mine.
And that realization wasn’t lost on me.
It had only been a couple of weeks here, but it already felt like a rhythm. Not mine, not exactly, but something we built together.
Mornings started with sleepy hair and mismatched socks. Harper refused to eat anything “boring,” so every breakfast had to involve something special.
Monday was pancake faces.
Tuesday was fruit smileys.
On Wednesday, we tried to make egg muffins and ended up with… egg disasters.
She laughed so hard I almost forgot I was supposed to be the responsible adult.
After drop-off, I worked from Logan’s kitchen table: laptop open and legal briefs spread across the counter like a paper storm. Harper’s art supplies had already claimed one corner, and every day she’d leave me a new “office decoration.”
A rainbow, a unicorn with reading glasses, a drawing of me sitting at my computer with the words “Ms. Dani is a boss.” It softened something in me I didn’t realize had hardened.
In between emails, I’d catch myself glancing at the empty coffee mug Logan used every morning, still on its shelf.
He’d washed it before leaving, careful and methodical — the same way he seemed to live his whole life: structured, controlled, and safe.
And yet, Harper was all chaos and color.
The balance between them was almost poetic.
By Friday night, our “spa night” routine was in full effect.
It started when Harper caught me painting my nails after dinner.
“Can I match?” she’d asked.
And within minutes, we had a full salon set-up: a towel wrapped around her head, cucumber slices we’d stolen from the fridge resting unevenly across her eyes, her nails now a matching red color.
She’d giggled through most of it. And when it was my turn, she painted exactly three of my nails before getting distracted by a new sticker book I had picked up for her. It was ridiculous and messy, but it was exactly what I had needed after a full day of work.
Somewhere between the glitter and the laughter, I felt a lightness wash over me. No deadlines chased me here. No courtroom posturing or client phone calls pulled at my nights. Just a little girl believing in the magic of spa nights, and a quiet house embracing us both, offering space for breath.
And then there were the evenings.
The mellow ones.
After homework and bath time, after Harper’s curls were detangled and her favorite stuffed bunny tucked under her chin, I’d work again.
She’d sit beside me, coloring in her sketchpad while I typed. Sometimes she’d hum softly. Other times she’d ask questions about words she didn’t know.
“What’s motion to dismiss mean?”
“It’s when someone asks the court to stop a case before it really starts,” I’d explain.
She’d consider this seriously, then scribble something on her page. “I think that’s like when I tell Daddy to stop arguing with me because I’m already right.”
I’d laughed so hard I had to set my laptop down.
Those were the moments that stuck. The small, unremarkable ones that somehow built an intimacy all their own.
I knew this was temporary. Two weeks, maybe a little more.
But the truth was, it didn’t feel temporary anymore.
Harper wasn’t just Logan’s daughter now.
She’d wormed her way into my routines, my thoughts, and my heart.
Letting her in was unplanned, a beautiful surprise I didn’t quite know I needed.
There’s a vulnerability in opening up to someone that small, trusting them with parts of yourself you’ve kept guarded.
With every drawing she gifted me, every unabashed laugh, Harper wrapped herself around my heartstrings.
And Logan…
He was dangerous in the softest way.
Not because of anything he said or did, but because of the way he saw people. The way he’d looked at me during the call, like he was memorizing me, like he’d found something in my face that caught his attention. It wasn’t loud or showy. It was quiet and real and terrifyingly gentle.
My pulse stuttered at the audacity, this whispered suggestion gripping my heart with a warm insistence.
For one impossible second, I believed him.
My hand hovered over the phone, a sudden urge to text him tugging at my fingers as desire flared against the fear of what getting closer might mean.
I stopped myself just in time, the unspoken words lingering like a held breath.
The next morning, Harper woke up earlier than usual, still in her fuzzy pajamas, hair an adorable disaster.
She climbed onto the couch beside me, blinking sleepily. “Did Daddy call yet?”
“Not yet,” I said, brushing a curl from her face. “He’s probably working.”
She frowned. “He works a lot.”
“Yeah. But he works so you can have dance classes and ice cream and spa nights.”
She tilted her head, considering. “Does he get spa nights?”
I laughed. “Pretty sure that’s a no.”
Her eyes widened with indignation. “That’s so sad.”
“Maybe we can fix that when he gets back,” I said softly.
She nodded solemnly. “We’ll paint his nails.”
I bit back a grin. “Perfect plan.”
We spent the rest of the morning making breakfast — her version of pancakes that somehow involved whipped cream, sprinkles, and half a bottle of syrup. She insisted we send a picture to Logan.
When he texted back, Harper beamed, sitting with his praise.
Then, for the first time in a long time, she added, “I think Daddy’s happy now.”
I looked at her, heart squeezing. “Yeah, I hope so.”
And I did.
Later that night, when the house was still again, I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop open and found myself staring at the message thread with Logan.
The messages had started light, but somewhere between the jokes and the updates, they’d become a lifeline.
He’d ask how Harper was doing, and then almost without noticing, how I was.
What kind of day I’d had, if I was getting any sleep, little things that shouldn’t mean so much, but did.
And somewhere between those lines, I realized I wasn’t just helping him keep his world together. I’d unintentionally become a part of it.
That thought should’ve scared me.
But instead, it made me smile.
I closed the laptop, turned off the light, and stood by the window for a moment, looking out at the tranquil street below.
Somewhere, miles away, Logan was probably doing the same. Staring at a different skyline, thinking about home.
I pressed a hand over my heart and whispered to the dark,
“You’re just babysitting, Dani.”
But even as I said it, I knew it was already too late.