Chapter 21 #2
Sutton jumped in immediately. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, but he does,” Jo said cheerfully.
Sutton shot her friend a warning glare hard enough to cut steel. Jo just smiled, then turned to the espresso machine like this decision had been made by the universe itself.
Colter, to his credit, didn’t push. He looked down at Lynlee instead. “That’s not my call, Princess. You’ve gotta ask your mom.”
Lynlee turned on Sutton with wide eyes and clasped hands. “Pwees, Mommy?”
“Yeah, Mommy,” Jo parroted. “I bet he knows the safe crossing spots, will walk slow, and will probably even promise not to let cars splash you two if there is a puddle. Right, Callahan?”
“I’ll even hold your hand as we cross the street,” he said to Lynlee but his eyes were locked on Sutton.
Sutton sighed, the fight draining out of her as she took in her daughter’s hopeful face—and Colter’s carefully neutral expression, like he was fully prepared to accept whatever she decided.
“Fine,” she said at last. “But just to the school. And no scaling the curb. You walk between the adults.”
Lynlee squealed. “Yay!”
Colter’s smile was slow and unmistakably pleased as he met Sutton’s eyes. “Guess I’ve got marching orders.”
“You two enjoy that walk,” Jo said waving goodbye.
Colter had been called a lot of things in his life—but domesticated wasn’t one of them.
Don’t get him wrong, many women—including the female members of his family—had tried and failed to domesticate him into something resembling a man who owned matching plates and remembered to buy milk.
He’d always dodged it with a grin and a well-timed exit.
Which was how he knew he was in trouble now.
Instead of running, he was standing on a sidewalk holding a tiny hand, carrying a tiny pink backpack jingling with keychains, and wondering when exactly his life had taken this unexpected left turn.
Matching plates, he could dodge. A four-year-old's backpack digging into his shoulder and a swinging hand he had zero intention of letting go of? He apparently could not.
“Today, I finds outs who I gets to be in the play,” Lynlee said, looking up at him through long butterfly lashes, which only made her green eyes appear deeper.
Their hands, which were intertwined, swung back and forth.
Her little legs skipping to keep up with his longer stride. “Mommy’s gonna make my costume.”
“Try being the correct term,” Sutton said dryly from his other side.
“Not try. Do,” Lynlee said proudly. “She tried to make my cape when it was Superhero Day, but she forgot the day and had to use a popup sunshade from the front window and masking tape.”
“That cape was functional,” Sutton said. “And aerodynamic.”
“It stuck to my hair,” Lynlee countered.
“Art is about sacrifice.”
"Art," Colter said, "or crimes against sunshades?"
"Both. It's a spectrum."
Colter smiled, but the word stuck with him. Sacrifice. From where he stood, motherhood seemed to be built on it—sleep, free time, selfish moments, whole versions of yourself quietly set aside without complaint.
Watching Sutton juggle patience and humor, correction and love, he had the sudden, grounding thought that she gave things up every day without calling it loss. She just called it life.
“We’re here!” Lynlee squealed.
They crossed the street just as the morning rush hit its peak—minivans idling, backpacks bouncing, parents crouching for goodbye hugs like they might never see their kids again. Lynlee squeezed his hand tighter and started pointing with her free one.
“That’s Piper’s mommy. And that’s June’s daddy. And that’s both of Noah’s grandmas because his mom works early,” she said, cataloging families like it was her job.
A tiny census taker with pigtails. Colter made a mental note never to underestimate what this kid noticed.
Colter followed her gaze, something in his chest pulling a little too tight. He glanced at Sutton without meaning to, and wondered if this part of the day landed harder for her than she ever let on. She looked calm and steady, but he’d learned fast that Sutton carried things quietly—like a pro.
“And that’s Parker’s mommy, Mrs. Cheryl.”
Colter wanted to hide behind a pile of backpacks because he hadn’t seen Mrs. Cheryl since agreeing to a date. He hadn’t called since canceling on her—then again, she hadn’t called him either.
Small towns had a lot going for them. A total absence of anywhere to hide from your own dating mistakes was not one of them.
Lynlee spotted Parker and let go of Colter’s hand mid-sentence. “Parker!” she yelled, sprinting across the blacktop. “That’s my best friend!”
Parker beamed. “My daddy’s coming to the play,” he announced proudly, like it was the best news in the world.
“Oh yeah?” Lynlee said. “My mommy met my daddy in a tube, so he can’t come.”
Colter blinked—several times in rapid succession.
A tube? What the actual fuck did that mean?
He looked at Sutton, fully prepared for an explanation, but her shoulders went a touch stiff and her smile went careful—too big and too bright.
Before he could turn around, Parker said, “My Momma’s gonna film it. Right, Momma?”
“That’s right.” She turned her attention to Sutton, her into her arms for what, Colter could only assume, was a mom-hug. “We need to plan a playdate. Parker’s begging for one.”
“We do.”
Cheryl met Colter’s eyes and gave a coy smile.
“Colter,” she welcomed, a little hint of flirtation in her tone. Another clue that he had to give her a call—and soon—to either follow through or call it off. Letting people down went against the fabric of who he was. But leading someone on was even worse.
“Hey, Cheryl.”
And when she hugged him, it was not the same as when she’d hugged Sutton. This was more of a one-sided embrace—that lasted way too long.
When they broke apart, Sutton was gone. He scanned the crowd and found her at the front of the school, holding Lynlee on her hip while the little tyke ran a finger down a piece of paper taped to the front window.
Suddenly, Lynlee’s eyes exploded out of her head, and she threw her arms around Sutton’s neck and squealed.
“Oh my gosh,” Cheryl said. “It’s the list for who will be cast as what character in the play. It was good to see you. Let’s grab that dinner soon.” She kissed him on the cheek and rushed over to Parker who gave his mom a big high five.
“I gots the part of Posey the Pony and Parker is Boris the Horse,” Lynlee called to him over the crowd. Before he knew what was happening, she was at his side, hugging his waist. He ruffled her hair and she swung her body back and forth.
It hit him low and warm, right behind the ribs—a feeling he didn’t have a name for and didn’t trust himself to examine too closely.
Pride, maybe. Or was it belonging? The way her small, unguarded joy wrapped around him made something steady settle in his chest, something that felt a lot like being chosen without having to earn it.
A feeling he hadn’t felt since his mom passed.