Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
mia
Once more, I’m waking up to chaos in this house. Now it’s to clashing cutlery, laughter, overlapping voices—each one sharper than the last. It takes me a minute to untangle the sounds, but then I catch it: the high-pitched giggle of a child.
No. It can’t be. Is Lily home? She was supposed to come back tomorrow.
Why didn’t Dr. Preston say anything last night? And who else is down there? I don’t recognize them.
Leaping out of bed, I dive straight into my open suitcase, searching for the outfit I picked out for this exact moment.
For all my previous jobs, I’d stalk my future boss on LinkedIn, socials, and whatever digital crumbs they might have left online. But I couldn’t quite search a six-year-old online, so I did the next best thing. I bought something I hope will make her love me.
Ripping the tag off the unicorn T-shirt I never got around to washing, I face the full-length mirror and put it on.
It’s pink and printed with tons of funky unicorns. Some wear sunglasses, others have ice cream cones as horns. It’s ridiculous in the best way. And from the intel I gathered in Lily’s room yesterday, it’ll be a hit.
Then I put on some distressed jeans I dyed pink myself and spritz my hair with water to wake up the curls—well, waves, at best, this morning.
One last twirl in the mirror. That’s it. I’m ready to meet—and desperate to impress—my new six-year-old lady boss. This is so exciting!
“Hello?” I call out, soft and unsure, as I inch toward the kitchen, where all the laughter’s coming from.
“Mia?” The maybe-Lily kid spins on her stool.
Oh, it’s her. I recognize her from the pictures hanging everywhere in the house.
Her voice is curious, a little shy, but her wide grin matches the flutter in my chest. She’s beaming so hard, it pushes her cheeks high, her pretty green eyes nearly disappearing.
Preston answers for me. “The one and only.”
When my eyes meet his, my step falters. Is he… smiling? His face has morphed into a cartoon version of himself. That’s the first full, genuine smile I’ve seen on him. A true contented look. He moves to stand by Lily, and something in me softens.
He introduces me to her and to his parents—total sweethearts. Turns out grumpiness doesn’t run in the family.
Lily giggles every time I string a sentence together.
“What?” I ask, besotted with the girl.
She stares up at her father. I know that look: she’s asking his permission to answer.
“What are the rules of this house, Lily?”
She straightens her back in her seat, furrows her brow a tiny bit, and says it in a mock-military tone. “Kindness and honesty, at all times.” Then she taps her fingers on the counter. “Oh! Oh! And wash your hands before snacks.”
If there’s such a thing as too cute, Lily isn’t just breaking the scale—she’s dancing on its ruins.
“Your accent,” she says when she turns to me, still holding on to her father’s arm, cheek pressed to his bicep. “It's funny. Dad told me you were from England, do they all talk like that over there?”
My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I somehow find more teeth to show. “We do. And in some parts of the country, they sound even funnier.”
“No way!”
“Yeah way!”
She giggles again. Lord, she’s gorgeous. Taller than I expected for six. Though Preston did mention she’ll be seven soon. Straight brown hair, too long in the bangs—she keeps blowing them out of her eyes. A tiny ski-slope nose, and the most infectious smile I’ve ever seen.
“Come,” she says, tapping the empty stool next to hers. “I saved this spot for you.” I dissolve on my way there, heart melting for this girl.
The little New Yorker is obsessed with my accent, so I tell her all about kings and queens, and she asks me about castles while we sink our teeth into syrupy pancakes. Preston and his parents hover nearby, whispering from a corner. I barely register them. I’m too busy being charmed by their girl.
When Lily catches them watching, she frowns. “What? Am I talking too much again?”
I don’t give them a chance to answer. “No such thing. Smart people have things to say.” I tip my head at her notebook.
“Do you keep lists? I do.” She rolls her lips, as if she’s proud, but too self-conscious to admit it.
If she isn’t, she will before my time here is done.
“So… can you tell me about New York? It’s my first time here. ”
That gets her launching into a mini lesson. Like father, like daughter. Two New York enthusiasts. How lucky am I? Lily’s bright, chatty, and fearless. I think I just won the lottery.
Liam’s been demoted. He’s no longer the best boss I’ve ever had.
Mr. and Mrs. Jett say their goodbyes after breakfast, and Lily ropes her dad into taking us to Coney Island. It’s the first place she wants to show me in New York. Can’t wait to see the rest of her list.
April calls before we leave—I suspect to check on Preston—and suddenly she and Liam are tagging along. Callie’s off somewhere on a date with the bartender from last night. I can respect her priorities.
Once we hit the funfair, Liam melts into a complete puddle for Lily.
This girl has the superpower to turn grumpy men into golden retrievers.
He hoists her onto his shoulders and gallops along the boardwalk, then heads down by the beach, kicking at the waves just to make her squeal. I laugh so hard, I get the hiccups.
Preston heads to a kiosk to get our prepaid wristbands, then he steers us through scanner chaos with an ‘after you’ and a stretch of his arm that parts the crowd like the Red Sea.
We tackle the Lily-approved roller coasters, then inhale corn dogs, fried Oreos, and soft serve until my body composition is fifty percent regret and fifty percent sugar.
I’m one deep inhale away from exploding when we pass by a funnel cake stand. Naturally, I stop. I pull on the stretchy waistband of my leggings and decide they can take it. I stare in reverence as the vendor buries the fried monstrosity in powdered sugar.
It tastes insane. Well, it’s fried dough and sugar—what could possibly go wrong?
Somewhere between the screaming rides and our fifth snack, we collapse onto a bench with a view of the historic Parachute Jump, its red tower stabbing the sky.
The whole place buzzes—screeching seagulls, coaster tracks creaking, arcade bells clanging, and a salty breeze thick with nostalgia and hot oil.
It’s chaotic, a little grimy, and totally alive. I love it.
Lily, sugar-crashed and sun-kissed, curls up in my lap like a baby koala during lunch and dozes off.
Her little snores puff against my arm. I press my cheek to the top of her head and let the moment stretch, rocking her side to side.
Preston drapes his hoodie over her. “She always gets cold when she falls asleep,” he murmurs.
The doctor slides closer to me on the bench, looking jealous as hell that his lap didn’t make the cut. April leans in from across the table, eyes sharp on him. “Have you heard back from the lawyer? The PI? Is there any news on Blake?”
We both glance down at Lily, but she’s out cold.
I pull out my phone from my jacket, a sorry excuse to give them privacy. I’m not sure if I’m meant to hear this, but there’s no graceful way to leave. I feel Preston watching me again. Every time I’ve checked my phone today, I’ve felt his stare. On me and on the screen.
“Pres,” April calls his attention back.
“Sorry,” he says but pauses. “I spoke to the family lawyer Liam recommended. There’s something called ‘service by publication.’ If you can’t locate your spouse, you can still move forward with the divorce.”
April dips the corners of her mouth for a beat. “You lost me at publication.”
“Don’t ask me to explain legal stuff on a Saturday, A,” the doctor begs.
April switches gears like only she can. “Well, if you’re really sober, it’s time to get the rest of your shit together.
” Damn, girl doesn’t do subtle, does she?
I love her for that, but right now, it kind of makes me feel bad for the guy sitting next to me.
“We need you back at the hospital. The board won’t stop asking about you.
” She squeezes his forearm. “That’s why we got you a stellar PA working as a nanny. Use her.”
Liam snorts. “Please don’t tell your boss to use my assistant.” Then he turns to Preston, smirking. “You better show my protégée more respect than I showed yours.” My eyes drop, not out of shame, but to check whether they’ve rolled out of their sockets. What the fucking hell?
“Oh, my God.” April stops this shitshow from hitting the fan. “You and Calista need to get your minds out of the gutter.”
Shit. Has Callie already said something to April?
If she has, then I’m catching the next flight to London.
“Will everyone stop making this unnecessarily awkward and absolutely inappropriate?” Preston whisper-shouts. “This isn’t funny.”
Then he turns to me, still bristling, just as I’m texting Callie, making sure she hasn’t eloped. “Miss Thorne, do you ever get off your phone?”
My head snaps up. “What’s wrong? Lily’s asleep. It’s Saturday. I’m off duty. Unless you need me to do something for you?”
He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head once and turns away. Conversation over. Not that I care. I’m too busy sending Callie something very important.
A GIF of an Elvis pastor.
* * *
We leave just before sunset. Sandy, sticky, and full of sugar.
Lily clutches a plush seahorse from one of the rigged games Liam managed to win for her on his umpteenth try.
In the car, we play every road trip game known to man, then graduate to a passionate duet performance of the Frozen soundtrack.
Today I got to see yet another side of Dr. Preston. I’d taken his serious, almost somber expression as his default. But the moment Lily entered the picture, that cracked. And all that was left was warmth. A face fully rearranged by joy. A man who, for a change, wasn’t bracing against the world.
His wrinkles have shifted from their usual post between his brows to settle at the corners of his eyes. The kind etched by real laughter, earned through time and repetition.
A fleeting thought crosses my mind: I wish I’d arrived today. When this version of him was ready and waiting. The post-Lily Preston.
But the thought feels wrong as soon as it lands. If I’d skipped everything else, I wouldn’t understand what this version means. I wouldn’t have seen the before. And I think… I think I like the whole package.
With the word “package” echoing in my brain, my eyes drop to his groin. I’m a scholar of subtlety.
When we get home, Lily and I spread out across the living room floor, surround ourselves with stickers, magazine clippings, and an unreasonable amount of glitter. She’s deep in craft mode, scissors in one hand, glue stick in the other. I’m mostly here for moral support and sparkles supervision.
Footsteps approach. I turn to see Preston, fresh from the gym, towel slung around his neck, sweat glistening on his collarbone. And yes, I clock the collarbone. I’m only human.
He stops just behind me.
“Come on, let’s go shower.”
I blink. My brain malfunctions. Somewhere behind my rib cage, a bird dies.
I scramble to my feet so fast I nearly fall, mouth agape. “Oh. Um. Okay—wait. What?”
Preston’s head tilts, and his brow crests in horrified confusion.
“What?” I wheeze out again, my breath catching in my throat. “I wasn’t—I don’t—Jesus, I wasn’t saying yes to that. Not that I—want—to. That much.”
My arms fumble through the air as if I’m trying to physically rewind time.
“Or at all. Let’s go with ‘at all,’” I blurt out, panicking. “I was just… stretching. Yes. That. My leg. It fell asleep. I’ve been sitting for too long. That’s why.”
He folds his arms across his chest. One brow, just one, arches so high it could make contact with God.
I flail harder. I might take flight any minute now.
“Stop looking at me like that. Lily. You were talking to Lily. Not me. I know that.” I point a finger toward the child in question, who’s humming, still oblivious, pasting an upside-down cat into the middle of her collage.
“Obviously. Lily. Your daughter.” Crouching beside her, I tousle her hair. “Lils, Dad’s calling you.”
“Huh?” she mumbles. “We’re artists. Da-aaad, you’re interrupting our process.”
I roll my lips to hold in a laugh. “Time to give your instruments and brain a break, Picasso. Even artists have to stop and shower now and then.”
“Fiiiiine.” She blows a raspberry, then shuffles off behind Preston with all the flair of a tortured genius. He throws one last look over his shoulder before following her down the hall. It’s unreadable. I pray to every known deity that it’s forgettable too.