Chapter 13
thirteen
AIDAN
Igot back from work yesterday just in time for Isla’s birthday.
I glance at the clock and mentally curse.
It’s just after noon. I’d meant to leave earlier, but when you’re responsible for a kid who insists on wearing mismatched socks and combing her hair with a fork, well…
time slips away faster than I’d like to admit.
“All right, kiddo, let’s get you in the car. You’re going to be late for your own party,” I call to Isla, who’s stumbling around as she tries to put on her own shoes. She’s twisting her right shoe onto her left foot, tongue sticking out in concentration.
I sigh, crouching down to help. “Wrong foot, love.”
“I can do it myself,” she insists, yanking the shoe off with surprising force. Her bottom lip juts out, that stubborn determination flashing in her eyes. The same look her mother used to get.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. But we need to hurry.”
She’s five today. Five. How did that happen so fast? It feels like yesterday I was holding this tiny human in my arms, trying to figure out how to be responsible for someone other than myself. Now she’s all fire and independence.
She’s starting school later this year, and I’m thrilled for her, but I also want to press pause and keep her like this, small and determined and impossibly fierce.
She’s growing up too fast, and every step she takes away from my arms is a reminder that time doesn’t wait.
A tug on my sleeve breaks through the spiral in my head.
“I’m ready!”
She stands beside me, purple tutu fluffed to maximum volume. Shirt askew but proudly chosen. Shoes miraculously on the correct feet this time.
“See? I did it myself.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat and force a smile. “You look beautiful, love.”
Her grin widens. “I know.”
And just like that, I’m reaching for my keys, trying not to think about how many more I did it myself moments are coming.
“Come on then,” I tell her, holding the door open. “Let’s go celebrate my big girl.”
My mum’s house is bright and warm when we arrive. Isla bolts ahead of me as soon as I push the door open, her tutu bouncing with every step.
“Nana!” she shrieks, launching herself at my mother who’s waiting with open arms.
“There’s the birthday girl!” Mum exclaims. “Look how beautiful you are!”
I hang back, taking in the scene. The living room is transformed with pink and purple streamers, balloons floating against the ceiling. A handmade banner spelling out “Happy Birthday Isla” stretches across one wall.
“You’re late,” Aunt Margaret calls from the kitchen doorway.
“Blame the fashion show,” I say, nodding toward Isla.
She laughs. “Well, she looks absolutely perfect, so it was worth it.”
I’m about to respond when Isla calls out, “Uncle Jack!”
I turn abruptly, my eyes widening as I spot Jack leaning against the wall by the fireplace with the same shit-eating grin he always wears.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little troublemaker.”
Isla darts over, looping her arms around his neck as soon as he crouches. He lifts her effortlessly, spinning her once before setting her down with a gentle thump before ruffling her curls.
“Well, look what the tide dragged in,” I say, crossing the room to clasp his hand.
He pulls me into a quick embrace, thumping my back. “Couldn’t miss the little princess’s big day, could I?”
A familiar face is a welcome sight. Jack’s been there through the worst of it—the endless shifts, those first brutal months of single parenthood when I had no bloody idea what I was doing.
“You should’ve told me you were coming.”
“And miss the look on your face? Not a chance,” Jack laughs, then lowers his voice. “How’s the new place working out?”
I shrug, watching as Isla twirls for my mum. “Getting there. Still feels temporary sometimes.”
“Aye, I know that feeling.” His eyes follow mine to Isla. “She seems happy, though.”
“She is,” I agree. “Found a café in town she likes. Made a few friends at the park, too.”
Jack nods, a knowing look crossing his face. “And what about you? Still no…connections?”
I shoot him a warning glance. “Don’t start.”
“What? Just asking how you’re settling in.”
“I’m fine,” I say firmly. “Got the house, got work, got her. That’s all I need.”
The doorbell rings, its chime cutting through the chatter. Mum’s head snaps up.
“That’ll be the cake,” she says with a strange little smile that makes me suspicious. “Aidan, be a dear and answer that, would you?”
I frown but head for the door. When I pull it open, I nearly stop breathing.
Lucy’s standing on the doorstep, a large white box balanced carefully in her hands. Her dark hair is loose today, falling in soft waves. She’s wearing a sand-colored sweater that brings out the green in her eyes, and for a second, I just stare.
“Hi,” she says, her voice soft. “Special delivery.”
“You’re…delivering the cake?”
“I am.” She shifts the box slightly. “Your mum ordered it. For Isla.”
“Right,” I finally manage. “Come in.”
“Actually, would you mind taking this?” She gestures toward the box. “Keep it as level as possible until you put it down. I just need to run to my car to grab something.”
I take the box from her as gently as possible, waiting by the door until she returns with a bright pink gift bag overflowing with glittery tissue paper.
“You didn’t need to get her anything,” I tell her.
“Psh. Of course I did. I’ll take any excuse to go shopping for a little girl. It’s so much fun.”
I hum in response, trying not to jostle the cake box as I lead her through the house.
“Lucy!” Isla’s voice cuts through the chatter as she spots her, her face lighting up. She practically flies across the room, tutu fluttering behind her.
“Happy birthday, Isla,” Lucy beams, kneeling to meet my daughter at eye level, the gift bag held out. “I brought you something special.”
Isla’s eyes widen to saucers. “For me?”
“Of course.”
Something unfamiliar twists in my chest as I watch them together. Lucy treats Isla like she’s precious, not just humoring her the way adults sometimes do with children.
Just like that, something cracks open where I’ve spent years welding the pieces shut. It’s like the hinges of a door I swore would stay closed giving way. I try to slam it back shut, but it’s too damn late.
Allowing myself to feel anything for Lucy is reckless and stupid. She’s just being kind, but…the way she looks at Isla, like she matters just for existing, isn’t something I can ignore.
“Aidan, the cake,” my mother reminds me.
“Right.” I carefully set the box on the dining table where Mum’s already laid out plates and napkins. As I lift the lid, there’s a collective gasp.
The cake is…unreal. It’s shaped like a fairy garden, with tiny mushroom houses nestled among what looks like a forest. In the center sits a fairy, wings dusted with glitter. The attention to detail is astonishing.
Isla gasps, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
My eyes lift to find Lucy, who’s watching Isla’s reaction with barely contained delight.
“You made this?” I ask her.
She nods, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I used to do more custom work years ago. It was fun to get back into it.”
“It’s incredible. You’re talented,” I tell her honestly. “Thank you.”
Surprise glimmers in her eyes before she smiles. “You’re welcome.”
Lucy stands next to me for a moment, watching Isla as she inspects the cake from every angle. She shifts close enough that I feel her warmth. It’s just a subtle shift of air, the brush of her sleeve near mine, but it hits me all the same.
Suddenly, I have this urge to slide an arm around her waist and pull her in, feel her settle there. The thought blindsides me. I haven’t even wanted something like that in a long time.
I clear my throat, forcing my hands to stay where they are, clamped uselessly at my sides.
She swallows, eyes flicking up to mine as if she feels the shift, too. Then she steps back, the space she leaves behind cooling far too quickly.
“I should, um…I should get going,” she says quietly. “Let you get back to the party.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay, Lucy?” Mum asks. “You’re more than welcome.”
Lucy offers a soft smile. “I’m actually heading over to my parents’ place in a bit. I appreciate it, though.”
Before anyone can say more, Isla barrels forward, wrapping her arms around Lucy’s legs. “Thank you for my cake.”
Lucy lowers and tucks a curl behind Isla’s ear. “You’re very welcome, sweetheart. Happy birthday.”
Isla beams, then dashes back as quickly as she appeared.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
Lucy nods. “Sure.”
We head for the door together, side by side, her shoulder brushing my arm. It’s the smallest touch, one you could chalk up to the narrow hallway, but it lights me up.
I open the door for her, the early March air cool against the overheated house.
Lucy pauses at the threshold, turning to face me. The sunlight catches in her hair, turning it almost amber. I’m painfully aware of how close we’re standing, the doorway forcing us into each other’s space. Her gaze meets mine.
“Thanks again for the cake,” I say, my voice rough. “Isla will remember this for a long time.”
“It was my pleasure,” she replies. She takes half a step back, but her eyes stay locked on mine.
Her eyes flick to my lips for just a fraction of a second, and my heart hammers against my ribs.
I find myself swaying forward, just slightly.
My fingers twitch at my side, resisting the urge to brush the stray hair the wind has blown across her face.
A sudden gust catches us, sending that loose strand dancing across her cheek.
I tighten my fist to stop myself from reaching out.
It would be so easy to tuck it behind her ear, to let my fingers graze her skin.
The impulse is overwhelming, foreign, and terrifying all at once.
“I haven’t seen you and Isla in the café in a while,” she says almost timidly, tucking the lock of hair away herself.
“Offshore work,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets where they can’t betray me. “Oil rigs. I’m usually gone a few weeks at a time.”
Her eyes soften a fraction, but there’s no pity there. “Well, maybe I’ll see you both at the café sometime this week?”
It sounds like a question, but it’s phrased like she wants me to say yes. My throat goes dry, and I nod before I can overthink it.
“Aye, we’ll stop by.”
Her smile blooms slowly, lighting up her entire face. I don’t know when it happened, but I’m already halfway gone over her lips and her smile.
That kind of wanting will ruin a man.
“I really should get going,” she says softly.
I step back. “Right. Drive safe.”
She gives a small, tentative smile that makes my chest ache. “Enjoy the party. Tell Isla I hope she loves her present.”
I watch as she walks to her car. Only when she pulls away do I realize I’m still standing in the doorway like an idiot, letting all the heat out of the house.
When I finally turn around, Jack’s standing there with a smirk that makes me want to punch him.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. “That was quite the goodbye. Thought you might follow her to her car like a lost puppy.”
I brush past him, jaw clenched. “Shut it.”
“I haven’t seen that look on your face since…actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look.” He falls into step beside me, lowering his voice. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but was that actual human interest I detected?”
“It’s called being polite,” I mutter, heading back toward the living room. “She brought a cake for my daughter.”
Jack snorts. Isla saves me by squealing about presents, and the attention shifts right back where it belongs—on her.
I spend the next few minutes watching her tear into colorful packages, her face lighting up with each new discovery.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, Lucy presses against my thoughts, sparking a pull I can’t—and don’t want to—ignore.