Chapter 29
twenty-nine
AIDAN
There’s applesauce on my kitchen table.
Not a lot, just a little smear of it left behind from breakfast, a glint of sun catching in the sticky residue.
Isla’s crouched beside her chair, using a sparkly hairbrush to detangle her doll’s synthetic curls, entirely unaware that I’m bracing for one of the most important conversations of my life.
I clear my throat. “Hey, little storm.”
She looks up immediately. “Yeah?”
“Can you come sit with me for a sec?” I pat the chair beside mine.
She considers it with one last tug on the doll’s hair, then she clambers up.
I take a breath. “Remember last night? When you asked Lucy if she was my girlfriend?”
“I saw you kiss.”
“Yeah,” I say, chuckling under my breath. “You did.”
She swings her feet under the table, winding up to a question, but waits.
“I wanted to talk to you about that. About me and Lucy.” I rest my forearms on the table and lean in a little, dropping my voice.
“We like each other. And we’re going to be spending more time together.
Probably with you, too. If that ever feels weird or if you have questions, I always want you to tell me, okay? ”
She frowns, thoughtful. “Like if I feel yucky about it?”
“Exactly.”
She nods slowly. “I don’t feel yucky.”
My heart cracks open a little. “That’s good. You like Lucy?”
“She makes the best toast. With the swirly butter.”
“Swirly butter, huh? That’s serious business.”
Isla grins, then goes quiet for a beat. “She talks to me like I’m big. Not like I’m little.”
I swallow. “Yeah?”
“And you laugh more when she’s here.”
That lands hard, right in the center of my chest. Kids don’t bother with polite lies. They say what they see.
And what she sees…is me, lighter.
There were nights—god, years—when I was worried I’d never figure this out. That no matter how much love I gave her, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for the pieces we didn’t have. For what she lost before she could even remember it.
And now here we are.
It’s not like I’m not scared shitless. I’m terrified of what it means to let someone in and build something that could fall apart. To ask Isla to open her heart and then have it broken by an adult who’s supposed to stick around is big.
And then I think about last night with cherry pie filling everywhere, Lucy’s hand in mine, and the way she looked at both of us like we belonged there.
We already let her in. All that’s left is the name for it.
I press a kiss to the top of Isla’s head.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “So maybe Lucy’s going to be around a lot more.”
Isla considers this for a moment, her small face scrunching in concentration. “Like a sleepover?”
I nearly choke on air. “Well, not exactly. At least not right away.”
“But maybe someday?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful, and I’m struck by how easily children adapt, how readily they make room for new people in their hearts when adults spend years building walls and constantly checking for weak spots.
“Maybe someday,” I agree, treading carefully. “For now, we’re just going to spend time together. The three of us. Would you like that?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Can we go to her house again? I want to play with Marmalade.”
I huff out a low laugh. “I think that can be arranged.”