Chapter 8
Vivian
Placing my phone on Riley’s bedside table after sending a quick text to Miles, I lie down and turn to face her. Her breath is slow and steady, cheeks flushed with sleep, one tiny hand curled around her favorite stuffed toy.
A pink bunny from Build-A-Bear—soft, well-loved, and worn at the edges. It’s the one with mine and Trev’s voices recorded inside.
“We love you, Ry,” our voices echo in unison when you press its arm.
My chest warms as a memory surfaces. Riley just a few weeks old, tucked into her stroller while Trev and I stood in that little recording booth, grinning like two sleep-deprived idiots. We must’ve recorded that message three times before getting it right, both of us wanting it perfect.
Her lashes flutter, and a second later, those big sleepy eyes blink open. She looks at me and smiles, soft and sweet, and still stuck somewhere between dreamland and morning.
“Hi, Mommy,” she whispers, snuggling the bunny closer to her chest.
“Good morning, sweetie.” I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the soft scent of strawberries lingering in her hair.
For a moment, the world feels still. It’s just us, wrapped up in quiet light and a kind of love that’s too big to name.
“Do we get pancakes today?” she mumbles, her voice scratchy with sleep.
I laugh gently. “Of course we do. Pancakes with chocolate chips, just how you like them.”
They’re both our favorites. It’s our little tradition, even though I always try to sneak in a side of fruit or remind her about the importance of them. She nods solemnly every time, like she’s signing a peace treaty.
I chuckle “Why don’t you tell me about last night’s tea party with Grandpa over breakfast,” I tease.
“It was so fun, Mom! Later we can have another one with Auntie Minnie!” She beams, sitting up in bed, her curls sticking out in wild directions like she’s just rolled through a tornado.
“Yes, she’s coming by later before I head into work.”
Her face shifts, just slightly. She hates it when I go in. And, honestly? I hate leaving her, but someone needs to bring in the money. Dad helps where he can, but I’ve never taken money from him. He’s already given me enough—more than enough. It’s my turn now.
“Do you have to?” she asks softly, scooting closer and pressing her cheek to my side.
“I do,” I say, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “But I won’t be late tonight. I’ll be home not long after dinner, okay?”
She gives a reluctant nod, and then just like that, the mood shifts. She jumps up, her feet hitting the floor with a soft thud.
“I’m brushing my teeth!” she calls over her shoulder as she dashes off to the bathroom, bunny clutched in one hand like a soldier reporting for duty.
I follow her out of the room, stretching my arms over my head as we pad down the hallway.
When I reach the kitchen, my dad is already standing at the stove, flipping pancakes with an ease that only comes from years of practice.
“Morning,” I say, sliding onto one of the barstools.
He glances over his shoulder, a spatula in one hand, and smirks. “Hey, you’re up.”
“Not by choice,” I mutter, nodding toward the hallway where Riley’s humming has reached full concert volume. “Where’s your sparkly pink tiara this morning?” I bite back a laugh, but the grin’s already tugging at my lips.
He snorts. “You know me. I can’t say no to the little bean. Even if it means cramming myself into a toddler-sized chair and sipping pretend tea with a table full of stuffed animals.”
The things he does for her. He acts like it’s a chore, grumbling about tiny chairs and imaginary lemon cake, but I know he loves every second of it. He’s such a softy, always has been. We used to do the same kind of stuff when I was Riley’s age.
Maybe it was more ranch mud and messy adventures than tea parties and cowboy princesses, but there were still plenty of days I had him and Mom playing house. Plastic kitchen, fake grocery runs, stuffed animals lined up for dinner. He never once told me no.
“Well, I’m sure she loved every second of it, Dad,” I say as I start setting the table, grabbing plates and cutlery like second nature. “Thank you for last night.”
His smile is soft, warm. “No problem, sweetheart.”
He brings the pancakes over and sets them in the middle of the table, the smell instantly cozy and familiar.
“So,” he says, a little too casually. “Anything happen last night? Did you have fun?”
I pause, thinking back. It was definitely…unexpected. But in a good way. There’s this strange lightness in my chest today, like something heavy lifted. Yeah, I cried, but hearing what Mindy and even Miles said last night about Trev, it shifted something.
I turn toward the counter, grabbing a few oranges and slicing them in half, the citrusy scent cutting through the warm pancake air. “Um…yeah. It was good,” I say, a quiet smile tugging at my lips.
I glance up, and his eyes are already on me, brighter than before, like he’s been waiting to hear those exact words.
Not just the “Yeah, it was fine” I usually give him when I don’t want to talk. This one’s different, and he knows it.
“That’s great to hear. I’m sure Mindy was real happy, huh?” Dad asks, a knowing look in his eye. “She joining us today, or is she too hungover to face the sunlight?”
He’s already laughing because he knows exactly how she is. Mindy’s been part of my life for so long, he treats her like she’s one of his own. Which mostly means endless joking about and a weirdly specific ability to push each other’s buttons without ever taking it too far.
Little does he know, she was probably too busy riding the cowboy she stole a hat from last night.
I keep my face neutral as I focus on the oranges, pretending this juice suddenly requires all my concentration. “Yeah. Definitely hungover,” I say, casually. Too casually.
When I glance up, he’s squinting at me like he’s the human lie detector he thinks he is.
“What, Dad?” I ask, trying not to meet his eyes.
He shrugs like it’s nothing and goes back to mixing pancake batter. “Just wondering who was pulling into the driveway around two thirty this morning in a truck that wasn’t yours.”
My hand twitches, and I end up splashing orange juice onto the front of my pajama top.
I clear my throat and grab a towel to wipe it off, not meeting his gaze. “Just a friend. Dropped me off. Mindy…had other plans.”
“Uh-huh.” His smirk is annoyingly smug.
“Dad, it’s not what it—”
Before I can finish, Riley comes barreling into the kitchen like a sugar-seeking missile.
“I smell pancakes!” She grins, licking her lips and hopping onto her chair like she’s been training for this moment her whole life.
Dad laughs, hands raised in mock surrender. “I know, sweetheart. Just teasing, don’t rush, though, just go with the flow.”
“Rush for what, Mom?” she asks, blinking up at me like she’s genuinely confused.
God, this is so not how I pictured this morning going.
“Nothing, baby.” I press a kiss to the top of her head and set the jug of juice in front of her. “Enjoy, but make sure you have some fruit and juice too, okay?”
She dives into her plate, not even bothering to argue. She piles her pancakes high with strawberries and blueberries like she’s building a monument, and honestly, I’m not mad about it.
Dad, Riley, and I are just settling in when the front door shuts with a little too much drama.
“Oh…look who’s finally showing up,” Dad says, grinning like the cat who caught the hungover canary. “Bet you had yourself a real fun time, didn’t you?”
Mindy walks in looking like last night is still clinging to her. Smudged mascara, wild curls, barefoot, and with attitude.
“I need juice,” she mumbles, collapsing into a chair like her bones gave up, then peeks out from her hands just enough to smile at Riley.
“Auntie Minnie, why does your face look like that?” Riley asks, totally serious, her little fork paused mid-air.
Mindy still has a full face of makeup on. Or what’s left of it.
“For Christ’s sake, Mindy,” Dad mutters as she downs her orange juice like it’s a cure-all. “You look like a damn train wreck.”
We all crack up, even Riley, who doesn’t really get it but loves being part of the noise.
Mindy flips her hair over her shoulder and shoots us both a look. “This is what being fun looks like, old man. Don’t be jealous.”
“Sassy this morning,” I say, laughing as I nudge her shoulder. “Go shower. Then we’ll talk.”
She groans and practically drags herself down the hall like a zombie.
While Mindy freshens up, we begin to talk about last night’s tea party and how fabulous my dad looked—as Riley says.
* * *
“I’m telling you,” Mindy says, propped up on her elbows from her towel, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. “No other man has made me finish as much as Greg.”
I tilt my head toward her, raising a brow, the sunlight beating down on my shoulders. “Well, all right then. We’re skipping the small talk today.”
She hums, unbothered, as she adjusts her bikini top like she’s not about to casually ruin my peace. “I’m just saying, he knows what he’s doing especially with that tongue of his. Swear my legs are still shaking.”
Across the yard, Riley lets out a giggle as she throws her beach ball in the inflatable pool.
Dad’s inside with the game on, volume cranked like usual.
We’ve got a little bit of girl time in the sun after playing tea party with Riley, and apparently, Mindy’s using every second of it to relive her wild night with Greg in detail.
“He grabbed me by the waist,” she continues, her voice dropping a little like she’s reading from an erotic audiobook, “pulled me to the edge of the bed, looked me dead in the eye, and then just went to town. I orgasmed three times before we even had sex.”
I blink at her slowly. “Jesus Christ, Min.”
She shrugs, smug as hell, like she didn’t just drop that sentence in the middle of our peaceful backyard. “What? I’m still recovering. Pretty sure I left part of my soul on that mattress.”