Ivy in his bed, in his house, in his life.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway, and small footsteps padded closer. The door opened slowly, hinges squeaking. Ellie stood in the doorway in purple elephant pajamas, clutching her stuffed bear. Her hair stuck up on one side where she’d slept on it.
“Daddy?” Her voice was whisper-small. “Eye-vee here?”
Still. Like she needed confirmation. Like she was afraid Ivy might disappear the way her mother had.
Ryder’s chest locked.
“She’s here, bug. Come, give Daddy a hug.”
Ivy stirred. Her eyes opened, found his face first, then tracked to the doorway. A smile curved her mouth. “Morning, Ellie.”
Ellie’s whole face lit up. She ran the last few steps and clambered onto the bed, bear clutched in one fist. Ivy shifted to make room, lifting the blanket so Ellie could burrow between them.
“Cozee Daddy. Eye-vee,” Ellie snuggled against Ivy, bear squashed between them.
Ryder pressed a kiss to her messy hair.
The easy way Ivy’s arm came around Ellie’s shoulders, and Ellie tucked herself in close like she belonged there, no hesitation or awkwardness, just family. God, he swallowed against the tightness around his Adam’s apple.
Ellie melted against Ivy like she’d done it forever. Ivy caught his eye over her head, raising her eyebrows in question.
He shook his head.Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.
“Pan-makes, Eye-vee?”
Ivy laughed. “Again? That’s three times this week.”
“Daddy. Pan-makes now.”
“All right,” Ivy said. “But you have to help.”
“Yay!” Ellie wriggled against them both.
Out of bed, she grabbed Ivy’s hand and pulled her toward the door, quizzing her on whether the pancakes needed Marsha-mallows.
Ivy looked back at Ryder, still in bed, and smiled. “Coming?”
“Give me a sec.”
He sat up carefully, grabbed the sling, and worked his arm into it one-handed. The shoulder protested, but he ignored it. He’d gotten good at ignoring it. Had to, when there was a toddler who needed lifting and a house that needed maintaining and a woman who tried to do too much when she thought he wasn’t looking.
The kitchen was already chaos by the time he got there.
Ellie stood on a chair at the counter, flour dusting her pajamas and her hair. She held a wooden spoon like a weapon, stirring with enthusiasm. Ivy stood beside her, measuring milk with one hand while the other steadied the chair.
Ivy peered into the bowl. “Easy, sweetheart. We want to mix it, not murder it.”
“Me stir.” Ellie waved the spoon, spattering the counter.
Ivy ducked, laughing. “I can see that.”
Only now did he fully understand how quiet the house had been without Ivy. She’d pulled on one of his old Coast Guard sweatshirts over her tank. It hung mid-thigh, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her feet were bare on the cold tile floor.
She’d stayed. Left her entire life behind and stayed for pancakes and a toddler’s sticky hands. She could have walked away. Could go anywhere. Her brother was a duke. She had money, connections, options he couldn’t even imagine.
And yet she was here, in his kitchen, teaching his daughter how to crack eggs without getting shell in the batter.
