It felt both weird and comforting walking around the store with them both. To anyone looking in from the outside, it probably seemed like we were a family. I pushed the cart while Peach sat in the seat up front, swinging her little feet back and forth, watching a cartoon on Dominic’s phone.
Dominic wandered beside me, drifting through each aisle like everything was new to him. He was like a small child discovering things for the first time—wide-eyed, earnest, and eager to put things into the trolley that he never dared to until now.
And I can’t lie, it felt good knowing I was the one who gave him that.
What surprised me most wasn’t the way he shiftedwhile we shopped, but the way I did. There was something warm in it, something steadying. As if some quiet part of me had been waiting for this, waiting to feel needed without feeling trapped.
There’s no denying a part of me wants to take care of them. I never offered other customers leftovers unless they asked, but with him, it was a given.
Maybe it started the first time I saw him in the store with Peach. Something about the two of them stuck with me. There was a quiet need that called to my nurturing side.
Dominic switches off the ignition, removes his seat belt, and exits the car, so I do the same. Once I’m out, I just stand there with my fingers knotted together in front of me, unsure of what to do next.
I watch him get Peach out, and when he places her on the ground, I round the front of the vehicle.
“Take these,” he says, tossing me the keys. “Peach can take you inside and show you her room while I unload the car.”
“Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it,” he grumbles, dismissing me as he turns and moves around to the rear of the vehicle, popping the tailgate.
Something in my chest squeezes tight when Peach reaches for my hand and says, “Come, Emmy.”
I let her lead me down the path and up the front stairs. I try a few different keys in the lock before I find the right one.
It feels strange entering Dominic’s place, but I don’t have much time to ponder that thought as Peach steps inside, tugging on my hand. “Come.”
As I’m gently pulled through the front room, my eyes scan the space. It’s neat, but I’m left a little stunned at thelack of furnishings. There’s a leather recliner by the far wall, and an adorable matching mini pink one sitting beside it. A coffee table, a wicker basket overflowing with toys, and a large flat-screen television hanging on the far wall.
And that’s pretty much it.
The room feels lived-in but stripped back, as if someone moved in and never quite figured out what a home was supposed to look like. Or maybe they’d been too busy trying to hold everything together to worry about matching cushions and décor.
The walls are a crisp white and surprisingly clean, especially with a toddler living here. But they’re bare. No paintings or family photos.
It feels a little sad, like the place is still waiting for a story that hasn’t been told yet.
Peach doesn’t seem to notice any of that. She tugs my hand with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where she’s going. Her tiny fingers are warm against mine, already pulling me towards the hallway as if she’s certain I’ll follow. And I do, still thinking about the simplicity of the space behind us.
I’m wondering what the rest of the house will reveal, and what it says about the life Dominic’s been trying to build for himself and this sweet little girl.
“My room,” she chirps when we come to a stop beside an open door.
I peek my head around the corner, and I’m in no way left feeling underwhelmed. In fact, a smile curves my lips as I take it all in.
The room is comfortable and impossibly sweet, wrapped in soft-pink walls with white furnishings that brighten the space. It has a little dresser with dainty knobs, a bookshelf filled with picture books, and a matching cot tucked neatly against the far wall, with frilly bedding that has ruffles bordering the edges.
A parade of stuffed toys sits lined up along the end, each one clearly loved. In the corner, a white rocking chair completes the scene, and I can’t help but imagine Dominic sitting there, gently rocking a littler Peach when she was a baby, humming softly while she drifted off to sleep.
The sight is so raw and nothing like I expected that tears sting the back of my eyes.
Seeing the stark difference between the man people fear and the one who opened his home and his heart to this little girl when she had nobody is worlds apart.
The ruthless, untouchable mobster alongside someone capable of such quiet tenderness, someone who steps into her life and makes it safer, warmer, better. I admire him so much for what he’s done for her, and I already know I’m going to have to guard my heart because this man is making his way under my skin without even trying.
Peach drops my hand and runs into her room, heading straight for the bookshelf. She moves a couple aside until she finds the one she wants, turning towards me and holding it out. “Read,” she says.
I take it out of her hand and glance at the worn cover.Sir Braveheart and the Little Princess. I can tell this book has been read a lot.
