What’s strangest is that right now, sitting in the sand with my daughter, he looks… peaceful. Relaxed. Almost happy. His hair is falling across his forehead, mussed from the desert wind. His shirt is rumpled, untucked. There’s sand on his expensive pants, and he doesn’t seem to care. All his usual rigid control has melted away, leaving someone I barely recognize.
Someone I might actually like.
It’s a thought that sneaks up on me, unwelcome and complicated. I’m not sure if I can trust it or not. I don’t let peoplein easily, not after what I’ve been through, and though I know that people can change, I’m not even sure what it would take for me to fully trust Calvin.
I watch as Ella pats Calvin’s cheek with a sandy hand, saying something that sounds like “Cav-cav,” and Calvin just smiles, brushing sand from his face without complaint.
My heart does something strange. A twist and a flutter that I absolutely cannot afford to feel. Because this—this image of Calvin, patient and gentle with my daughter—it hits a place I’ve been carefully guarding.
I’ve been at peace since Mike left. Truly at peace. Better to be alone than with someone who resents you and your child. Better to handle everything yourself than to constantly be disappointed by someone who should care but doesn’t.
I don’t need a man. I don’t need a partner. Ella and I are fine on our own.
But watching Calvin make sandcastles with her, seeing him teach her with such care, hearing him laugh at her antics… I’d be lying if I said I never wondered what it would be like. To have someone to share this with. To have another person who sees Ella’s brilliance and delights in her discoveries. To not be the only one responsible for every moment of her life, along with mine.
To have a family instead of just… us.
The longing rises up, sudden and sharp and utterly unwelcome, and I push it firmly down. Calvin is my boss. He’s uptight and controlling, and we’ve argued more in two weeks than I’ve argued with anyone in years. The fact that he’s being kind to Ella right now doesn’t change any of that.
And even if it did, even if there was something there, some possibility, I’m not interested. My picker is broken. I chose Mike, for goodness’ sake, and that was a disaster. I can’t trust myself to choose better.
I’m safer alone.
“Mama!” Ella spots me and waves enthusiastically. “Mama, dat!”
I paste on a smile and walk over. “I see! That’s beautiful, baby girl.”
Calvin stands, brushing sand from his pants. “We’ve been practicing architecture.”
Practicing architecture? I bite the inside of my cheek so that I don’t laugh at his word choice. Why can’t he just say they’ve been playing? But that idiosyncrasy, his always having to make things productive, that once annoyed the hell out of me? It’s starting to be more entertaining.
“I can see that.” I crouch beside Ella, admiring the lumpy sand structures. “Very impressive work, both of you.”
“She’s got good spatial reasoning,” Calvin says. “Better than you’d expect at this age.”
“She gets it from her mother,” I say without thinking. “I was building elaborate block structures before I could talk in full sentences, apparently.”
“That tracks.” There’s something in his voice—warmth, maybe even fondness—that makes me glance up at him.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, something passes between us. Recognition. Understanding. A connection I absolutely should not be feeling.
I look away first, focusing on Ella. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up for dinner.” Not looking at Calvin, I scoop her up and head for our tent. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear I feel his gaze on me the whole way there.
Dinner that evening has a different energy than usual. Maybe it’s because we’re making real progress on the site. Or because everyone has settled into the rhythm of camp life. Maybe it’s just that we’ve all been here long enough to stop being polite strangers and start being something like friends.
Whatever the reason, the meal is lively. Khalid tells stories about growing up in Jumayah City, and they’re so funny that Dr. Akkhad nearly chokes on her water. Edmond and Tariq get into a friendly debate that has everyone chiming in with opinions. Fatima’s food is particularly excellent tonight, some kind of spiced lamb that melts in your mouth.
Things feel… the closest to perfect that I can ever remember them being.
Even Calvin participates, offering dry comments that are funny instead of cutting. When Yasmin teases him about his sandcastle architecture skills, he takes it with good humor instead of getting defensive.
“I’m still working on my technique,” he says. “Apparently toddlers are harsh critics.”
“The harshest,” I agree, and when our eyes meet across the table, we both smile.
It feels… nice. Normal. Like maybe we’ve turned a corner.
Ella is being remarkably well-behaved, contentedly munching on the rice and vegetables I’ve mashed up for her. She’s sitting insomeone’s lap—they keep passing her around, everyone wanting a turn with the camp mascot.
