There’s a heavy sigh.
“When?” she asks.
“Flora’s. Saturday. Ten a.m.”
“That’s soon.”
“It is.”
There’s a faint rustle, like she’s shifting the phone from one hand to the other.
“Okay,” she says. “Ten.”
“If you’re not there, we’ll leave at ten-fifteen.”
There’s a tightness in her exhale this time, which could be frustration, or it could be something else. It’s hard to tell with her. She’s good at sounding innocent and controlled.
“Okay,” she says again.
When I end the call, I don’t feel victorious. She doesn’t get to drift in and out of my daughter’s life on a breeze and a promise. She doesn’t get to rewrite the rules because she’s feeling stable this week. If she wants more access to Elle, she has to prove it.
Until then, I control the door—and it only opens if I decide it does.
I go back inside and set my phone on the counter. Music hums softly through the kitchen speakers, but it’s lower than usual. Penny’s at the counter packing Elle’s lunch while she sways and hums faintly to the rhythm, more out of habit than actual dancing.
It’s too careful, though. As if she’s trying not to take up too much space around the tension hanging in the house.
I move in behind her and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her back against me. My nose presses to the side of her neck, and I breathe her in. Coffee and fruity shampoo and something like jasmine. Her shoulders soften under my arms.
“Why’s the music so low?” I ask.
She turns her head into me. “Thought I better keep quiet. Didn’t wanna interrupt your calls.”
“Pen.” I tighten my hold a fraction, anchoring her there.
Her mouth curves faintly as she shrugs. “It’s fine. I didn’t wanna add to the noise when—”
She stops when I let go and walk over to the speaker to turn the volume up. I let the music spill back into the space until it sounds the way I’ve started to need it.
With coffee dripping and Elle singing the wrong lyrics while Gus follows her around begging for toast crusts. And Penny in the middle of it all, making this house feel more like a home.
She watches me carefully as I turn back toward her.
“You haven’t danced yet,” I say.
A soft laugh slips out of her. “That’s apparently something you monitor now?”
“Yeah. Come here.”
Her smile flickers as I step closer.
“Evan—”
“You thought I needed less of you?”
Her throat works, and her eyes dart down to the counter. I take the lunchbox from her hands and set it aside, then pull her into me. One arm wraps around her waist, and the other catches her hand, guiding her slowly across the kitchen tiles.
“I don’t.” I lower my mouth to her hair. “This house sounded empty before you, so don’t go quiet on me now, baby.”
