Page 28 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“A piñata?” Parker asked, eyes wide with surprise. Sutton seconded the moment of surprise, because up until that moment there had been no piñata talk. “Will it have candy in it?”

“Will it, Mommy?”

Sutton ruffled Lynlee’s hair. “Since this is the first time I’m hearing about a piñata, we’ll have to talk about it.” Lynlee opened her mouth to start the talk and Sutton said, “When we get home.”

Lynlee turned back to Parker and with a serious tone, repeated, “We’ll have to see.”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.”

Well, it looked like Sutton’s plan to keep the sugar levels low had backfired. She’d been outsmarted by an almost-five-year-old. Because once Parker heard the word piñata he was already counting his loot. Already counting down the days until Monday so he could tell the whole class about the piñata.

Sutton was equal parts relieved and stressed. Relieved because there would be more than just adults at her precocious kid’s party. Stressed because, how in the hell was she going to host a party bigger than her apartment?

She refused to leave any kid out—she’d been that kid—but she didn’t have enough money to rent out the local gymnastics studio.

A problem for another day.

Today was about seeing firsthand what kind of family her daughter could possibly be a part of. And there were some pretty big ifs in the equation that had consumed her life for the past four years.

“You wanna hand these out wif me?” Lynlee asked.

Parker smiled a toothy grin. “Okay.”

“Is that okay, Mommy?”

“You bet. Just no running on the pool deck. And wait for me before you go swimming. Understood?”

Without answering, the kids disappeared around the side of the house, Lynlee’s little pigtails bouncing behind her.

“Come on in,” Vivi said. “Jo’s in the kitchen and I can’t wait to introduce you to Lady Rea.”

“Lady Rea?”

“She is an honest to god Duchess from Britain and every bit the lady. Well, unless you ask for man advice, then all bets are off.”

“I’ll be sure to steer clear of man-talk then.”

Sutton followed Vivi to the kitchen, where she placed Sutton’s dish next to the others.

Jo gave her a casual jerk of the head in greeting. “Sup.”

“Hey.” Sutton walked across the kitchen to hug her—which Jo endured like a feral cat being briefly domesticated against its will.

Sutton took in the room with awe. The Callahans’ kitchen was the kind of space that made you want to roll up your sleeves and host a dinner party. Wide-plank floors worn smooth by generations of boots grounded the space, their scuffs and knots proudly visible beneath a massive reclaimed-oak cutting board scarred with knife marks and dents from a hundred meals.

It was rustic ranch bones softened by opulent restraint. Marble countertops veined like river stone caught the light from wrought-iron pendants overhead, while a farmhouse sink that was big enough to bathe a lamb sat beneath a window that looked out over rolling pasture.

Fresh herbs spilled from clay pots along the sill, and a bowl of just-gathered eggs sat casually beside a crystal butter dish, as if elegance and practicality had struck a permanent truce.

“There’s enough food to feed an entire football team. First, second, and third string,” Sutton said.

“That’s good because there’s an entire football team made up of single-and-ready-to-mingle men in the backyard,” Jo said.

“I didn’t know you were looking,” Sutton said.

“For more than a good fuck?” Jo said. “I am not.”