Page 22 of The Biker and the Single Mom

"Can I have ice cream?" Luna asks, pizza forgotten.

"After bath," Doc says.

"But I want it now!"

"Bath first. Then ice cream. Then story time."

Luna considers this, sauce-covered face scrunched in concentration. "Two scoops?"

Doc raises an eyebrow. "One scoop. Take it or leave it."

"Fine." Luna sighs with the weight of the world on her small shoulders. "One scoop."

I hide my smile behind my water glass. He's better at negotiating with her than I am—never budges on the important stuff, but makes her feel like she's winning anyway.

Matt feels like a nightmare from another life. Someone I used to know. Someone who doesn't matter anymore.

We verified last month that he moved—Pope's contacts confirmed he transferred to a department three states away. Far enough that he'd never make the drive. Far enough that he's finally, truly gone.

I should feel relief.

Instead, I feel... free.

Bath time is the usual chaos—Luna's rubber duck collection, enough splashing to soak the bathroom floor, and negotiations about how much soap is "too much."

I handles the actual washing while he lays out pajamas. By the time he carries her out in her PJ’s, she's yawning despite her earlier insistence that she's "not even tired."

Pajamas. Teeth brushing. The promised ice cream, eaten at the kitchen table with exaggerated care.

"Story time!" Luna announces, climbing onto the couch with Mr. Hops.

Doc settles beside her, and she immediately burrows into his side. I sit on her other side, and she grabs my hand like she needs to make sure we're both there.

"Which one tonight?" Doc asks.

"The bunny one!"

Of course. The one about the bunny who's scared of the dark—we've read it approximately eight hundred times.

Doc does all the voices, making Luna giggle so hard she gets the hiccups. By the time he reaches the end, her eyes droop.

"Love you, Daddy Doc," she mumbles, half-asleep.

He freezes for a second—it still catches him off-guard sometimes, hearing her say it. Then he bends down and kisses her forehead. "Love you too, princess. Sweet dreams."

"Love you, Mommy."

"Love you, baby girl."

He carries her to bed, tucking her in with practiced ease. We slip out together, leaving the door cracked and the hallway light on like she prefers.

By seven-thirty, she's out.

In the living room, Doc pulls me onto the couch, arranging me so I'm sprawled across his lap. His hand slides under my shirt, palm warm against my lower back.

"Friday night," I say. "We're wild."

"Wildest people I know." His other hand comes up to play with my hair. "Pizza, ice cream, bedtime stories. Living on the edge."