Page 113 of Manhattan Kiss

“I can’t wait to see my new bedroom.” She bounds out of the car, onto the pavement, and to the steps of Gabby’s house.

“Hang on,” I call out. It didn’t seem very long ago that I had to lift her out of her car seat, dress her, and change her nappy. Now she can manage almost everything herself.

She needs me less and less.

Gabby opens the door before we even ring the buzzer. She’s grinning. “I thought that was you.” She bends down to give Willow a hug. Her bump is bigger now. We’re going to have to tell Willow soon or she’s going to guess.

“Can I show Daddy my room?” Willow asks, pushing past her mother to get inside and not even waiting for a response.

“Come in,” Gabby says.

I frown. “I don’t want to make things awkward⁠—”

Gabby laughs. “You will if you stand on the curb looking pained. She’s excited to show you her new room. You should go. Then you’ll be able to picture her, where she is.”

She says it like she’s helping me go through the adjustment of Willow’s new arrangements, rather than us both helping Willow.

I push my hands into my pockets and take the steps up to Gabby’s house.

“Daddy,” Willow yells from somewhere upstairs.

“I’ll take her case up,” I say.

“Can I get you a snack? I’m making something for Willow.”

“I’m good, Gabby. But thanks.”

“But stay for a while,” she says. “Help her settle in.”

I’ve been angry at her wanting to change this arrangement, but I’m grateful she’s being gracious about it and is trying to help Willow navigate everything.

“Where are you?” I call up the stairs.

“Keep going up the stairs,” Willow calls back. “There are lots of stairs, like at our house.”

Our house. I let out a huff of a laugh. Whenever she used that phrase before, she meant Gabby’s, her, and my house. And I’ve never really seen the townhouse as our house. It’s just been the place where I’m with Willow. But now…now our house is our house.

A home.

A place I can relax in, and not feel like it’s just one of two hotels I use over the course of a week.

Eventually, I find Willow in her room.

“Wow, you have a swing in your bedroom?” I say, as I find her sitting with her favorite stuffed animal in a pink rope saucer swing that hangs from the ceiling.

“Isn’t it cool?”

“Very cool,” I agree. I glance around at the decoration. It feels much more grown up than her room back at the townhouse. It has a modern wooden four-poster bed with white voile draped over it. There are two beanbags under the window next to some bookshelves that create a little reading nook, and a beautiful art deco mirror over a dressing table.

Instead of sugar pink, the walls are a pale mink color with a similar-colored carpet, and the far wall has a collection of framed artwork that I recognize as Willow’s recent creations.

“It feels very grown up,” I say.

“I can brush my hair here,” she says, hopping off the swing and sitting on the stool by her dressing table. “And Mommy bought me some stick-on earrings.” She glances at me as if she’s waiting for me to tell her she can’t wear them.

“Let me see?”

She pulls out one of the drawers in her dressing table and hands me a sheet of different-colored gemstones. “They’re just pretend, Daddy.”