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ME: Can I call? Nothing’s wrong—I need a favor.

Her reply comes through a moment later.

MY GIRL: Yes. I just finished a meeting. What’s up?

I dial her number, and she answers almost immediately.

“Hey,” Blair says. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, baby. Sorry. I’m stuck at the shop and need to ask you a favor.”

“What do you need?”

“Can you bring Aspen home from school today? I’m going to be here until at least five, Mom and Dad are in Portland, and Courtney’s working. I’ll email Principal Derek and the front office so they have permission for you to sign her out. I normally wouldn’t ask, but—”

“Dean, quit rambling,” Blair interrupts with a laugh. “Of course I can bbring her’d home. We’ll meet you at the house.”

Relief loosens something in my chest. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

“Also, should I be concerned that you’re taking a personal call while you’re supposed to be teaching my daughter?”

She gives a disbelieving laugh. “You’re a funny guy, Ashford. The class is in the library with Mrs. Carter, and I’m on my planning period.”

“Just checking.”

“Sure you were.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll see you at home. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

I end the call, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.

How the fuck did I get this lucky?

“I take it she didn’t have a problem with it?” Knox asks, smirking from where he’s leaning against the car.

I shove my phone into my pocket. “Fuck off, or I’ll start asking questions about my sister.”

His smirk disappears instantly. Knox turns back toward the engine and picks up the first tool he sees, making a terrible attempt at looking busy.

Well, shit.

Looks like I finally found a way to shut Knox Ellington up.

* * *

It’s six before I finally pull into my driveway. I kill the engine and sit there for a second, running through everything I still need to do tonight.

Dinner. Aspen’s bath. Homework. Lunch packed. Bed by eight.

I’m already behind, and all I really want is an ice-cold beer and a movie on the couch with my girls.

The second I open the front door, the smell of Mom’s chicken pot pie hits me.

I follow it into the kitchen and find Blair standing at the stove while Aspen sits at the table cutting stars out of leftover pastry.

“Is that Mom’s chicken pot pie?” I ask.