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Blair looks over her shoulder, a secretive smile pulling at her mouth. “Maybe.”

“How the fuck did you—”

“I have connections.”

“NAN TOLD US!” Aspen yells from the table. She immediately points her pastry cutter at me. “And you shouldn’t curse, Daddy. Santa won’t come.”

“Sorry, baby girl,” I say, trying not to laugh.

Blair smiles as I cross the kitchen and kiss her hello, then bend down to give Aspen a cuddle. That’s when I notice her damp hair has been brushed into a neat braid down her back.

I look between them. “Have you already had a bath?”

Aspen nods proudly. “Yeah. Blair said I had to have one after my homework.”

“You finished your homework too?”

“Ages ago,” she says, like my shock is completely unreasonable.

Blair slides the pot pie into the oven before turning to me. “Go shower before dinner. I can smell the grease from here.”

Her smirk tells me she’s enjoying bossing me around in my own kitchen.

The worst part is, I don’t fucking mind.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I do as I’m told, partly because she’s right and partly because I’m still trying to understand how I walked through the door to find almost everything I’d been worrying about already handled.

In the bathroom, I strip off my work clothes and stare at myself in the mirror for a moment.

Dinner is cooking. Aspen’s homework is finished. She’s bathed, happy and sitting in my kitchen making pastry stars with Blair.

Blair didn’t have to do any of it.

She chose to.

It’s such a simple fucking thing, but it hits me harder than it should. For the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like every part of our life is sitting on my shoulders alone.

* * *

Aspen is wedged between us on the couch, wrapped in most of the blanket Blair and I are supposed to be sharing. She insisted she wasn’t tired twenty minutes ago.

Now her eyes are barely open.

We’re all in a major food coma. I would never say this out loud—especially within earshot of Mom—but that might have been the best chicken pot pie I’ve ever had.

And I fucking love my mom’s chicken pot pie.

So what if I’m a mama’s boy? Sue me. I’ll die happy and full.

Aspen’s head tips sideways and lands against Blair’s arm. Blair glances down at her before looking over at me with a smile.

“She’s gone,” Blair whispers.

“Not yet,” I tell her.

“I’m awake,” Aspen mumbles, her eyes completely closed.