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“Come on, Waffles. Let’s go home and get you a treat.” He barks with gusto, eagerly following her.
The unconventional duo strolls down the sidewalk as if they don’t have a care in the world.
I glance over at the pink house next door and can’t help but think that the color of the exterior matches the personality of the woman who now lives in it—obnoxious, quirky and eccentric, yet undeniably intriguing and charismatic.
Surveying the hallway, I notice the trail of melted snow and dirt left behind. It’s a visible reminder of the disorder and chaos accompanying someone like Marlow wherever she goes. She leaves her mark, without recognizing the aftermath of her actions. What scares me most is the feeling that she could alter the carefully construed life I’ve built for Lola and me if I let my guard down.
“Daddy?” Lola tugs on my pant leg.
“Yes, ladybug?”
“My flower is really thirsty.” She holds out her daffodil.
“We can fix that.”
She follows me into the kitchen and climbs onto the closest barstool.
I fill a glass halfway with water and set it on the counter for Lola. She triumphantly gives her flower a drink.
“Thanks, Daddy. I hope Waffles comes to visit tomorrow. I miss him already.” She sighs.
We’d be much better off if we steered clear of Marlow and her over energetic dog. Although something tells me Lola won’t stop asking until she sees her four-legged friend again—and soon.
2
DYLAN
ONE YEAR LATER
GUILT TIGHTENS MY STOMACH INTO a knot, knowing that I’m two hours late to pick up Lola from my parents’ house. I keep a strict schedule to make sure we get enough quality time together, and it bothers me when I have to deviate from my carefully planned regimen. My main priority is making sure she feels secure and never has to worry about where I am.
Unfortunately, it’s unavoidable on occasion. My family owns Stafford Holdings, the largest real estate firm in the country. We have business holdings in every major city in the US, including hotels, office buildings, apartment complexes, and retail spaces. After my dad retired three years ago, my brothers and I assumed full control of the business. Harrison, my older brother, took the helm as CEO, Cash, my younger brother oversees operations, and I’m the CFO. Although I’m passionate about my career, it demands more time than I would prefer.
As soon as the helicopter touches down at the airfield near Aspen Grove and the pilot cuts the engine, I thank him for the ride and make a quick exit. I head for my SUV, parked in the nearby garage.
Because of the snow-covered streets, the drive to my parents’ house takes longer than I’d like, and I’m relieved when I finally arrive at their modest two-story Cape-style home.
I’m not surprised when my mom opens the front door as I’m climbing the porch steps. She wraps me in a hug.
“Hi, sweetheart, how was work today?”
“It was long.” I sigh. “After reviewing the financial report my team put together, Harrison gave the green light for the new Vanburen development in Brooklyn. There’s a bunch of red tape for us to work through before we start building, so it’s all hands on deck for the next few months.” The mere thought of it leaves me anxious.
“Let’s talk inside where it’s warm,” Mom suggests.
As she ushers me through the door, some of the stress leaves my shoulders.
My parents’ house has always had a warm and inviting atmosphere. The space is filled with personal touches, from family photos to mementos collected from my parents’ travels alongside a collection of Lola’s art projects from school.
The open-concept floor plan makes the space feel roomy, but it’s still a mid-sized home. My parents prefer to live well below their means even though they could afford a mega-mansion—several, if they wanted.
Despite my family’s billionaire status, they prioritized providing their kids with a nurturing environment. Since we were young, they taught me and my siblings the importance of humility and hard work, regardless of the balance in our bank account. I want to do the same for Lola, and raising her in Aspen Grove is the best way to do that.
“How are your brothers?” Mom asks.
I raise a brow. “Didn’t you call them both earlier today?”
“Yes, but that was this morning.” She reminds me.
