“How excited are you?” I asked and gripped Carly’s hand as we walked down the street together toward the restaurant I’d chosen for today.

Naturally, I’d run this past Bryan first, caught him in the morning, just before he’d rushed off to his meeting. We hadn’t discussed last night, or the emoji kisses, but I had gotten his approval for this.

A trip to a local restaurant where the chef would be putting on an actual show for kids and adults alike, teaching them the basics of cooking. Participation for adults was optional, but for kids, totally necessary. I was here to help Carly live her dream and watch to make sure she didn’t do anything that might end up with bloodied fingers and tears.

Carly beamed up at me and squeezed my hand. “The most excited. This is the best Sunday ever.”

“I’m glad we could do this,” I said.

The restaurant was in Canyon Springs and not too far from the golf resort itself, which meant we were out of the gated community but a stone’s throw from it if we needed to get back to the house for any emergencies.

“Riley, you’re the best. I’m so excited. And scared. I’m scared too.”

“It’s OK to be scared, that’s totally normal. But I’ll be right by your side, all the way through, all right?”

“OK.” She gave a brave little nod as we walked up the path to the restaurant—Antonio’s—which had a lovely rustic Italian vibe. It was different from most of the other places around here, and I liked that about it.

I opened the rustic wood-and-glass-paneled front door for Carly, then followed her into the warm interior. We shrugged off our coats and handed them to the guy at the front desk. I showed him our tickets, and he gestured us through to the main room in the restaurant.

“Wow!” Carly exclaimed and clapped her hands.

Kids and parents stood gathered around counters, all of which looked toward one central counter at the front of the room. Antonio himself stood behind it, talking quietly to someone in black clothing—one of his assistants or a waiter.

We took our place at one of the counters, side-by-side, and sat down on the swiveling stools behind it. Carly gripped my hand and squeezed tight, her little palm growing clammy now as the room filled up with chatting kids and people.

“Are you OK?” I asked. “Do you want to leave?”

“No, I don’t want to leave. I just don’t like a lot of noise.”

“Me neither,” I replied and gave her a special smile. “I don’t like crowds or rock concerts or big noises. I don’t even like loud music.”

“Me neither,” Carly replied, nodding enthusiastically. “But I like cooking.” She glanced up at Antonio, a mustachioed man, tall with olive-colored skin.

“I do too. So I guess we’ll have to put up with all the other stuff we don’t like to do the thing we do like.”

“Yes.” Carly lifted her chin, determination in the set of her jaw now. It wasn’t a huge thing to overcome for most, but still, a spark of pride bustled through me. She could’ve chosen to go home, and we would’ve gone, immediately. But she’d chosen to stay, and that was awesome.

“Hello, everyone,” Antonio said, loudly. He looked Italian from head-to-toe, but his accent was perfectly American. “And welcome to today’s demonstration. Before you get to cooking, I’m going to show you a few things and perhaps teach you a few things. Are you ready?”

“Yes!” Everyone clapped.

“A little louder than that,” Antonio called back, grinning.

“Yes!” Carly covered her ears but nodded along with everyone else.

I placed a hand on her back and stroked it to give her some comfort. She grinned up at me and slowly lowered her hands from her ears.

“Very well!” Antonio declared and lifted his knife from his block. “Then we’ll begin.”

The demonstration started, and I couldn’t help but drift off a little, enjoying the fact that Carly was so excited about this more than I enjoyed the actual show. It was strange—Carly was new to me, but she was… special. She was exactly the type of child I’d been. Perhaps that was why I connected to her like this.

Fun, trying to be happy, but cautious underneath. I’d have bet my bottom dollar that those frustration issues sprang from anxiety, but I wasn’t a clinical psychologist and didn’t want to be. What the hell did I know?

That Carly deserved attention and love, and that she clearly had goals for herself, even as a little six-year-old.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I brought it out, surreptitiously, checked the notification—it was from Bryan on the app.

“Everything OK?”

“Yes. We’re still here. She’s super excited. Everything OK with you?” I typed back, hurriedly.

“After last night, you can bet your cute ass everything’s just fine.”

I pressed my lips together to keep the smile at bay. “You’re bad,” I replied. “You know we still need to talk about that.”

“Later. I just want to know that you’re both safe and happy, right now.”

“Safe?” I typed back. That reminded me of how he’d been when he got home yesterday. All the questions. “What’s going on, Bryan?”

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean.” I paused, looked up to check Carly was still enjoying the show. Antonio diced with great aplomb, flourishing his knife while discouraging the kids from doing the same at home. “You were antsy last night, like you were worried about something. What was that about?”

“I just like to keep my home safe. And I had an early meeting. We discussed this.”

Well, that was short and not-so-sweet.

“Got to go. Talk later.” Followed by a kiss.

And that was it. He was gone. And he’s definitely avoiding answering my questions.

I focused on the show again, just as Antonio announced it was time for us to start our part of the show. We set to cooking. It was relatively simple stuff —spaghetti and meatballs with a marinara sauce—but Carly loved every second of it, and as a result, I did too.

It was great cooking with everyone around us making mistakes and laughing at them. The atmosphere was perfect, and when we were done, we all sat down to eat our dinners.

For dessert, Antonio served us chocolate kisses with ice cream—which Carly got all over her face—and then we were done, and filing out of the restaurant, all full and happy.

“That was the best,” Carly said, once we were out in the sunshine. “So much fun.”

“So, do you still want to be a cook one day?” I asked.

“Yes! More than ever.”

“Good. One day, you’ll be the one putting on shows, and then you can teach me some things about cooking,” I said and held out my hand for her to take it.

Carly and I walked down the road, playing the “guess what” game. She asked me every question known to humankind, as far as I was concerned. Most of them were culinary based, at least, but some ventured into the realm of Star Wars, and for those, I had no answers.

“I really don’t know,” I said, as we turned the corner, heading up the road with the setting sun on our backs. We were a turn away from the street that led to the entrance of the gated community, our feet beating the concrete of the sidewalk.

“What do you like, Riley?” Carly asked.

I bit my bottom lip. That was a complicated question—one I didn’t want to answer for myself. “I like pirates,” I said. “Not the ones that are out on the ocean today, but the ones of old. Like in the Pirates of Caribbean.”

“I’ve never seen that movie,” Carly said.

“And you probably shouldn’t for a little while,” I replied but let go of her hand and spun around to face her. I pretended to wield a cutlass and swish it through the air. “The pirates were always after loot. And they sailed the seven seas, got super tanned under the sun, and always had to listen to their Captain.”

“That sounds like fun. Were their girl pirates?”

“I’m not actually sure,” I replied, and swished the imaginary compass again. “But why not? Girl pirates are just as scary as boy pirates if you ask me.” I let out a piratey “argh,” and Carly giggled hysterically, putting her hands to her mouth. I backward-walked and kept up the pretense. “You think that’s funny do ye, matey? I’ll show ye funny. I’ll make ye walk the plank! Shiver me timbers.” I dove toward her, tickling fingers at the ready and she squealed her delight.

We chased each other up the sidewalk, frantically, first me with the imaginary cutlass, and then she turned and did the same with an imaginary gun.

The growl of an engine interrupted us, and I looked up from our play, directly at a Harley Davidson, complete with rider, put-putting up the street toward us.

My heart froze in my chest.

“Carly, honey,” I said, and placed my hands on her shoulders, dropped to her height and looked into her eyes. “We need to go home, now, OK, and pretty fast. So let’s hold hands and pretend we’re running from the pirates.”

“Other bad pirates?” Carly asked.

“Uh-huh.”

The motorcycle was closer, close enough I could make out the insignia on the riders helmet. A crimson skull. My frozen heart reheated and dropped into the pit of my stomach. It was them. They’d found me.

Oh god, and Carly was with me.

I took her hand, turned my back on the rider, and set off at a jog. “Come on, Carly, let’s run from the pirates.”

“Wee!” Carly giggled.

The motorcycle’s engine roared and picked up the pace, and I did too. “Quicker, Carly.”

The little girl frowned a little and glanced back over her shoulder at the bike. “Riley? Are you scared? What’s wrong?”

I slowed a little. “Not at all, honey,” I lied, “I’m just playing the game. You know what would be even more fun?”

“What?”

“If you got on my back and we pretended I was a horse, and you were a grand pirate rider. Do you want to do that?” I asked, thinking on my feet. The bike wasn’t chasing us, so to speak, but it followed, close on our tails.

“That sounds fun!”

I bent, and Carly clambered up onto my back, her jeans rough against my blouse, and her knees knobby.

“All right, hold on grand pirate.”

“Captain!” Carly announced.

“That’s right, hold on, Captain, this horse is going to go fast.” And I took off, practically galloping.

The bike roared behind us again, picking up speed, and my pulse raced. I had to maintain calm for Carly’s sake. Whoever it was, it had to be one of Marcus’s buddies. I’d been terrified this would happen from the minute I’d left him.

Scared that it would all come back to haunt me and ruin what future goals I had planned out for myself.

I spun into the corner and charged up to the gate which led into the community, skidding to a halt in front of the guy with the clipboard. “Hi,” I said, sweat beading at my temples.

“Miss Tucker,” he said, and checked his clipboard. “And little Miss Rome.”

“Hello!” Carly said, enthusiastically. “I’m a pirate Captain, and she’s my horse.”

Behind us the bike growled off into the distance, down the road and out of sight. It hadn’t taken the corner with us, but it was enough. A warning from my past. I swallowed hard and forced a smile, forced myself to go through with the pleasantries.

I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until we were inside the house, and the alarm was set.