Sean

Willow careened around the corner and into my bedroom.

Hopping onto my lap, she pressed a pink hairbrush into my hand, then looked up at me with expectant blue eyes. I ran my thumb over the soft bristles, unsure of how to proceed. Usually, Lola was entrusted with taming Willow’s auburn locks. But today it was my turn.

Blowing out a breath, I began the arduous task of dragging the brush through Willow’s wild curls, wincing every time I hit a snag. Unfazed by the torturous procedure, she didn’t move a muscle.

When I finished securing the rubber band, Willow peered up at me. “Dums today, peese.” She pursed her lips and amended, “Puhlease.”

The speech coach Anna hired was working wonders. Which was a good thing, since I didn’t have the heart to correct my baby girl. Everything Willow said sounded perfect to my ears.

I tugged at her off-center ponytail, smiling. “Sure, baby.”

Sliding her arms around my neck, Willow hugged me tightly. “Luva you, da.”

Da.

The day my daughter stopped calling me Sean my heart had doubled in size.

One word.

How could it mean so much?

Smiling into her hair, I splayed my hand across her tiny back. “Love you more. Lola’s making you a special breakfast. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Willow slid off my lap and then took off like a shot. My blood pressure spiked as her little feet pounded against the marble steps.

“Careful!” I called, vowing for the millionth time to carpet the stairs.

But Anna had vetoed the idea when I brought it up during one of our Facebook chats. She said the fibers might aggravate Willow’s asthma, but all the hard edges in this house weren’t good for my nerves. Leveling the place to the ground and building a one story was an option. Or selling the house outright.

Hot air blasted my face as I stepped onto the patio. Sipping my coffee, I took in the view while contemplating the idea of living somewhere else. Closer to Melissa, maybe.

The notion drifted away on a breeze as I watched prisms of morning light dance off the water spilling over Mansfield Dam.

No, I’d never sell.

As I followed the length of shoreline to the Oasis, an uncomfortable twinge tightened my chest. Not quite guilt. Certainly not shame. But unease.

Having drinks with Darcy wasn’t the best decision. If I wanted to prove that Anna didn’t own my ass, returning to the scene of the crime wasn’t the way to do it.

But nothing had happened with Darcy. I’d rather burn that bridge than cross it. After that second shot, I’d made my excuses and come home alone.

Sighing, I secured the umbrella on the patio set and then covered the chairs. I took one last look around before pulling out my phone and adding another item to the list for the property manager.

Clean the gutters on the master bedroom deck once a month.

After securing the deadbolt and the latches on the top and bottom of the door, I turned my attention to the pile of clothes on my bed. Answering Logan’s call, I wedged the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I continued to pack.

“Hey, I’m kind of busy,” I said as I continued to pick through the messy heap.

“You’re just packing, not performing brain surgery.”

“Funny.” A faint peach scent wafted to my nose when I came across a T-shirt that Anna used to wear to bed. Instead of tossing it back into the drawer with the other items I never wore, I folded the worn scrap of cotton and tucked it into the corner of the suitcase. “Willow’s downstairs. I got to go.”

“Whatever.” Logan yawned. “I just got home. I need sleep. Pick me up as late as you can.”

A smidgeon of jealousy crept in. I couldn’t remember the last time I was getting in at eight in the morning instead of getting up. As I counted back the months, Willow’s laughter drifted up the stairs, and I abandoned the pursuit. The hours I spent with my daughter were priceless.

“You can sleep on the plane,” I said. “I’ll pick you up at four.”

Disconnecting the call, I cut off Logan’s unintelligible goodbye.

The mouthwatering smell of Lola’s pancakes proved too much to resist, so I headed downstairs. Brushing a kiss to the top of Willow’s head, I dropped onto the barstool beside her.

“Morning, Lola.” I smiled as I took the plate she offered. “Anna’s going to have a fit if she finds out you made the kid weekend food on a Wednesday. You’re spoiling her rotten.”

“Hush,” Lola said, smoothing a soft curl behind Willow’s ear. “I’m not going to be seeing her for a while. I can spoil her a bit.”

I picked at the crispy end of the hot cake. “It’s just for a few months.”

Hopefully. I wasn’t sure.

Lola said nothing, folding her arms over her chest.

“I know what I’m doing,” I mumbled, annoyed at my need for approval from the woman I paid to clean my house.

But Lola was much more than a housekeeper. She was part of the village it took to help me raise my child, and I trusted her.

To my surprise, Lola gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I know that. I’m just gonna miss the little bug.”

Jerking a nod, I picked up my coffee, and my attention shifted to the clock on the microwave. My stomach pitched, threatening a full-on revolt.

Was I doing the right thing?

While I pondered, Willow slid off her chair. Quiet as a mouse, she dragged the step stool to the rack of keys hanging on the wall.

Popping out of my seat, I closed the gap in two strides, sliding my arm around her waist before she reached the second step. “What do you think you’re doing, Willow-baby?”

Feet dangling, she peered up at me through auburn lashes, gracing me with her most innocent smile. “Dums, da.”

Setting her on her feet, I gave her a stern look. Boundaries. It was a recurrent theme in Anna’s messages.

But the little manipulator had other plans, and she propped a hand on her hip. “You poomised.”

It was the pout that did me in. Or maybe the resemblance to her mother. Either way, I was toast, so I dropped the single key into Willow’s waiting palm.

Lola chuckled as I picked up my plate.

“What happened to ‘no food in the studio’?” she asked, using her best baritone to mock me.

“It’s my studio,” I grumbled, not sure if it was true anymore. “I can eat in there if I want.”

Lola’s rumbling laughter followed me all the way down the narrow staircase. Shaking my head, I slid into the chair in front of the control panel.

Seated behind her miniature drum kit with her custom pink earphones in place, Willow frowned at me through the glass. “Da…?”

I turned on the microphone. “You play, sunshine. I’m going to stay in here. “

Willow’s eyes darted to my kit and back to me, and I nodded reassuringly. She didn’t need me or anyone else, the beat in her head was enough.

Relaxing in the soft leather chair, I smiled as Willow hit the kick drum, and soon she was lost in the rhythm, pounding away. The kid amazed me with her stamina as well as her versatility. I’d outfitted the studio with miniature versions of a number of instruments, and Willow had familiarized herself with each one. She was more gifted than I was by a mile.

Detecting a change in the riff, I flipped on the recorder, overlaying her new composition with tracks I’d recorded during previous sessions.

A couple of hours later, Willow wandered into the booth, her hair falling out of her ponytail. Pushing my arm aside, she climbed into my lap and then cocked her head, watching in fascination as I affixed the custom label with her name and the Caged logo to the CD.

Placing the disc in the clear plastic case, I smiled at her.

“This is you, Willow-baby.” Her eyes widened as I laid the box in her hands. “Play it for Mommy so she can see how talented you are.”