I’m starting to realize my house isn’t big enough for the three of us.

It was just fine with me and Em. We coexisted, and we found balance. I was her friend when I could be, her father when she needed me to be, her protector always, but we fit in and out of each other’s intertwined lives with the balance only a father and daughter could have.

We could occupy the same space and have it be our space, or go to our separate corners. Either was fine.

What isn’t fine is the bizarre dance I keep doing to avoid being alone in a room with Liv. And it's a necessary dance when this girl is a natural at doing dark, confounding shit to my body and mind.

The only relief I ever have is at work.

It’s odd to do my job at the office and also have a full-time protection gig waiting at home, just taking up space. Enguard's HQ is a sanctuary of sorts. A safe harbor where I can be the man I thought I was before Olivia Holly.

There, I’m not noticing how thin and gauzy her little dresses are, or how the sun shines through them so that every time she moves, her body becomes a silhouette in pastel shades.

I’m not noticing how whenever she forgets herself, she hums these tuneless little melodies that are really just her working through soft, thoughtful rainbows of sound.

I’m not escaping every room she’s in, shutting myself in my workshop and trying to find the concentration needed to fit a masthead to a miniature ship through the neck of a bottle. And failing every damn time.

I’m not wanting to pull that pen out of her mouth and replace it with something warmer, softer.

I'm not torturing myself with how fucking bad her very presence makes me throb.

I remember what it was like to relax at home. Building wooden ships – the precision, the expertise, the delicacy necessary – used to be my way to unwind. My Zen place.

Now it’s pure frustration. Because every time I try, I find myself stopping and listening to the sound of laughter coming from the living room while they talk about star-something or X-Men or I think, this morning, Tesla. Em’s always had a fascination with electric cars, and apparently Liv is, in her words, “Here for it.”

If you held a magnum to my head, I couldn't tell you which is worse: my daughter's authentic happiness with Liv, or the siren call to self-destruct that woman puts in my blood.

I’m not here for this. Her, getting comfortable in Em’s life, only to abandon her and go back to her own once there’s no longer a need for us and the convenient illusions of our world.

Or me, lashing out and doing something incredibly stupid the next time I catch a glimpse of Liv's lush little ass, something that'll win me a pink slip from Landon and possibly a lawsuit from her uptight CEO prick of a father.

“Riker. Hey, Riker?”

It takes me a minute to realize Skylar’s been calling my name, probably for a while. I pull myself from my blank stare out the window and swivel my chair around toward her. “Sorry. Yeah?”

She frowns, tilting her head. “I was going to ask if you had inventory numbers for ammo clips, but now I just want to know where the hell you were right now.”

I frown. “Where I...was?”

“Yeah.” She shifts her pixie-like frame around to straddle the back of her chair and folds her arms over it, watching me with knowing eyes.

Somehow, we’re the only people left in the office, burning the evening oil, though I know she’ll be leaving soon to make her way home to Gabe. He always leaves before she does, just so she can come home to someone warm and welcoming with dinner already waiting so she can settle down and relax.

I wonder what that must be like.

I wonder if I want to wonder.

“See?” she says. “You’re doing it again. Drifting off. Daydreaming. And that’s not your MO, man.”

With a scowl, I glance back at the map I was supposed to be studying. A blueprint, actually, of the auditorium for tomorrow’s easy job: afternoon security for a speech by a Tibetan religious leader. “I’m not daydreaming. I’m thinking.”

“Not about work, clearly. What’s really on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I deflect, when the real answer is everything. “Just work, Sky.”

Because just work is why I avoid her further questions. Of course. And just work is why I stay even when she goes with one last light, affectionate tap on my shoulder, leaving me brooding at the screen when there’s really nothing left for me to do but wrap it up and go home.

Em will be waiting, anyway. She’d texted me she was catching a ride home from school with that boy she likes, Ryan, but she’ll still wait for me to get home and order in so we can have dinner.

Rather, so she can have dinner with Liv while I carry my takeout container to the workshop and try once again not to hear how happy Em sounds when talking with this stranger who was thrust into my life.

Fuck. I pinch the bridge of my nose, then force myself up and gather my things into my briefcase.

Home. Home is just another extension of work right now, but this isn’t permanent.

I don’t want it to be permanent.

As I’m locking my briefcase, the door swings open. Landon steps in, caught in the fading colors of sunset. He blinks at me, frowning.

“Shouldn’t you have left by now? Who’s got Em?”

“Caught a ride home with her self-defense instructor. He lives a few blocks away.” I shrug into my suit coat. “Are we any closer to leads on the Holly case?”

“No. It’s been bizarrely quiet, but I missed a call from Milah while I was driving.” He grimaces. “I can’t say I was really sorry about that.”

“What? She's still flirting with you?”

“No, but that doesn’t stop my wife from wanting to murder her.” He smiles and spreads his hands. “Trying to keep the peace. But for now, I need to lock up, so go home.”

I don’t want to say how reluctant I am to go home.

Or how, despite my reluctance…something’s pulling on me anyway, drawing me out the door and to my car.

I haven’t felt this much of a chaotic tangle inside since I was a teenager and first in love. That's how I know I'm well and truly fucked.

I don’t remember her name now, but I remember this shirt she’d wear, spangled with blue glitter and seeming to just burn with the brightness she brought into every room. I always thought falling hard, falling fast, was for kids like the boy I was then, while as adults you took things slow and reasoned, followed the formula, took one step after another to progress at a sensible pace.

That's how it was with me and Crystal. And maybe that's why things got messy before she died.

There’s nothing slow, reasoned, or formulaic about the way everything in my head gets scrambled up the moment I’m within sight of Liv.

Liv – who, when I pull into the garage and step into the house, is angrier than I’ve ever seen her.

She’s pacing the living room, iPhone pressed to her ear, her hair lashing around her, her eyes snapping. Every line of her body is so tense she’s practically having trouble walking because her muscles are locked so tight. “Fine,” she snaps, her soft voice hard-edged and trembling with a restrained edge of fury. “Just do whatever you have to do.”

Then she hangs up, rounding in a frustrated whirl – only to freeze when she sees me. She blanks, her eyes widening and sort of looking through me, before skittering away. “Oh. Hi, Riker.”

I eyeball her, especially what she's hiding. Her defensive body language, the flush of anger in her cheeks. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she bites off sullenly, and suddenly I see the resemblance to Milah Holly all too well.

It just doesn’t annoy me as much as it should.

“Liv,” I start, then sigh. I know I’ve made this distance, this tension, and right now might not be the best time to prod at it, but dammit, I need to. “What happened? If there’s something I need to know, tell me. Was someone threatening you?”

“No,” she says firmly, then breaks off as Em comes running downstairs in her gym pants and protective gear.

“Ready?” she asks breathlessly, that light in her eyes, completely oblivious to the stifling miasma between me and Liv.

Whatever this is, we can't finish it now. Not in front of my girl.

“You know it,” I say, and toss my head to both of them. “Come on.”

At Em’s classes, Liv and I have developed a routine.

We sit far enough from the other parents so that we seem lost in our own little world, soon-to-be newlyweds too wrapped up in each other to want to engage with anyone else. Nobody questions it.

She curls her hand on my arm and leans her head on my shoulder. I lean subtly into her, and we murmur to each other about the case while people think we’re whispering sweet nothings.

Only today, it's different. Everything's different.

Liv sits stiffly away from me, her arms folded over her chest, and while she’s watching Em, her eyes are glassy and lost and distant. Lover’s quarrel, anyone would think.

I probably did or said something shitty.

They’d be right, I think, but I know my coldness isn't why Liv is like this right now.

And I’m surprised how much I miss her slight, sweet warmth against my side. I miss the delicate torture of her soft young skin on mine.

I glance up, watching Em a few minutes. She’s absorbed in learning about ankle holds and doesn’t even remember I’m in the room. She’ll be fine for a little time without us.

Standing, I lightly brush my fingers over Liv’s shoulder. She glances at me sidelong, watching me from the corner of her eye but saying nothing.

“Hallway. Need a few words,” I growl. When her mouth tightens, I add, “Please.”

She’s good at talking with silence, and right now her quiet says that while her mood might not be wholly because of me, I’m not helping. But after a pointed moment, she stands, following me out into the hall.

Why the hell does this guilt leap up and bite me?

I know why. I can’t let this go on any longer. And the moment the classroom door closes behind us and we’re alone in the dim gray-white fluorescents of the hall, I spit it the fuck out, “I’m sorry.”

She stills, looking at me like she’s never heard those words in her life. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath. “I always tell Em that part of growing up is being willing to apologize. So I need to set an example. And I’m sorry, Liv. I shouldn’t have shut you out. I’m sorry if I made you feel unsafe while you’re dealing with all of this. You didn't mean a personal insult when you offered to make us dinner. I get defensive for bullshit reasons that aren’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, or pulled this cat and mouse shit when you just wanted to help. How else can I say it? I fucked up.”

She eyes me warily, folding her arms over her chest, but then sniffs, her mouth twitching at the corners. “Bravo. I guess you win Dad points for this one, but I’ve got to tell you...you’re a terrible fiancé.”

I crack a small smile. “Yeah. Fair.”

“Guess I’ll let you off the hook. But only if you stop hiding during dinner, Riker. Em misses you. She's actually getting tired of takeout. And maybe...me, too.”

I don't ask whether she means the takeout or me. It's obvious and complicated.

“I’m not hiding,” I bite off, sinking my teeth into my own tongue. I can’t even get that lie out straight. “All right.”

“Thank you.” She glances back toward the classroom door. There’s an even silence around us, save for the enthusiastic shouts drifting through the walls, before she says tentatively, “That was my sister earlier. When I was on the phone.”

That sets off alarm bells, knowing Milah tried to call Landon and then wound up arguing with Liv. “What happened? Is everything all right?”

“She said I can come home.” Her mouth goes from a soft, lush bloom to a bitterly twisted bud, tight and closed. “Just like that. Like I can’t tell Daddy’s behind it, when it’s all talk about how he can keep me safe in Seattle now or at one of his vacation houses. I guess since I’m not around, she’s his new mouthpiece. Don't ask me why the change of heart, when he pushed this witness protection thing in the first place. I just don't understand...”

I don't either, and I don't fucking like it.

I'm also not liking Liv’s father much. Didn't seem possible my opinion could fall any lower after seeing how he shoved her off to me and stopped just short of asking me to shine his shoes at the airport.

Plus, I’m liking the idea of her suddenly disappearing even less, and that makes zero damned sense when I should be rejoicing to have this problem out of my life.

I try to keep my voice neutral. “If it fits Enguard protocol and common sense, it's your choice. Have you made up your mind?”

Technically, it's Landon's. I can't believe he'd sanction her to go back to Seattle with a bastard like Lion still itching to take her hostage, but who am I to say? Her old man could hire her a small country's army for protection.

“Yeah.” Liv smiles this fierce, strange smile that I’m starting to realize is her way of coping when she’s hurt. “Bad news, Riker...”

Bad news? My balls crawl up into my throat. Fuck, it shouldn't bother me so much, but it does and I'm barely listening when she continues on.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I feel safer with you than I do at home with Daddy. He'll throw money at the problem like that will make it go away. But you and Em...you actually care.”

Fuck yes.

I do.

I care about keeping this strange woman, with her bizarre mixture of naivete and weary worldliness, as safe as possible.

I care about being the man to see with my own eyes that she’s made it through every day safe and sound, protected and within arm’s reach. So I can stand between her and anything that tries to hurt her.

I care about the fact that she changes the energy of the house when she’s there – hell, my whole life – and it’ll seem duller and grayer and uglier when she’s gone.

I care about her because I don't understand what the hell's happening to me.

I’m saved from having to answer that question – or Liv's shining eyes – when the classroom door bursts open and Em spills out like an overexcited puppy. The other students are behind her, that Ryan boy slipping out and hovering shyly a few feet away.

For once, though, Em’s not focused on the boy I’m pretty sure she has a crush on. She’s latched onto Liv. That makes me take even more notice.

My daughter isn't someone who touches others easily. During family counseling after Crystal’s funeral, I was warned that one way Em would try to guard herself against fear, pain, and loss would be to physically retreat from others. To trust very few with contact.

It’s one more reason why I was happy she wanted to take martial arts, cost be damned, because it means she's working past her tendency to flinch away from the slightest contact with anyone but me.

But it’s amazing to see her so casually wrap her hands around Liv’s upper arm, leaning into her for a moment before putting her entire tiny weight into it, dragging Liv toward the door.

I fight back a smile that hurts in the strangest way.

Then Liv laughs her lyrical laugh, as that brightness she has in spades unfurls for Em. “Hey, now! Where're you taking me?”

“You promised!” Em says. “That you’d come spar with me. Remember? Class is over. It’s open gym!”

Liv looks down at herself, at the shimmery, flowing dress that skims her thighs. “You're right. It's just...I’m not really dressed for sparring matches.”

“Sure you are!” Em grins. “Master Mike always says you have to be ready to defend yourself on the playground or in a fight, because no one’s going to give you a chance to change your clothes or warm up. So it’s better if you learn in the clothes you normally wear.”

Liv lets out a mock sigh. “Smart advice. Well, if I end up flashing half the class, it’s your fault.”

My brows lower.

I shouldn’t want to growl at the idea of that breezy skirt flashing aside and giving anyone else a glimpse of that sweet place where her panties dip between her thighs from the back, molding up into the inner curves of her ass.

I’ve seen that tempting little glance of flesh and lace too many times, with her fondness for short robes, short shorts, and short skirts.

I've seen it and sworn it's already mine even though that'd be a mammoth fuckup.

Shit. I’m not going to be able to watch this.

Not without wanting to fight any asshole who looks at her a little too long.

Not without fighting my own body if I see her bent over, writhing, showing too much skin.

Fuck!

But I let myself get dragged back inside the gym by both of them, Liv catching one of my arms, Em catching the other, both of them already planning – without even asking me – to stop for ice cream after.

Maybe it's for the best. We'll all need something cool and refreshing after this for very different reasons.

Somehow, my life has gone from being ruled by one irrepressible woman to two.

As they split off, though, I make my way to the back of the class and take up a position near the other parents and students milling around. Everyone watches the free sparring while the instructor calls out pointers.

Mike circles the room, and eventually makes his way around to me, clapping his hand to my shoulder. I try not to jerk away from the uninvited contact.

Em’s not the only one with issues being touched.

Odd how I don’t even think about pulling away when it’s Liv.

But it's not just that. This guy has a certain vibe around him. Like one of those try-hard New Age fitness freaks who also thinks he's God's gift for – what does he call it? – 'nurturing bright young minds.'

It's hard not to cringe when Mike flashes his too-wide grin at me. “Em’s an incredible student, Mr. Woods,” he says. “One of my best. And I’m glad she and Ryan are getting along so well. I was worried about him making friends here after the move.”

I nod, only halfway listening “Yeah. Good.”

Whatever. No matter how idle and neutral I try to keep my gaze, I end up drawn back to Liv again and again, watching how the dress swirls, clings to her, makes rippled patterns over the curve of her hips and rides up her thighs to tease and taunt and never quite satisfy until my mouth goes dry, waiting for that one special glimpse that keeps promising and never quite delivering.

Fucking hell.

And hell is right because Mike’s still talking. Still saying something about Tacoma and moving for Ryan’s education.

I force my attention from Liv, barely, and glance at him. “Yeah,” I say, though I can’t muster much interest. “Picking the right school's always important.”

“You said it, almost-neighbor. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really should make the rounds. That boy over there, Joey, he likes to imitate the wrestlers on TV who are far too big into power slamming for my liking...”

He doesn’t stick around for more small talk, and I’m glad.

I’ve never really been the PTA super-dad type. I’m less interested in being friendly with the other kids’ parents and more interested in protecting my own little cub.

Said cub turns into a bouncing bundle of triumph, though. With a sudden, sharp maneuver, Em flips Liv down in a tumble of limbs and golden hair and pale fabric to spill her onto the floor.

“I win!” Em proclaims.

Liv groans, though it’s more a resigned laugh, and pushes herself up on her elbows. She’s a gloriously disheveled mess, as if she’s just been tumbled into bed, and she tosses me a wry, rather charming grin. “I’m totally going to say I let her win.”

“Naturally,” I say, marveling at how easy it is to smile back at our little joke. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. C'mon.” I cross the mat and offer her my hand. “You've earned an ice cream for your beating.”

She slips her hand into mine then. Her fingers clasp mine so tight it doesn't even feel like show, this act we keep up in public.

Her skin feels so delicate. Soft and light as a new spring leaf, and her warmth soaks into me.

Then she just looks up at me with those wide, hopeful eyes, full of so much emotion and a sort of lovely, unguarded laughter. I forget I’m supposed to be helping her up, as I linger on the way her hair teases her face in honey-colored wisps against her lips and tumbles around her bare shoulders.

I'm stuck there like a fool, savoring how small her hand is in my palm as I fold my fingers around hers. My heartbeat is a strange and distant echo.

Good thing Em’s voice is plenty loud, snapping me from my reverie, as she tugs on my arm. “Come on, Dad. Ice cream shop's gonna close soon.”

Right. I shake myself, and for a moment Liv and I exchange an almost wondering look before I pull her up and she laughs, rolling gracefully to her feet. She’s flushed, and I think my blood is too, so I smile slightly and look away, tossing my head to the girls. “Let's go.”

Still holding Liv's hand, I start to lean down to kiss her cheek.

We’re in public. We seem so easy and natural, and I need to keep the façade up.

Were we actually engaged, it'd be completely normal for me to kiss her so casually for everyone to see after a playful little moment that brings us closer together as a family.

But I don’t realize she’s had the same idea, stretching up on her toes to kiss my cheek, until we both miss the mark and somehow – sweet fuck.

It’s lips to lips and my breath stiffens.

It’s chaste. Soft. Brief.

Just a little accident, but goddamn does it hold as we both freeze, our eyes locked, our lips pressed close.

I’ve never known any woman's mouth as pliable and yielding as hers, like she’s a sigh made flesh and you just want to melt away with her. My heart thunders.

My cock surges, hot and throbbing, as the softness of her mouth makes me aware of how soft she is everywhere else. Her hand still curled in mine. The teasing swell of her tight body on mine, tits resting lightly against my arm.

Her scent, creeping into me. I’m caught here, entranced, held in the thrall of this fake kiss that feels all too fucking real.

We might have stayed like that forever if not for Em.

She’s my lifesaver, my...I don’t know, because I don’t know if I want this to stop, but people are starting to stare, and Em gives us a reason to break apart when she grins and starts chanting, “Daddy and Liv, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g...”

I suck in a breath. Liv and I rebound from each other sharply, both of us almost panting, and God if she’s that red then I can’t be any better. Not with how hot my face is.

Our fingers are still linked until we both seem to realize in the same moment and jerk back. The air between us is too hot. It’s Liv who breaks eye contact first, turning away and ducking her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. She glances at me shyly once more from the corner of her eye, then turns her attention to Em and gives her a light, playful shove.

“Oh, come on,” she teases. “Nursery rhymes?”

Em shoves her back, the two of them playfully tussling. “You’re so PDA.”

“I don’t think PDA is something a person can be,” Liv laughs. “It’s something you do.”

They keep teasing like that.

Somehow, things feel natural still, despite the memory of Liv’s lips on mine, breathless and hot and forever stamped on me. Despite the dark, animal urges they've sent into my blood. Despite the need that's still building in me every time I lay eyes on my pretend wife-to-be.

I manage to smile despite the ache in my chest and turn to head outside.

They fall into their usual chatter as they trail me out toward the parking lot. I’m pretty sure they’re speaking another language, and it’s not human, something from one of their sci-fi shows.

As we step out into the darkness, I can’t help letting my senses range out far, tuning them out to focus instead on our surroundings. I know this parking lot by day and by night, every crevice and cranny and vulnerable point of attack where someone could catch me off guard and possibly hurt Em – and now, Liv, too.

It’s natural for me to position my body so I make a shield for them as we cross the lot toward the Wrangler. I’m on alert for anyone creeping around in the shadows.

So I’m really not expecting someone to be brazenly hunched over my driver’s side door, fiddling at the lock with a wire hook.

My blood goes cold and dark. I snarl, striding forward.

“Stay back!” I throw at Liv, barely catching a glimpse of her positioning herself protectively in front of Em before my vision narrows on my target.

I make it three steps before the man – dressed all in scruffy black, a mask over his face, lank hair trickling from under the cap – realizes I’m almost on him.

He jerks, looking up with his eyes wide through the mask. They're brown.

I mark those eyes, in case I ever see them again, in case he hurts either of my girls and I have to pull them from his sockets. But in another split second, they’re turning away from me as the man bolts for the side alley leading into the lot.

It’s only his head start that lets him get away. I take off after him, pouring all my strength into the chase, but he’s already vanished into narrow side streets and rushing traffic where it’ll be impossible to find him, especially at this busy time of night.

I stop at the mouth of the alley, staring out into the main street, searching, my adrenaline a thing with teeth demanding that I find and end anyone and anything threatening what’s mine.

But I don’t like having them out of my sight right now, and after a few more searching moments, I turn, making my way quickly back to the lot.

Liv and Em have retreated to the outside wall of the building, huddled next to the door. It says everything to me how Liv has Em wrapped up in her arms, how she's moved to shelter her even though I’m pretty sure Liv was the one they'd be after.

“He got away,” I say grimly. “Let me check the car, and then we’ll file a police report. I'll let Landon know, and then we'll go home.”

They’re both wide-eyed, silent, but almost eerily calm. I wonder if they’re in shock or just holding it together until this is over.

I do a thorough inspection of my Wrangler, but I can’t find any signs of tampering other than the attempt to jimmy the lock, leaving a few scrapes on the paint and the window. The intruder had been wearing gloves, so no likelihood of prints.

Maybe not the Pilgrims. Looks more like a random break-in, the kind that's inevitable if you've lived enough years around the Bay.

Sighing, I text it to Landon anyway, then call 9-11.

It’s a short wait for the cops to show, and I stay close to my girls until the patrol car pulls up. Both of them lean into me while I talk to the officer, and it feels entirely natural to wrap one arm around them both and keep them close against my side while I run through the details with the cop.

Just an act, I tell myself.

Just an act, soothing my so-called fiancée.

I’m cagey on details with the cop. Landon’s warnings about the Pilgrims’ connections make everyone suspect.

For all we know, it could’ve been a random prowler and a crime of opportunity.

That’s a little too much coincidence for me, but it’s all the cop needs to know. Before long, we’re let go, and I usher them into the car.

My first instinct is to take them home and lock all the doors, but I don’t want to scare them more. Right now, the illusion of normalcy might be the best thing after all.

There's just enough time. So, ice cream it is.

And two very subdued girls who keep giving me and each other worried looks over mint chocolate chip and fudge ripple waffle cones, though they’re still clinging to each other and talking in hushed whispers while I focus on my phone.

That quick text I’d sent to Landon wasn’t enough, and I’m locked up in my own head, texting my boss more details and plotting out patrols for James and questioning where the hell Milah Holly disappeared to when she never called Landon back.

Then a sandaled foot nudges me under the table.

I look up. Liv is watching, her eyes dark and worried. Em’s more focused on her own phone, and I bet that boy’s on the other end of her texts. But it’s Liv who captures me, watching me intently, then reaching across the table to touch my arm, just the barest brush of her fingertips.

“Hey,” she asks softly. “Are you okay?”

How the fuck do I answer that? It's an even tougher question than usual.

People don’t ask me if I’m okay. They trust that I can handle myself, always, and rely on me to be the one making sure they’re okay.

I’m not sure what to do with the genuine, deep concern brimming in her eyes, or the fact that she sees me enough to realize I could even be shaken by an intruder getting so close to the people I need to protect most.

I take a deep breath and manage a smile – for her and for Em. I don’t want to worry them.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just taking care of business while it’s still fresh in my mind, and keeping Landon updated. Company procedure. He’s got some questions about your father suddenly wanting you home.”

She frowns. “Is that weird?”

“It raises questions.” I glance at Em.

I don’t like talking work in front of her, bringing the dirtiness of my world into her innocent life, but she’s so completely absorbed in her phone I don’t think she even hears us. “It's odd, is all. Why make such complex arrangements to set you up with Enguard, then abruptly change his mind? Why'd your sister call Landon and never call back, then call you the way she did? How is it that two separate criminal groups showed up at Milah’s house at exactly the same time and pulled off something so well orchestrated in the middle of a busy street?”

Liv tilts her head, poking her spoon into her ice cream and turning it into mush. “I hadn’t thought about all that.” She shakes her head. “I’m so used to going with the flow that I don’t really question the whys, just whether or not I want to do them.” She makes a face, scrunching up her nose. “Pretty sure the answer to the last part is ‘no’ for most of this past week and a half.”

“Not enjoying your stay at Chateau Woods, then? Will you be leaving a bad review on Yelp?”

She laughs, short and quick and startled. “You know what I mean.”

It's damn strange that I like making her laugh, like my chest is a locked and rusted vault that’s slowly starting to creak open. Em glances at us both in disgust, rolling her eyes.

“You tell the worst jokes, Dad.”

“I don’t mind them,” Liv says, eyes glimmering. “And I don’t mind the accommodations, either. Even if the concierge’s a bit grumpy. I meant whatever's going on with Daddy, of course.”

“Just for that,” I say, “you’re cooking dinner for the next week.”

Liv lights up. “Can I?”

I can’t help but groan. I can never anticipate Liv’s reactions to the most common things, and it’s bizarrely charming and endearing. “Maybe not. If you’re on dinner duty, I’m on dishes.”

“Could make Em do them,” she counters. “For being on her phone at the table.”

Em sticks her tongue out. “You’re not my stepmom yet.”

Yet.

Just like that, the air sucks out of the room, and we’re all quiet, realizing what she just said.

I purse my lips and look away. Liv stares down at her ice cream. Em winces, then adds haltingly, “I mean, it’s a match made in heaven, right? You even like the same ice cream.”

I hadn’t even noticed. Both of us with cones of mint chip. I know Em’s just trying to break the ice and clear out the awkwardness, but it can’t really ease the tightness in my chest, that vault trying to slam shut again but catching on something and nearly crushing it.

“Yeah,” I say, playing along listlessly, digging my spoon into my ice cream. “That’s how you can tell we’re soul mates.”