Nev

I come home to a house of screaming kids and one very disheveled older sister. The house is a mess, the kitchen especially, and Lennon’s room is strewn with toys. It’s safe to say my sister’s parenting style and mine are night and day.

She’s more of a go-with-the-flow kind of mom whereas I like structure and expectations.

“How’s Mom?” she asks, tugging at her bottom lip. Her almond eyes water as she bounces Essie on her hip. “I’m going to go visit her again when Ken gets home from work. I don’t want to take the kids. They don’t need to see her like this.”

“About the same,” I say. “Doctors say there’s a ten percent chance she’ll make a full recovery, but odds are if she recovers, she’ll have a few impairments.”

Eden exhales, eyes watering. “I just hate seeing her like that, you know? So weak. It isn’t her.”

“She’ll be fine,” I say, taking my daughter and cradling her in my arms. She reaches up, grabbing at my shirt collar.

“Yeah, but we don’t know that—”

“Mom, can we go? I’m starving,” my oldest nephew whines.

“Yeah, Tucker, we’re leaving.” Eden ruffles his hair before turning back to me. “Sorry about the house. I meant to pick up, but Essie was fussing and—”

“It’s fine.”

Stepping closer, Eden rises on her toes and hooks an arm around me, giving me a squeeze.

“I love you,” she says.

“Love you too.”

Growing up, we only ever said those words when someone had died and we were stunned into the realization that we were nothing but mortals after all

“Thanks for watching the girls,” I say as she shuffles her crew out the front door.

Hitting the button for the gate, I close the front door and carry Essie to her high chair and fasten a bib around her neck.

A minute later, someone knocks, and I glance around the kitchen to check and see if Eden left her phone lying around for the millionth time, but no dice.

Jogging across the house, I grab the door.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you?” I ask Yardley as she stands before me with a covered casserole in her arms.

“Let me be here for you,” she says, eyes wide and forgiving. She offers me sympathy, but I want no part in it. “This isn’t about us, Nev. We can put our stuff aside for the girls, can’t we?”

“Don’t bring them into this.”

“No, I mean, your mom took care of them before, right? Who’s going to take care of them now?” she asks.

I have no fucking clue.

I’ve been taking the last few days one by one, with Eden taking on most of the obligations, but she’s got four of her own. I can’t keep calling in favors. It’s too much for her to deal with that and worry about Mom at the same time.

“Here.” She shoves the dish toward me. “Don’t want my help? Fine. But you still need to eat.”

The warmth of little hands wrapping around my leg a moment later followed by Lennon’s little squeal squelches the tension, albeit only by an ounce.

“Daddy! It’s the pretty lady from the dress shop,” she says, glancing up at me. “I broke her mannequin’s hand.”

“You have a very good memory, Lennon,” I say, smiling. “I’m impressed.”

She beams, her emerald gaze passing between the two of us.

“Daddy, can I show her my room?” she asks, tugging on my hand.

Glancing at Yardley, I drag in a ragged breath.

“Maybe another time, Lennon?” she asks.

Lennon’s expression fades and dad-guilt kicks in. All I want is for my baby girl to be happy and if it means giving Yardley Devereaux a tour of her brand-new room, then so be it.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Go ahead.”

“Are … you sure?” Yardley asks, chin tucked.

I step out of the way. “Yep.”

Lennon takes her hand, leading her upstairs, and I watch from the foyer as Lennon prattles on about the kinds of things that would only matter to a five-year-old. Favorite colors. Favorite animals. Favorite cartoons. That sort of thing.

She’s resilient and chipper, and she sure as hell didn’t get it from me.

Heading back to the kitchen, I put the casserole on the counter before grabbing a baby spoon and a container of peas and carrots and taking a seat across from Essie. Within minutes, she’s wearing more than she’s eating, and I’m realizing I should’ve gone with the squash tonight.

“Yeah, well, I never liked peas either,” I tell her, sticking out my tongue.

“Daddy, can Yardley stay for dinner?” Lennon appears in the doorway of the kitchen a few minutes later, as I’m in the midst of cleaning up her sister.

Yardley stands behind her, waving her hands and mouthing the words, “It’s okay.”

“Please, can she?” Lennon asks again, clasping her little hands. “She’s my new best friend.”

Yardley chuckles, covering her mouth and glancing away. That’s Lennon though, making friends wherever she goes.

“Yes, she can.” I give in, but only for my daughter. Not for Yardley. And not because I’m turning all soft because she had the audacity to show up at my door demanding I accept her help.

“You sure?” she asks, one brow lifted.

Rolling my eyes, I nod. Maybe I need to spell it out or screen print it on a shirt? A second later, I look her dead in the eyes and say, “Yes, Yardley. I’m sure.”

“I just don’t want to infringe,” she says.

A little late for that.

Lennon takes a seat at the table and Yardley strolls toward the casserole dish sitting warm on the counter. A second later, she’s opening and closing cupboards in search of plates and forks and cups, and within five minutes the table is set and my picky eater is devouring whatever mixed vegetable and pasta concoction Yardley placed in front of her.

“Here.” Yardley hands me a warm wash cloth for Essie’s face. Before I have a chance to thank her, she’s on the other side of the kitchen, filling the sink with warm, soapy water and preparing to wash the stack of dishes my sister left for me.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

She ignores me.

“This is so yummy, Daddy,” Lennon tells me, chewing a bite way too big for her little mouth. “You should try yours.”

Lennon points, and I realize Yardley had placed a bowl of casserole in front of me along with a fork and a napkin and a glass of milk.

I chuckle. This is too much.

A few bites later, and I’m in agreement with my daughter.

“Never knew you could cook,” I tell Yardley.

“Is that your way of saying you’re glad I made you this delicious casserole?” she asks, elbow deep in dishwater, her back toward me.

“Something like that.”

When she’s finished, she pulls the drain stop and dries her hands on a nearby rag. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“Yeah.” I turn to her. “How about you sit down and eat with us?”

Her expression dies of shock, as if my invitation is outlandish in every way.

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Sure,” she says, making her way toward the island and fixing herself a bowl.

A few seconds later, she’s seated between Lennon and myself, and in an odd way it feels like a family dinner.

By eight o’clock, Yardley has finished reading Lennon a bedtime story and both girls are out.

“I guess that’s it?” she asks. “Unless you want me to tuck you in too?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

We walk toward the door, her in front of me, and before she leaves, she faces me.

“What time should I come back tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yardley …”

“Please,” she says. “I want to do this for you. For the girls.”

“What about your job?”

“I’ll bring my laptop and work while the girls nap,” she says. “You have to admit it was nice having me here tonight.”

“I do appreciate the help, as unsolicited as it was.”

She rolls her eyes. “All right, well, I suppose …”

My gaze falls to her full mouth, remembering the heat of her lips the other night, the softness of her skin beneath my palms.

I may have made a mistake that evening, but I fucking loved kissing her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, moving closer to the door.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re ten seconds from devouring me again,” she says.

“You’d be so lucky.” I smirk.

“No. I’d be a fool. There’s nothing more dangerous than a man who doesn’t know what he wants. Goodnight, Nevada.”