Page 162 of Pucking Daddy

Lily had insisted this morning that she was going to draw me a dragon this afternoon if she got free art time.

I told her I would frame it.

She’d narrowed her eyes at me over her cereal. “You better not be lying.”

I’d sworn on my favorite sneakers.

That had satisfied her.

The memory warms something soft in my chest as I reach the front steps.

The doors are still closed. Pickup hasn’t started yet. A few other adults linger nearby, some scrolling on their phones, some chatting quietly.

I move to my usual spot near the office windows, settling in to wait, calm and content. Everything is going so well.

My phone buzzes in my purse.

It’s Jaxon.

A strange little thrill runs through me before I can stop it.

Jaxon:

Running ten minutes late from the rink. How’s my favorite girl?

I stare at the message for a second longer than necessary.

I type back before I can overthink it.

Me:

Which one?

The three dots appear almost instantly.

Jaxon:

The one who bossed me into cutting the crusts off her sandwich this morning.

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head.

Me:

Good thing she hasn’t asked for pancakes in her school lunch… yet.

His reply comes back right away.

Jaxon:

Keep me posted.

There’s something so easy about this. So domestic. So dangerously nice that I have to slide the phone back into my bag before I start standing here in front of an elementary school smiling like an idiot.

My gaze drifts over the parking lot, over the parents gathering in loose clusters, over the black iron fence framing the playground out back.

Then it catches on a woman walking toward the entrance.

For half a second, nothing about her registers beyond polished.