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He reappears in the hallway carrying Rabbit under one arm. He crosses quickly to where I stand in the living room, then drops to his knees beside the package.

I pull out my pocket knife, making quick work of the tape, then stand back and let him have at it.

Kamden opens the top flaps, then pulls the brown packing paper onto the floor, then goes completely still.

23

Adrien

“What is it?” I ask.

I swear to God if it’s a human torso…

“Kammie?”

He reaches down slowly, almost reverently, and runs his fingertips over the printed photograph on the box.

A sewing machine.

Not one of those flimsy cheap ones from a bargain bin either.

The image shows a sleek, substantial machine with a wide work surface, a digital display, an intimidating number of settings, and enough accessories pictured along the bottom that it looks like the fucking cockpit of a small aircraft.

Kamden turns toward me, his mouth slack with disbelief. “Daddy.”

“Yeah?”

“This is…”

He looks back down at the box, then up at me again. His eyes are starting to shine, lashes wet.

Oh.

This isn’t just about a sewing machine, is it?

I lower myself beside him, knees cracking faintly. “What is it?”

His palm stays pressed flat against the printed image as if trying to feel its texture through the cardboard. “This is a really, really good machine.”

“How good?”

His laugh comes out airy, almost breathless. “Like—professional-grade good.”

Interesting.

I definitely didn’t order it.

“Open it.”

Kamden looks suddenly nervous, almost guilty. “What if it’s not actually for me?”

“It has my address and name on it.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Baby.”

He presses his lips tight, then peels the tabs holding the package shut with a trembling finger. The outer cardboard gives way to dense molded foam and, beneath that, a hard protective shell. Kamden goes still as we peel away the packaging, barely breathing.