Page 188 of Trouble from Abroad
She straightens her back in her seat, furrows her brow a tiny bit, and says it in a mock-military tone. “Kindness and honesty, at all times.” Then she taps her fingers on the counter. “Oh! Oh! And wash your hands before snacks.”
If there’s such a thing as too cute, Lily isn’t just breaking the scale—she’s dancing on its ruins.
“Your accent,” she says when she turns to me, still holding on to her father’s arm, cheek pressed to his bicep. “It's funny. Dad told me you were from England, do they all talk like that over there?”
My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I somehow find more teeth to show. “We do. And in some parts of the country, they sound even funnier.”
“No way!”
“Yeah way!”
She giggles again. Lord, she’s gorgeous. Taller than I expected for six. Though Preston did mention she’ll be seven soon. Straight brown hair, too long in the bangs—she keeps blowing them out of her eyes. A tiny ski-slope nose, and the most infectious smile I’ve ever seen.
“Come,” she says, tapping the empty stool next to hers. “I saved this spot for you.” I dissolve on my way there, heart melting for this girl.
The little New Yorker is obsessed with my accent, so I tell her all about kings and queens, and she asks me about castles while we sink our teeth into syrupy pancakes. Preston and his parents hover nearby, whispering from acorner. I barely register them. I’m too busy being charmed by their girl.
When Lily catches them watching, she frowns. “What? Am I talking too much again?”
I don’t give them a chance to answer. “No such thing. Smart people have things to say.” I tip my head at her notebook. “Do you keep lists? I do.” She rolls her lips, as if she’s proud, but too self-conscious to admit it. If she isn’t, she will before my time here is done. “So… can you tell me about New York? It’s my first time here.”
That gets her launching into a mini lesson. Like father, like daughter. Two New York enthusiasts. How lucky am I? Lily’s bright, chatty, and fearless. I think I just won the lottery.
Liam’s been demoted. He’s no longer the best boss I’ve ever had.
Mr. and Mrs. Jett say their goodbyes after breakfast, and Lily ropes her dad into taking us to Coney Island. It’s the first place she wants to show me in New York. Can’t wait to see the rest of her list.
April calls before we leave—I suspect to check on Preston—and suddenly she and Liam are tagging along. Callie’s off somewhere on a date with the bartender from last night. I can respect her priorities.
Once we hit the funfair, Liam melts into a complete puddle for Lily. This girl has the superpower to turn grumpy men into golden retrievers. He hoists her onto his shoulders and gallops along the boardwalk, then heads down by the beach, kicking at the waves just to make her squeal. I laugh so hard, I get the hiccups.
Preston heads to a kiosk to get our prepaid wristbands,then he steers us through scanner chaos with an ‘after you’ and a stretch of his arm that parts the crowd like the Red Sea. We tackle the Lily-approved roller coasters, then inhale corn dogs, fried Oreos, and soft serve until my body composition is fifty percent regret and fifty percent sugar.
I’m one deep inhale away from exploding when we pass by a funnel cake stand. Naturally, I stop. I pull on the stretchy waistband of my leggings and decide they can take it. I stare in reverence as the vendor buries the fried monstrosity in powdered sugar.
It tastes insane. Well, it’s fried dough and sugar—what could possibly go wrong?
Somewhere between the screaming rides and our fifth snack, we collapse onto a bench with a view of the historic Parachute Jump, its red tower stabbing the sky. The whole place buzzes—screeching seagulls, coaster tracks creaking, arcade bells clanging, and a salty breeze thick with nostalgia and hot oil. It’s chaotic, a little grimy, and totally alive. I love it.
Lily, sugar-crashed and sun-kissed, curls up in my lap like a baby koala during lunch and dozes off. Her little snores puff against my arm. I press my cheek to the top of her head and let the moment stretch, rocking her side to side. Preston drapes his hoodie over her. “She always gets cold when she falls asleep,” he murmurs.
The doctor slides closer to me on the bench, looking jealous as hell that his lap didn’t make the cut. April leans in from across the table, eyes sharp on him. “Have you heard back from the lawyer? The PI? Is there any news on Blake?”
We both glance down at Lily, but she’s out cold.
I pull out my phone from my jacket, a sorry excuse to give them privacy. I’m not sure if I’m meant to hear this, but there’s no graceful way to leave. I feel Preston watching me again. Every time I’ve checked my phone today, I’ve felt his stare. On me and on the screen.
“Pres,” April calls his attention back.
“Sorry,” he says but pauses. “I spoke to the family lawyer Liam recommended. There’s something called ‘service by publication.’ If you can’t locate your spouse, you can still move forward with the divorce.”
April dips the corners of her mouth for a beat. “You lost me at publication.”
“Don’t ask me to explain legal stuff on a Saturday, A,” the doctor begs.
April switches gears like only she can. “Well, if you’re really sober, it’s time to get the rest of your shit together.” Damn, girl doesn’t do subtle, does she? I love her for that, but right now, it kind of makes me feel bad for the guy sitting next to me. “We need you back at the hospital. The board won’t stop asking about you.” She squeezes his forearm. “That’s why we got you a stellar PA working as a nanny. Use her.”
Liam snorts. “Please don’t tell your boss tousemy assistant.” Then he turns to Preston, smirking. “You better show my protégée more respect than I showed yours.” My eyes drop, not out of shame, but to check whether they’ve rolled out of their sockets.What the fucking hell?
