Page 81 of Trouble from Abroad
“I was just trying to make myself breakfast,” she says, wide-eyed but not crying.
“It’s okay, Lil. It was worth a try. This is how we learn.” Preston crouches, carefully picking up porcelain shards,then dropping them into a paper bag like it’s no big deal. “Sorry we took so long to come down.” He grabs another bowl and hands it to her while I take care of the floor. “Want to try again?”
Lily perks up. “Can I, Dad?”
My panties don’t stand a chance. Even his parenting turns me into soup. Is there anything this man is bad at?
“Of course you can. Practice is the only way we learn. Give it another go.”
I watch as he shows her how to set the bowl farther from the edge, how to grip the milk jug steady with both hands. She overflows the bowl—twice—and he doesn’t so much as flinch. Just grabs a towel, wipes the counter, swaps bowls, and talks her nerves down.
Lily’s so lucky. My chest twists at the thought of what it must be like to grow up with that kind of attention and tenderness. In that kind of safety.
On her sixth attempt, she finally nails it—clean pour, no splash—and the three of us break into a full-body celebratory dance around the kitchen island. Look at us, already making him bust out moves.
And when I see how proud this fierce, stubborn little girl looks, I get a glimpse of the woman she’ll grow into. So brave. Wild too. Unapologetically herself.
It guts me a little, knowing I won’t be around to see it. April and Callie better send me photos. Updates. Anything. Because the world’s gonna be lucky to have her—and I already miss her future.
“Mia, want me to pour your milk?” Lily asks, practically vibrating with excitement.
Preston’s eyes double in size. I press my lips to stop a laugh as he silently panics behind her.
“I don’t think I’ll have cereal today, Lils. But that was really thoughtful of you, thanks for asking.”
She huffs, clearly gutted, and my chest twinges. Preston leans back on the sink after dodging that bullet.
“Cheese sandwich, Miss Thorne?” he offers.
Lily eyes us both and fires me another question before I can answer his. “Didn’t you ask Dad not to call you Miss?”
“I did! You have such a good memory, Lils.” I ruffle her hair just to be a tad annoying. She yelps and nudges the hair clip back into place, muttering under her breath. “But you know what? Life’s already full of battles. And I’ve learned that no matter how politely I ask your father, he’ll still deny me some of the things I really, really want.”
* * *
I meet Mrs. Romano before we leave for drop-off. A lovely, yet no-nonsense Italian lady. She spits on the floor when she passes by a picture of Blake. I gasp so hard it sends me into a coughing fit. Fine, I also fight the urge to howl with laughter. The woman is mad.Mad. But fiercely protective of these two, so I love her already.
She’s grumbling about being overpaid, and Preston’s playing dumb to avoid the discussion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I pay you what’s fair, Grazi.”
Mrs. Romano waves him off, muttering something in Italian, curse words would be my guess, and Lily wraps her arms around her waist.
Preston explains the plan. “We’ll be out all day, probably back after six. That okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I already said so,” she huffs, arms flapping, shooing us to the door. “Vai,vai, go, go. I make sure they do the work, don’t you worry.”
I, for one, am not worried about her. What I am is deeply concerned for the well-being of the builders. Poor souls are about to get bossed into another dimension.
“Nana Grazi,” Lily says shyly, “would you make me your lasagna?”
“Ma certo, piccola! I’d never let you starve.”
Lily jumps in place, and I melt a little. They’re blessed to have this iron-fisted marshmallow of a woman in their corner.
“Grazie, Grazi.” Lily giggles at her own pun.
Mrs. Grazielle Romano rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too.
At the door, Preston pauses. “Mia will be running some errands for me. I’ve got back-to-back calls today, so I might be hard to get a hold of. If it’s urgent, text me 911, okay?”
