Page 80 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘I told you that was going to come back and bite me,’ I mutter to Lee, but I extract the tub of ice cream and a spoon and hand them to my daughter.

‘Hey, I like your pyjamas.’ Phoebe waves her spoon in Lee’s direction.

Lee glances down and grimaces, clearly registering her outfit for the first time. I bite back a smile. She looks so cute.

‘This is the first time I’ve seen you look…’ Phoebe purses her lips. ‘Un-fancy.’

‘Oh,’ Lee looks flustered, running a hand over her hair to smooth it.

‘Phoebe,’ I chide.

‘What?’ Phoebe asks around a mouthful of ice cream. ‘I like it. Lee fits in with us.’ She gestures to the two of us – me in my pyjamas, her in hers with the cat hoodie over the top.

Lee’s cheeks are pink. ‘I like silly pyjamas,’ she says, like it’s a confession. I suppose the bright pink PJs are not exactly what I’d imagine Lee to wear in bed. Not that I’ve spent a lot of time imagining what else she might wear as she slept in my bed… lace… or silk… or nothing at all.

‘Coffee?’ I bark, hustling over to the machine.

‘How come you like silly pyjamas?’ Phoebe asks, and this is great… let’s all remain focused on Lee’s sleepwear.

Lee swipes a mug from the cupboard and hands it to me, her attention still on Phoebe. ‘I think,’ she starts tentatively, ‘that my clothes are a bit like my armour. I love them, but they also make me feel… more confident? More in control. When I’m just hanging out around the house I don’t need that so much. I can just be… silly.’

I’m suddenly struck by a memory from Vegas of those pyjamas covered in the little tropical fruits and my heart feels bruised, tender like a peach.

‘Yeah,’ Phoebe nods thoughtfully. ‘Like how I always feel so powerful when I wear my soccer uniform. But we like you when you’re silly. You don’t need to wear your armour with us, right, Dad?’

When my daughter looks at me with her sweet, serious face I feel as if I’ve been punched in the solar plexus by my love for her. Lee’s stunned expression leads me to believe she might be experiencing something similar. Underneath her snarky attitude, my girl has the biggest heart.

‘That’s right, little Bee,’ I agree, my voice a bit hoarse.

‘Cool,’ Phoebe nods, like she hasn’t just totally decimated the emotional wellbeing of two adults, and turns her attention back to her ice cream. I busy myself making coffee while Lee casually runs a finger under her lashes.

‘Cool,’ Lee echoes softly. ‘So, I was thinking maybe we should go and get hot chocolate at Bean & Gone this week,’ she says to Phoebe, and the words are hesitant like she’s not sure her invitation will be welcome. ‘I could pick you up from school one day. There might be cinnamon buns, too.’

Phoebe perks up at this and agrees enthusiastically, and I don’t even think it’s about the buns.

While the two of them chat, I start making some toast. Ice cream isn’t going to cut it for me and Lee – not that it looks like there’s any going spare – when we have a busy day with plans to take Tara out sightseeing, as well as getting everything ready for the trustee’s arrival tomorrow.

‘Shall we watch cartoons now?’ Phoebe asks, but before I can answer, we’re interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

‘Who can that be?’ I mutter.

There’s a man standing on the front porch. He’s probably in his sixties, he’s wearing an immaculate three piece suit, and his thinning brown hair is swept back from his long face. He blinks at me from behind a pair of round, wire-rimmed glasses.

‘Nicolas Hart?’ he asks in a plummy English accent.

My stomach sinks. ‘Yes,’ I agree reluctantly.

The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. ‘Charles Saunders,’ he says, confirming my worst fears. ‘Of Saunders, Saunders and Sneed. You’ve been expecting me?’

‘Not until tomorrow.’ I look down at the card in my hand, which is thick and embossed and clearly the business card of someone not to be messed with. It also looks like the trustee is a partner in a prestigious law firm. I’m sure he’s delighted to be spending two weeks in small-town America, observing me like a high school science experiment.

Charles frowns. ‘I apologise. My assistant must have forwarded incorrect details. I will look into the matter.’

My brain is working slowly, but after a long, awkward moment I realise he’s waiting to be invited in. I glance over my shoulder, to where Phoebe and Lee are still chatting in the kitchen.

‘Er, come in,’ I say finally. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught us having breakfast.’

When I turn back into the house, Lee glances up and I catch her eye. ‘Honey,’ I say brightly. ‘It looks like we had the date wrong. Charles Saunders, my father’s lawyer, is here.’