Page 14 of Yours To Hold
Gemma laughs at me. “Good luck, Ive. Call me when you leave.”
“Bye, babe.”
I hang up and park the car outside the small ranch home. Sidewalk chalk covers the driveway. Two stick figures are holding hands with what looks to be a dog next to them. I can only smile. The telltale signs of Willow.
Knocking on the door, noise hits my ears.
“Hi, Ivy!” Willow opens the door, covered in glitter.
“Hi, Willow.” A bark comes from the back of the house as the smoke alarm starts to beep. “Is everything okay?”
She nods, shutting the door behind me. I drop my bag down next to the entry table as Daisy rounds the corner. Her tail is wagging, covered in ribbons.
“Doesn’t Daisy look pretty? She wanted to play dress-up with me.”
“Daisy looks pretty, but not as pretty as you.”
Willow beams up at me. She crooks her finger down and I bend to meet her height. “Daddy burned my pancakes.”
That much is obvious.
“Why don’t we go help him?”
Willow grabs my hand and drags me through to the kitchen. It’s a newer house, but you couldn’t tell with all the drawings tacked up. Everything from rainbows and unicorns to pictures of Daisy line most of the space. You can hardly see the gray walls through it all.
“Ivy’s here, Daddy.”
Mason’s hard gaze meets mine. It sends a tingle down my spine.
Why is it so hot when he stares at me like that?
“You’re early.”
I tap my phone. “I’m two minutes early, Mason.”
“Fuck.” He checks his own watch and blows out a breath. “I’m running late. And I burned breakfast.”
Willow giggles from her perch on the barstool.
“Why don’t I get this cleaned up and you can head out.”
“I didn’t mean to leave you with this mess.” Mason looks sympathetic as he turns those brown eyes on me.
“I can handle it.” He looks like he’s going to fight me on it, but drops the burnt pan in the sink.
“Daisy’s already been fed. She could probably use a walk,”—he drops his voice to whisper the last word—“and I should probably be home by five or six. I’ll take care of dinner.”
“Can we get takeout so you don’t burn it?” Willow asks.
“Damn. Tough critic.”
“You burned my grilled cheese last week.”
“Hey! I did not. It never cooked enough to burn,” Mason defends.
I pat Mason on the arm. “I don’t think that’s the defense you think it is.”
“It was yucky.” Willow screws up her face in disgust.
