Chapter 14

The concept of morning loses all significance when Myra, my bundle of inexhaustible energy, decides it's time to start the day. Without any warning, she launches herself onto my bed, her small hands shaking me awake. "Daddy. Daddy, wake up. You promised we'd go to the park today . . . or the children's museum." Her voice, filled with anticipation and excitement, is a lot more effective than any alarm clock.

This would be perfect any other day, except, it's Saturday.

I groan playfully, feigning sleep a moment longer before blinking my eyes open to meet her shining gaze. "Is it morning already?" I ask, my voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Yes." She bounces excitedly on the bed, nearly vibrating with enthusiasm. "And you said we could go somewhere fun today if you won the game last night."

I roll pretending to go back to sleep and stifle another groan into my pillow, buying a few more seconds of dozing before I turn over with a sigh.

"Wakey, wakey," she grins. "We're having a fun day, Daddy."

This is all my fault though. I gotta be smarter offering victory-fueled rewards when winning is already part of my job description. Maybe I should start promising something different and as a reward for her good behavior at school instead.

I sit up, pulling Myra into a warm hug. "Alright, pumpkin," I say, planting a kiss on her hair. "Let's get this day started. What's the first order of business?"

"Breakfast," she says too cheerfully, then adds, "Pancakes à la Indie, with lots and lots of syrup." She rubs her belly and licks her lips for dramatic effect.

"We just had pancakes yesterday," I remind her. "And we would need Indie here to make them as yummy as hers."

"Yesterday it was eggs and strawberries." Myra crosses her arms with an exaggerated pout. "I want pancakes."

"Let's check what's in the pantry and fridge." I swing my legs out of bed. "Ready to go?"

Myra nods and I scoop her up, making airplane noises as I carry her all the way downstairs to the kitchen. She giggles and spreads her arms out like wings. Once I set her on the floor, we scan the contents of the cupboards and refrigerator. I suggest my famous poached eggs, but she scrunches her nose.

Then I say, "How about oatmeal with freeze dried fruit?" That earns me another pout from Myra.

"Okay, no eggs or oatmeal today. How about . . . fruit salad, yogurt, and cereal?"

Myra gives me a firm nod, her expression brightening. I take out the ingredients while she sets her small stool in place, ready to assist me.

"You're the best little helper in the world," I tell her warmly as she opens the cereal box and sets the two crystal bowls on the counter for the yogurt.

"Really?" She glances up at me hopefully.

I smile and nod in confirmation. Just then, the doorbell rings sharply, slicing through the cozy kitchen.

"Who's that? A delivery?" Myra's attention is instantly divided, her curiosity piqued by whoever is at our door but also by the yogurt she needs to pour into the bowls.

"I guess we'll have to find out." I rinse my hands and wipe them with a dish towel.

"Maybe it's Grandma," Myra suggests, bouncing on her toes with a sparkle of hope in her eyes.

Doubtful, I don't say. For that to happen I'd have to buy her ticket—first class, as well as bribe her with something and also pay her expenses because . . . Well, I don't know what my mother will use as an excuse, but I know for sure it isn't her.

"It could be a surprise," I offer instead, racking my brain. Maybe I ordered something within the last couple of days and it's arriving today.

Myra slips off her stool, her small feet hitting the floor with soft thuds as she trails behind me to the door. The possibility of a neighbor dropping by to welcome us crosses my mind as I reach for the handle, but the sight that greets us sweeps away all such mundane expectations.

Indie, with Rigby by her side, stands on our doorstep. The morning's interruption suddenly transforms into a pleasant surprise in an instant. Indie looks beautiful, yet different from yesterday. Her hair is captured in a carefree bun, wispy strands framing her lovely face, highlighting her natural beauty. She's wearing a flowing purple blouse paired with ripped jeans. The simplicity of her attire only adds to her charm, making her look effortlessly adorable.

"Good morning," she says, her voice carrying the warmth of the sun that's hidden from view. Her smile, wide and sincere, lights up her face. "Hope we're not interrupting anything."

Before I can respond, Myra rushes past me, darting toward the pup. "Rigby," she exclaims, wrapping her arms around the dog who meets her embrace with nothing but patient affection, his tail keeping a slow, contented beat.

"Seems like you brought her a new best friend," I say, my eyes briefly scanning Indie's surroundings for a carrier or . . . Well, I don't know where else she'd contain her cat. Since I don't see her with the carrier I ask, "Where's David?"

Indie brushes a stray lock of hair from her face and gives a small smile. "He stayed with my cousins. Long story."

"We're about to have breakfast. Would you like to join us?" I suggest, stepping aside to welcome them further into our home.

"Sure," she replies, her voice softer now, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Rigby gives an approving bark, as though seconding the motion. "He definitely agrees, though I doubt you have anything for him."

"Sorry, we don't have dog treats but if you give us a list, we'll be happy to stock our pantry with them," I say as we move back into the kitchen.

Myra turns to Indie and says. "Now that you're here, can you make pancakes à la Indie?"

"She's not here to work, pumpkin," I remind her gently, trying to temper her expectations without dimming the spark in her eyes.

Myra's bottom lip quivers ever so slightly, her big eyes shimmering with a blend of hope and calculated sadness. It's the look that has swayed me countless times before. No one, and I mean no one, can say no to this child.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, I watch the scene unfold before me. There it is—the inevitable crumbling of Indie's defenses under the sheer power of Myra's pleading gaze. Who could blame her? Those wide, hopeful eyes have a way of bending the world to their will.

Indie crouches down, meeting Myra at eye level. "Why don't we leave that for Tuesday morning? Remember, that's when I'm coming with Dave and Rig for a sleepover."

There's a long silence after Indie's suggestion. I can almost see the gears turning in Myra's head, weighing the disappointment against the delayed gratification.

"I'm here just to check the rooms," Indie continues, straightening up and casting a brief glance my way.

In that fleeting moment, our eyes lock. There's a flash of something in her eyes, a hint of the same unsettled feeling that's been gnawing at me. For a second, I wonder if she's feeling the same pull I do or if I'm just imagining it.

But too quickly I remind myself that it's too early to have stupid thoughts about the only person who can look after my child next week. Not that I should even once I get a nanny. She's my boss's little sister. That makes her forbidden as fuck.

Indie glances at the counter and says, "Cereal and fruit sound like a good, yet, fast breakfast."

Myra's face falls slightly. "Oh, you're not coming with us to the park?" she asks, my heart squeezing at the note of disappointment in her voice.

Indie shakes her head. "No, sorry. I came to figure out which room I'll be using. Remember, Dave, Rigby, and I will be sleeping over on Monday and Thursday?" she reminds her, trying to soften the blow and offering my child something to look forward to.

"Yes," Myra claps excitedly and the disappointment is gone. "But are you sure you can't do anything today with us?"

I see now why Jude said she was the perfect candidate, and great with kids. So far, she hasn't given in to any of my child's requests and my kid hasn't had a meltdown. I should ask her to give me a few more parenting lessons. Because clearly, I suck.

"Well, I have to get the furniture," Indie explains further.

"We can come with you," Myra states then glances at me with those big eyes. "Right, Daddy?"

I rub my temples. This child is persistent no doubt. And somehow this has become a match between her and Indie. Myra is trying everything to convince her to stay or at least spend some time with us today. My money is on my child—she's the most stubborn person I've known, followed by her mother.

Indie taps her chin. "Though, that's an amazing offer. I'll have to pass. Maybe next time I decide to go shopping you can come with me."

"Okay," Myra finally lets it go.

"And since planning is my favorite thing to do, I'll try to come up with something for Monday, when we have our sleepover." The way Indie says it, perhaps unintentionally suggestive, sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, making my body tense and my cock semi-hard.

I swallow hard, battling the sudden influx of thoughts that are far too inappropriate for the moment, especially with Myra nearby. The mere idea of Indie spending the night, under my roof, stirs a turmoil within me that I struggle to suppress.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I chastise myself internally for letting my thoughts wander so recklessly.

"While you check the rooms, we'll finish setting up breakfast," I manage to say, aiming for a tone of nonchalance to mask the very inappropriate thoughts raging within me.

Indie offers me one of her sweet smiles. "Thank you, Ty. We'll probably have everything delivered by Monday after you drop Myra to school, so we don't disrupt your weekend."

The opportunity to extend the time we could spend together presents itself, and I seize it, despite what common sense dictates. "You're welcome to do it anytime, so I can help."

She dismisses the offer with a gentle wave of her hand. "I'll think about it. You two, continue with breakfast. I won't take long." Her assurance does little to ease the sudden tightness in my chest.

And now I understand why my child is being so insistent. We want to spend time with Indie. Whether it's going shopping or making pancakes, how is it that we've come to feel like we need Indie around?

As she turns to head upstairs, her voice drifts back to me, lighter now as she begins a phone call. She sounds a bit unsure and I'm wondering who she's talking to. "Yeah, I'm here to measure the room as you requested. You sure we can do this on such short . . ."

"You should tell her to come with us, Daddy," Myra suggests softly, her voice carrying a mixture of hope and a slight sense of urgency. "I really like her and Rigby."

Ah, so Myra hasn't given up yet.

Well played, kid.

Well. Played.

I want Indie to come along as much as Myra does, but I play the practical dad. "Pumpkin, Rigby can't come to the museum with us. They have rules about dogs. Let's plan something with him next time, okay?"

Myra sighs dramatically, but fortunately, she drops it.

Situation averted for now.

I hope that by next week, we might have a new nanny, and things could go back to our old normal. But there's this part of me, a part that's getting louder, wondering if ‘normal' without Indie is what we really want.