Chapter Twenty-One

A strong aroma of sugar cookies and peppermint fills the air, offering a sweet symphony of smells permeating every corner of our new Seattle home. Laughter reverberates through the hallways exactly as I pictured a month ago, too, bouncing off the walls and filling my heart with a sense of joy and warmth that rivals crackling fire. I add another log to the fireplace while a satisfied sigh escapes my lips.

My senses are in overdrive today, taking in every detail of this joyous chaos. I can't help but think of Brogan, however. How his face would light up at the sight of Lily playing so sweetly with her new friend Gage. They've been inseparable since we merged the two households together a few days ago. Their laughter now serves as a constant soundtrack to our new lives melded together like forged iron.

The patter of four young feet reverberates between the walls, a sound that never fails to bring a smile to my face. Suddenly, Lily rounds the corner with her cheeks as flushed with excitement, and dives into the leather sectional in the sitting room. Tenderly, I watch her with a bittersweet pang of joy and longing.

"Maxie, can I talk to you alone, please?" She asks, leaping up into the ample cushions. "Gage, go put that away. We're done playing Legos," she barks, pointing toward the hallway leading to the front staircase.

I place the metal grate back over the fireplace opening and shuffle towards the couch, noticing Lily patting the cushion next to her with a smile.

"Honey bee, you be nice to Gage," I remind her. "He's your special friend, remember?"

Lily rolls her eyes. "Boys are so exhausting."

It's hard not to let a few chuckles tug at my lips. She's certainly wiser beyond her years in so many aspects. Almost like I'm sometimes talking to Carrie Bradhsaw from ‘Sex and the City.' As I settle comfortably next to my seven-year-old going on thirty, I hear Gage trundling up the stairs with his Lego rendition of The Millenium Falcon.

"Oh sweetheart, I know. I'm one of those boys, too," I laugh, gently nudging my elbow into her ribs.

Lily looks up into my stare with her big, earnest eyes. "I know, but I thought of this today and wanted to ask you first," she pauses, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Do you think Daddy would be okay if I called you my daddy? I feel you are. So is it okay?"

A wave of emotion crashes against the shoreline of my soul, almost so intense it almost steals my breath away. I've been expecting this moment, but didn't realize it would happen now. Just before Christmas, the first one we'll be celebrating without Brogan. I know in my heart that he would embrace Lily calling me Daddy. He'd want her to feel loved and secure, and I've been the father figure in his absence.

I wrap my arm around her tiny body, pulling her close. "Of course, sweetheart. I am just like Daddy—I've always been a part of your life," I reassure her. "We just taught you to call me ‘Uncle Max' to avoid confusing you. But whatever you're comfortable calling me is just fine with me."

Lowering my chin to the top of her head, I plant a gentle kiss, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for this amazing little girl. Princess Peach. My munchkin.

She throws her tiny around me in the biggest hug she can manage. "I love you Daddy Max," she whispers sincerely. "He would be so proud of you."

I'm taken aback by her maturity yet again. I honestly didn't expect this conversation for another couple of years. But then again, Lily is a fast learning, often understanding things that other kids her age wouldn't. This is a reminder of Brogan, of his intelligence and compassion, that she clearly inherited.

"I love you too, Flower," I reply, feeling her pull away and tilt her head.

Lily responds with a mischievous glint in her gaze. "But you don't get to call me that—that's only for Daddy B, okay?"

A smile forms on my warmed face, appreciating her playful assertiveness. "Okay, button," I oblige. "You're gonna remain my munchkin."

"That's better," she grins, pushing herself off the sectional with a glance back towards Gage, who has just returned from his room upstairs.

Gage shrieks at the top of his lungs. "Lily! Let's go outside," he insists. "Hi Max, I'm going to borrow Lily now. We have to go build a snow fort," he proclaims.

Lily rolls her eyes for the second time in this past five minutes. "Does it ever end?" She asks, flailing her wrist. "I can't get any peace around here."

Nodding, I play along with their childhood imaginations. "Okay, but you may have a hard time without snow," I bite back, unable to resist a teasing remark. "Go on, honey," I nudge Lily in Gage's direction. "Go be nice."

Gage points out the floor-to-ceiling window of our sitting room. "But it is snowing, Max."

I observe my mature little angel wander into the kitchen, heading for the door that leads outside. This has just been a poignant moment. Just as I was thinking about our first Christmas with Brogan, Lily gives me this unexpected validation, this feeling that I'm doing everything right. My heart swells with immense pleasure and pride as a smile spreads from cheek to cheek.

Stepping onto the shiny tile floor, I eagerly share this heartwarming moment with Melanie. She's been busy channeling her inner Mary Berry from "The Great British Bake-off." A rectangular pan of freshly baked cookies rests on the countertop as wisps of steam rise from the hot tin.

Try as I may, reaching for one of them is an impossible feat with the official Williams' guardian of order nearby. She swats my hand away with a grin. "Nuh uhh, I don't think so, Mister. They're not even cool enough for icing yet."

My heart is bursting with joy, and I can't wait to tell her about Lily's newfound comfort in calling me ‘Daddy.' But before I can utter a word, my phone rings, completely interrupting my train of thought.

"Where did I leave it this time?" I wail, hysterically searching for the device.

I could have sworn I left it on the mantle.

On the trail back to our sitting room, I shout over my shoulder. "I didn't think having this big of a house would mean we'd lose track of our goddamned phones!"