Chapter 6 – Talking to His Daughter

When I first walked through Liam Carter’s front door days ago, drenched from the rain and juggling my overnight bag, I noticed her right away—big brown eyes peeking around the corner of the hallway, like she’d been waiting for me.

Emily.

She didn’t hide. Didn’t mumble. Didn’t need coaxing.

“You’re Zara,” she said, voice clear and sure. “Daddy told me you dance.”

I’d smiled, instantly charmed. “That’s me. I also make the best hot chocolate in the world. True fact.”

Her eyes lit up. “Better than Starbucks?”

“Way better,” I whispered like it was classified information.

From that first moment, it was like we’d known each other forever.

Now, a few days in, Liam looks vaguely irritated every time he sees us together. Which is perfect, because this afternoon we’re sitting on the living room floor building the world’s tallest Lego tower while he’s trying to read something boring at the dining table.

“Careful,” I tell Emily, handing her a bright red brick. “This piece is crucial to the structural integrity of our masterpiece.”

She giggles and carefully places it on top. “It’s gonna be taller than Daddy.”

I glance over my shoulder at Liam. “We’d need a lot more bricks for that.”

He doesn’t look up. “I can hear you.”

“Good,” I shoot back, grinning at Emily. “Keeps him humble.”

Emily laughs harder, and Liam sighs like he’s already regretting letting me stay here.

When the tower inevitably collapses in a colorful explosion, Emily bursts into a fit of giggles, falling against my side. I wrap an arm around her and pretend to cry. “Our poor tower. Gone too soon.”

“We can build it again,” she says confidently.

“That’s the spirit.” I bump my forehead lightly against hers. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Favorite what?” Liam asks, finally setting his papers down.

“Favorite human,” I answer without missing a beat.

Emily beams. Liam mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “This is getting out of hand.”

Later, when I head into the kitchen to start dinner, Emily follows me like a little shadow. I’m pulling out pasta when she climbs onto one of the bar stools, swinging her legs.

“I can help,” she offers.

“Absolutely. Official taste tester?”

“Yes,” she says solemnly, like this is a sacred role.

She’s stirring sauce and telling me about her art project at school when Liam appears in the doorway. His gaze bounces between us—Emily in my oversized hoodie, sauce-splattered spoon in hand, and me smiling like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

“She’s supposed to be doing her homework,” he says pointedly.

“I am,” Emily argues. “I’m learning to cook.”

“That’s not homework.”

“Life skills,” I say, shrugging. “Very important.”

He looks between us again, clearly outnumbered, and shakes his head. “Don’t let her eat too much before dinner.”

When he leaves, Emily leans toward me. “He’s grumpy today.”

I grin. “I think he’s always grumpy.”

She nods like this is an undeniable fact, and somehow, we’re both in on the same joke.

By the time dinner is ready, Emily insists on setting the table herself. She arranges the forks in a perfect row, places the napkins neatly, and even adds a tiny vase with one lone flower from the backyard.

When Liam comes back, he freezes at the sight. “You did all this?” he asks her.

“We did,” she says proudly, pointing at me.

He glances at me, and for a second I think he’s going to say something nice, but instead he mutters, “Great. Now she’s going to expect candlelight dinners every night.”

Emily giggles. I just smile sweetly. “You’re welcome.”

We eat together, and Emily spends half the meal telling me stories while Liam keeps trying—and failing—to redirect the conversation. By dessert, she’s sitting in my lap, licking ice cream from her spoon, like we’ve been best friends for years.

It’s only after I tuck her into bed, reading her one of her princess books in a dramatic voice that makes her laugh so hard she hiccups, that I notice Liam standing in the hallway, watching us.

There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but before I can figure it out, he clears his throat.

“You’re making this too easy,” he says quietly when Emily’s room door is closed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he says, stepping past me, “don’t forget this is temporary.”

I watch him walk away, my chest feeling a little heavier than before, and for the first time since I met Emily, I start to wonder if maybe I’m the one in trouble here.