Page 51 of Written with Regret (The Regret Duet 1)
“Ugh,” Rosalee groaned. “Cats again?”
“What’s wrong with cats?” Caven defended. “You begged for that cat dress a few weeks ago.”
“But now I like ferrets.”
“You don’t even know what a ferret looks like.”
“Yes, I do. They look like my very favorite animal in the world.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
Rosie saw it.
Caven too.
But they were too busy in a heated debate over ferrets to pay me any mind.
Caven planted a hand on his hip. “Maybe you should have Hadley teach you how to draw a ferret tonight.”
She planted her hand on her hip right back. “I don’t need her to teach me. I already know.”
And that’s when I really saw it.
She looked like my mom.
She had her father’s lips.
But her attitude? That was a hundred percent my sister.
“Then you know it’s a long weasel-looking rat, right?” Caven argued. “Just like that stuffed animal Uncle Ian got you.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Afraid so, baby doll.”
She crinkled her nose. “Have you ever even seen a ferret?”
“Yes,” Caven answered decisively. “And it looks like a rat.”
“No!” She stretched her hands high above her head. “It’s tall and has a long neck and curly hair and big lips.”
“A giraffe?”
She huffed. “No. A ferret.”
Setting my bag on the floor, I pulled my phone out and Googled: tall long neck curly hair big lips.
I added the word animal when a dozen images of hair models popped up.
“A llama?” I asked, causing three pair of eyes to swing my way. After tapping on a picture, I turned the phone to Rosalee. “That?”
“Yeah! A ferret!”
“Jesus,” Caven breathed. “That’s a llama, Rosie. Big difference.”
Her anger morphed into an angelic smile, and then she batted her eyelashes like a trained professional in the art of conning her father. “Can I have one of those, then?”
The side of Caven’s mouth hiked up, but his voice remained stern. “No. And now that I know you’re talking about a llama, you can’t even have one when you move out and get your own apartment.”
“What? Why not?” she squealed.
Caven bent over, scooping her off her feet and planting her on his hip. “They live on a farm, baby.”
“Then we need a farm,” she countered.
In that moment, there was no way I could have forced the smile from my lips.
Standing there with them.
Listening to them talk.
Watching them interact.
It was beautiful on a very basic level, and it made my fingers twitch for my camera.
Caven shook his head, his lopsided smile growing. “Do me a favor and go upstairs with Ale and try on the dresses I got you. They aren’t all cats. I think there was a pink-and-purple one too.”
“Oh, okay,” Rosalee reluctantly agreed before looking to me. “Don’t leave to help the police this time, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Come on, Rosie,” Ale said, taking her hand.
I peeked at Caven out of the corner of my eye. But he wasn’t looking at me. It was more than just his eyes anchored to that little girl; he watched with his entire being, a wide smile on his face.
God, a person could suffocate in the density of love he had for his daughter. And witnessing it up close was an experience all of its own.
It had been less than two weeks since he’d called the police on me, and now, I was standing in his house, getting ready to introduce Rosalee to the Banks family passions. It was the most surreal feeling of my life.
Swiping my finger over my heart in an x, I replied, “I promise, sweetheart. I’ll be right here.”
I watched her walk away, her short, little legs trotting to keep up with Alejandra. As soon as they hit the stairs, Caven erased my euphoria with my least favorite four words in his vocabulary.
“We need to talk.”
“Oh, goodie,” I deadpanned.
He moved with long, purposeful strides behind the bar that divided the kitchen from the rest of the house. “I signed the visitation agreement your attorney sent over, but I had a few things I wanted to add before we went any further.” He retrieved a manila envelope from a drawer and withdrew a single sheet of paper. “I came up with a list of rules. Most of them are pretty straightforward, but I wanted it in writing to ensure that we were both on the same page about what’s happening here.” He handed me the paper before digging a pen out of his pocket. “I’m going to need you to sign that before art classes can start.” He threw a pair of air quotes my way.
I threw them right back. “I do plan on teaching her, you know? Art is a big part of who I am and who my family was. I’d really like to pass it down to her too now.”
“Even better. Now, just as soon as you sign that, you can start setting up.” He propped his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, but it appeared about as uncomfortable as a person could get.
