Page 238 of Trouble from Abroad
I close my eyes and try not to swoon.
“Slept well?” he asks.
“Very,” I breathe, as my traitorous brain queues up a montage of this man on his knees, eating me out with an enthusiasm I’ve never been graced with before. Something coils low in my belly, and if this reel keeps playing, I’ll need a fresh pair of panties before we even make it out of the house.
“Me too. After I jerked off twice.”
Fine, maybe a quick change before breakfast, just so I don’t ruin any furniture.
“One to memories, another to expectations.”
I go rigid in his arms at that last word. It’s a brutal reminder of how inexperienced I am compared to a forty-three-year-old man. Of how easily I could disappoint him.
“What just happened?” he asks, pulling me out of my spiral with a gentle squeeze just above my elbows.
“It’s just…”
“Say it. I love how you don’t hide. How I don’t have to guess or tiptoe. Whatever’s peeking behind your eyes right now… let it out. You know you can trust me.”
Fucker. I do trust him. That’s the terrifying part.
“You haveexpectations.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smirk. Just smiles, and it’s not condescending. It’s honest and steady. He’s offering me a place to land.
“Okay, so maybe that was a poor choice of words.” He pulls me closer and sways us gently. “What I meant was, I’m excited for more time with you. For more ofyou.”
Then he dips his head and whispers right into my ear, “There’s no version of this where you disappoint me, Mia.”
The peace shatters with a loud crack from below. Then Lily’s voice trails up, high-pitched and guilty, “Sorryyyy!”
Preston bolts, calling out, “Are you okay?” before he’s even halfway down. I follow close behind, trying not to trip over my own feet or ovaries.
Lily’s kneeling on the high chair, gripping a full gallon of milk. Her cereal swims in a puddle on the floor, mixed with the remains of what used to be a bowl.
“I was just trying to make myself breakfast,” she says, wide-eyed but not crying.
“It’s okay, Lil. It was worth a try. This is how we learn.” Preston crouches, carefully picking up porcelain shards,then dropping them into a paper bag like it’s no big deal. “Sorry we took so long to come down.” He grabs another bowl and hands it to her while I take care of the floor. “Want to try again?”
Lily perks up. “Can I, Dad?”
My panties don’t stand a chance. Even his parenting turns me into soup. Is there anything this man is bad at?
“Of course you can. Practice is the only way we learn. Give it another go.”
I watch as he shows her how to set the bowl farther from the edge, how to grip the milk jug steady with both hands. She overflows the bowl—twice—and he doesn’t so much as flinch. Just grabs a towel, wipes the counter, swaps bowls, and talks her nerves down.
Lily’s so lucky. My chest twists at the thought of what it must be like to grow up with that kind of attention and tenderness. In that kind of safety.
On her sixth attempt, she finally nails it—clean pour, no splash—and the three of us break into a full-body celebratory dance around the kitchen island. Look at us, already making him bust out moves.
And when I see how proud this fierce, stubborn little girl looks, I get a glimpse of the woman she’ll grow into. So brave. Wild too. Unapologetically herself.
It guts me a little, knowing I won’t be around to see it. April and Callie better send me photos. Updates. Anything. Because the world’s gonna be lucky to have her—and I already miss her future.
“Mia, want me to pour your milk?” Lily asks, practically vibrating with excitement.
Preston’s eyes double in size. I press my lips to stop a laugh as he silently panics behind her.
