Page 98 of Daddy's Ring
"Already handled." Stellan doesn't break stride. "Jamie's on his way. He'll deal with it."
Which means Tommy will wake up in a hospital with no memory of how he got there and a very clear understanding that if he ever steals from us again, he won't wake up at all.
I makeit back to the bookstore just after four in the morning, letting myself in with the key Zola gave me last week. The apartment above is quiet, just the soft sound of Maeve's breathing from her room and the familiar creak of floorboards as I navigate in the dark.
Zola's curled up on her side, one hand under her pillow, and she doesn't stir when I slip into bed beside her. I'm careful not to wake her, just settling close enough to feel her warmth, letting the tension from the warehouse bleed out of me.
This. This is what I was violent for tonight. This quiet peace, this safety, this home.
I fall asleep breathing in vanilla and coffee, her scent covering the last traces of rust and blood.
When I wakeup a few hours later, Zola's gone but I can hear her downstairs, talking softly to Maeve. I shower quickly—scrubbing away the last evidence of last night—then pull on clean clothes and head down.
Zola's at the coffee maker, Maeve on her hip, and she looks exhausted. "Morning."
"Rough night?" I cross to her, kissing her forehead, then Maeve's.
"She was up at two, wouldn't settle until almost four." Zola hands me the baby, rubbing her eyes. "I'm running on fumes."
"Go back to bed." I settle Maeve against my chest, and she makes a happy sound, grabbing at my shirt. "I've got her."
"You just got here?—"
"And you just spent half the night awake." I turn her toward the stairs. "Go sleep. I'll handle the morning shift."
She looks like she wants to argue, but exhaustion wins. "Wake me if you need anything."
"Won't need anything." I kiss her properly this time, slow and thorough despite Maeve's presence between us. "Love you."
"I know." She says it softly, then heads upstairs before I can push for more.
Maeve babbles at me, patting my chest with her sticky hands, and I look down at her. "Your mama's stubborn. But we're wearing her down, aren't we?"
She grins, showing off her few teeth, and babbles something that sounds almost like agreement.
I get her breakfast sorted—mashed banana and tiny pieces of toast, the way she likes it—and settle her in the high chair. While she eats, I start making coffee properly, the good stuff Zola pretends not to care about but always drinks when I make it.
"So here's the thing." I tell Maeve, who's watching me with those huge brown eyes. "I want to throw a dinner party. Get yourmama's friends over, let everyone meet properly. What do you think?"
She smacks her tray, sending banana flying.
"I'll take that as enthusiasm." I wipe up the mess, then lean against the counter. "I think it'll be good. Show her I'm serious about all of this. About building a life that includes everyone."
Maeve makes a demanding sound and I hand her more toast. She's a tyrant when she's hungry, reminds me of someone else I know.
By the time Zola comes back down three hours later, Maeve's been fed, changed, and is currently demolishing a stack of board books on the floor. I've made breakfast—proper breakfast, not just coffee and hope—and the bookstore's ready to open.
"You're going to spoil me." Zola says, but she's already reaching for the plate I made her.
"That's the plan." I watch her eat, satisfied when she actually finishes everything. "I wanted to ask you something."
She looks up, wary. "What?"
"I want to throw a dinner party." I say it casually, like it's not a big deal. "At my place. Invite your friends, give everyone a chance to meet properly."
"A dinner party." She repeats slowly.
"Yeah. Nothing fancy, just dinner. I'll cook." I'm watching her carefully, trying to read her expression. "I want to get to know Naomi and her family. And I thought—we kept everything so separate before. When we were together the first time. Maybe that made it easier for you to think you could walk away."
