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She watched Dean turn each page, his voice warm and steady as he read about the little girl learning to skate. Pip interrupted every few pages with questions, observations, and enthusiastic predictions about what would happen next.

“Why is she scared?” Pip asked.

“Because she’s never skated before,” Dean replied.

“Is her dad going to help her?”

Dean pointed to the page. “He’s right there, isn’t he. Ready to catch her.”

“Like you were, when I learned to ride my bike.”

This time, it took Dean a second to answer, and Vivian saw him swallow deeply. “Yeah. Just like that.”

Vivian had to look away as something in her chest squeezed. She considered the weeks since Thanksgiving. It had only been a month, but somehow Dean had woven himself into their lives so naturally, she could hardly remember what it had felt like before him.

They’d managed to go on quite a few of Pip’s “dates,” which was saying something, considering Dean was in the midst of hockey season. For a guy who’d been worried about not being present enough, he always made time for them.

Thank goodness. Because once her daughter had decided Dean belonged to them, it was all systems go on the outings. Pip had planned a bowling date, where she insisted Dean be on her team; a movie night, where she made them all share the biggest popcorn they served; and an ice cream excursion, where she’d somehow managed to convince him that three toppings were the absolute minimum allowed.

There had been McDonald’s Happy Meals for “fun dinner” night following an afternoon game, an impromptu stop at a toy store, and a wonderful evening spent simply walking along the Inner Harbor looking at the Christmas lights, before stopping for hot chocolate. Each outing was a date in Pip’s mind, and Dean played along every single time, picking them up with flowers or little treats for both of his girls. The world’s sweetest suitor.

He never acted as if Pip was an inconvenience or in the way. There’d been a few times when the two of them had been having so much fun, Vivian started to wonder if she was the third wheel. Not that she gave a shit about that.

Dean was there for her little girl, and if Vivian hadn’t fallen head over heels for the man prior to Thanksgiving, the last month would have cemented his place in her heart forever.

He was incredibly patient with Pip’s endless questions and stories, and he never failed to admire her artwork, help her tie her shoes, or help her with her homework. Pip was completely attached to him. She always looked for Dean when she came through the door after school, saved things to tell him, reached for his hand without thinking about it.

He was showing up, and that was what mattered. Not just to Vivian but to Dean, who still struggled with guilt over McKenna and the past. It was getting better, but she suspected that regret was something he’d always carry with him.

For a man with no practical experience as a father, Dean was a natural. He automatically crouched down to Pip’s level when she was talking to him. He never brushed off her questions, no matter how silly or complicated. He let her beat him at Go Fish, then pretended to be devastated by his defeat. He carried her when she was tired and laughed when she climbed on his back.

He’d also learned that bedtime required a lot of negotiation, blueberry yogurt tasted suspicious for some unknown reason, and that “just one more” was never actually one more.

Pip had never known her father, and while she’d seen pictures and heard stories about him, that wasn’t the same thing. She’d never heard the sound of his voice or felt his arms around her, and Vivian had spent the last five years carrying that loss for both of them.

So watching Dean with Pip—watching her little girl laugh with a man who was slowly, carefully finding his way—meant more to Vivian than she could ever put into words.

Dean wasn’t replacing Phil. He wasn’t even trying to. He was simply being Pip’s Coach Dee.

Vivian looked at her daughter curled against his side, completely absorbed in the story, and felt happy. Truly happy.

When Dean finished the story, Pip sighed.

“That was a good story.”

“It was,” Dean agreed.

“Can you teach me how to skate?”

Dean’s gaze flicked to Vivian. “If your mom says it’s okay.”

Pip looked at Vivian with those big eyes that had her wondering if her daughter was sincere in her pleading or a master manipulator. Because Vivian could never say no when Pip looked at her that way.

“I think that can be arranged,” she replied.

“Can you read me another one?” Pip asked, turning that powerful Puss-in-Boots gaze on Dean, who looked ready to give in.

“Nope,” Vivian said, standing. “It’s already past your bedtime and Santa needs us all asleep before he can slide down that chimney. Come on and I’ll tuck you in.”