Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(45)

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.

I’d have bet fifty dollars that, much like me at the front door, he’d practiced this conversation, including that casual, completely-not-causal lean at least a dozen times before I’d arrived.

Something about him being nervous too set me at ease.

The paper was written in legal jargon, but I gathered the gist.

No telling Rosie that I was her biological mother and/or family member, implied or otherwise.

No telling her about the shooting at the Watersedge Mall, including any reference to how my parents died.

No telling her who Caven’s father was, his name, or his role in the shooting.

And last but not least, no mentioning that she’d been left on his doorstep or abandoned at any point.

He was right; all of this was very straightforward. Which was why I was so confused when I looked up and found him watching me with a hard expression.

“She’s too young,” he said. “For all of this. I hate lying to her, but she’s four. It’s my job to keep this kind of sludge from seeping into her life.” He paused and let out a groan. “And I don’t mean to insinuate that you’re sludge, but our past most certainly is.”

“Caven,” I whispered, closing the distance between us. “I understand.”

He didn’t even flinch as I placed my hand on his forearm, that hum in my veins becoming deafening at the contact.

I had to stop touching him all the time.

He was starting to get used to it.

And I was starting to crave it more and more.

I’d work on that the next day though, because in the moment, I’d have done anything to ease the guilt carved into his handsome features.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me. You’re right. Everything from the moment we met has been covered in sludge. But not her. I know you don’t trust me, but I swear I’m on your team. We can work together to make sure it never touches her. I’m completely content being Hadley the art teacher. She doesn’t need to know anything else.” With that, I released his arm, picked up the pen, and signed my name.